Read Online The View from Castle Rock by Alice Munro - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alice Munro
Ads: Link
ladies?”
He is on speaking terms with the Edinburgh women now, on account of Agnes. They take a kind interest in the mother and baby and Mary and Young James, and think that the old father is comical. They are also amused by Andrew and Walter, who seem to them so bashful. Walter is actually not so tongue-tied as Andrew is, but this business of humans giving birth (though he is used to it with sheep) fills him with dismay or outright disgust. Agnes has lost a great part of her sullen allure because of it. (As happened before, when she gave birth to Young James. But then, gradually, her offending powers returned. He thinks that unlikely to happen again. He has seen more of the world now, and on board this ship he has seen more of women.)
The coughing girl is shaking her curly head violently.
“I don’t want them,” she says, when she can gasp the words out. “I have never told anybody you come here. So you mustn’t tell anybody about me.”
“Well you are here by rights.”
She shakes her head again and gestures for him to wait till she can speak more easily.
“I mean that you saw me skipping. My father hid my skipping rope but I found where he hid it-but he doesn’t know that.”
“It isn’t the Sabbath,” Walter says reasonably. “So what is wrong with you skipping?”
“How do I know?” she says, regaining her saucy tone. “Perhaps he thinks I am too old for it. Will you swear not to tell anyone?” She holds up her forefingers to make a cross. The gesture is innocent, he knows, but nevertheless he is shocked, knowing how some people might look at it.
But he says that he is willing to swear.
“I swear too,” she says. “I won’t tell anyone you come here.”
After saying this quite solemnly, she makes a face.
“Though I was not going to tell about you anyway.”
What a queer self-important little thing she is. She speaks only of her father, so he thinks it must be she has no brothers or sisters and-like himself-no mother. That condition has probably made her both spoiled and lonely.
Following this swearing, the girl-her name is Nettie-becomes a frequent visitor when Walter intends to write in his book. She always says that she does not want to disturb him but after keeping ostentatiously quiet for about five minutes she will interrupt him with some question about his life or bit of information about hers. It is true that she is motherless and an only child and she has never even been to school. She talks most about her pets-those dead and those living at her house in Edinburgh-and a woman named Miss Anderson who used to travel with her and teach her. It seems she was glad to see the back of this woman, and surely Miss Anderson would be glad to depart, after all the tricks that were played on her-the live frog in her boot and the woolen but lifelike mouse in her bed. Also Nettie’s stomping on books that were not in favor and her pretense of being struck deaf and dumb when she got sick of reciting her spelling exercises.
She has been back and forth to America three times. Her father is a wine merchant whose business takes him to Montreal.
She wants to know all about how Walter and his people live. Her questions are by country standards quite impertinent. But Walter does not really mind-in his own family he has never been in a position that allowed him to instruct or teach or tease anybody younger than himself, and in a way it gives him pleasure.
It is certainly true, though, that in his own world, nobody would ever have got away with being so pert and forward and inquisitive as this Nettie. What does Walter’s family have for supper when they are at home, how do they sleep? Are there animals kept in the house? Do the sheep have names, and what are the sheepdogs’ names, and can you make pets of them? Why not? What is the arrangement of the scholars in the schoolroom, what do they write on, are the teachers cruel? What do some of his words mean that she does not understand, and do all
He is on speaking terms with the Edinburgh women now, on account of Agnes. They take a kind interest in the mother and baby and Mary and Young James, and think that the old father is comical. They are also amused by Andrew and Walter, who seem to them so bashful. Walter is actually not so tongue-tied as Andrew is, but this business of humans giving birth (though he is used to it with sheep) fills him with dismay or outright disgust. Agnes has lost a great part of her sullen allure because of it. (As happened before, when she gave birth to Young James. But then, gradually, her offending powers returned. He thinks that unlikely to happen again. He has seen more of the world now, and on board this ship he has seen more of women.)
The coughing girl is shaking her curly head violently.
“I don’t want them,” she says, when she can gasp the words out. “I have never told anybody you come here. So you mustn’t tell anybody about me.”
“Well you are here by rights.”
She shakes her head again and gestures for him to wait till she can speak more easily.
“I mean that you saw me skipping. My father hid my skipping rope but I found where he hid it-but he doesn’t know that.”
“It isn’t the Sabbath,” Walter says reasonably. “So what is wrong with you skipping?”
“How do I know?” she says, regaining her saucy tone. “Perhaps he thinks I am too old for it. Will you swear not to tell anyone?” She holds up her forefingers to make a cross. The gesture is innocent, he knows, but nevertheless he is shocked, knowing how some people might look at it.
But he says that he is willing to swear.
“I swear too,” she says. “I won’t tell anyone you come here.”
After saying this quite solemnly, she makes a face.
“Though I was not going to tell about you anyway.”
What a queer self-important little thing she is. She speaks only of her father, so he thinks it must be she has no brothers or sisters and-like himself-no mother. That condition has probably made her both spoiled and lonely.
Following this swearing, the girl-her name is Nettie-becomes a frequent visitor when Walter intends to write in his book. She always says that she does not want to disturb him but after keeping ostentatiously quiet for about five minutes she will interrupt him with some question about his life or bit of information about hers. It is true that she is motherless and an only child and she has never even been to school. She talks most about her pets-those dead and those living at her house in Edinburgh-and a woman named Miss Anderson who used to travel with her and teach her. It seems she was glad to see the back of this woman, and surely Miss Anderson would be glad to depart, after all the tricks that were played on her-the live frog in her boot and the woolen but lifelike mouse in her bed. Also Nettie’s stomping on books that were not in favor and her pretense of being struck deaf and dumb when she got sick of reciting her spelling exercises.
She has been back and forth to America three times. Her father is a wine merchant whose business takes him to Montreal.
She wants to know all about how Walter and his people live. Her questions are by country standards quite impertinent. But Walter does not really mind-in his own family he has never been in a position that allowed him to instruct or teach or tease anybody younger than himself, and in a way it gives him pleasure.
It is certainly true, though, that in his own world, nobody would ever have got away with being so pert and forward and inquisitive as this Nettie. What does Walter’s family have for supper when they are at home, how do they sleep? Are there animals kept in the house? Do the sheep have names, and what are the sheepdogs’ names, and can you make pets of them? Why not? What is the arrangement of the scholars in the schoolroom, what do they write on, are the teachers cruel? What do some of his words mean that she does not understand, and do all
Similar Books
