A. M. Burrage, Volume 8 by A. M. Burrage

Author:A. M. Burrage [Anonymous]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deadtree Publishing
Published: 2013-10-24T16:00:00+00:00

Certainly Frobisher did not fit in to the cottage, where—particularly on wet afternoons—we sometimes lit fires and cooked godless messes. The chimneys, which had not been swept within living memory, invariably rejected the smoke, and these experiments nearly always ended in our being driven out into the fresh air, grimy and feeling like half-cured hams, but still laughing and happy.

There was a tacit understanding between the four of us. If we walked a hundred yards Geoffrey paired with Olive and I with Myra, unless Frobisher happened to be with us, when the two girls were left to keep each other company. This was not Frobisher’s fault; it was all due to Geoffrey and me. It amuses me to look back and remember how jealous we both were of him. Gala times were the mid-term weekends which I always spent with the Denveys. Frobisher never came; he went home to the Ancestral Mansion, as we always called it. Then, besides three long days were two delightful evenings, when Mrs Denvey had not to study the clock and say to me, ‘I don’t want to hurry you, Frank, but you know what your housemaster said about punctuality, and I don’t want to stop you from coming again.’

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