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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
101
Friday,
12th.--A
very
fine,
bright,
clear,
hard
frost.
Wm.
working
again.
I
recopied
The
Pedlar,
but
poor
Wm.
all
the
time
at
work....
In
the
afternoon
a
poor
woman
came,
she
said,
to
beg,
...
but
she
has
been
used
to
go
a-begging,
for
she
has
often
come
here.
Her
father
lived
to
the
age
of
105.
She
is
a
woman
of
strong
bones,
with
a
complexion
that
has
been
beautiful,
and
remained
very
fresh
last
year,
but
now
she
looks
broken,
and
her
little
boy--a
pretty
little
fellow,
and
whom
I
have
loved
for
the
sake
of
Basil--looks
thin
and
pale.
I
observed
this
to
her.
"Aye,"
says
she,
"we
have
all
been
ill.
Our
house
was
nearly
unroofed
in
the
storm,
and
we
lived
in
it
so
for
more
than
a
week."
The
child
wears
a
ragged
drab
coat
and
a
fur
cap.
Poor
little
fellow,
I
think
he
seems
scarcely
at
all
grown
since
the
first
time
I
saw
him.
William
was
with
me
when
we
met
him
in
a
lane
going
to
Skelwith
Bridge.
He
looked
very
pretty.
He
was
walking
lazily,
in
the
deep
narrow
lane,
overshadowed
with
the
hedgerows,
his
meal
poke
hung
over
his
shoulder.
He
said
he
"was
going
a
laiting."
Poor
creature!
He
now
wears
the
same
coat
he
had
on
at
that
time.
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