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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
104
I
met
a
carman,
a
Highlander
I
suppose,
with
four
carts,
the
first
three
belonging
to
himself,
the
last
evidently
to
a
man
and
his
family
who
had
joined
company
with
him,
and
who
I
guessed
to
be
potters.
The
carman
was
cheering
his
horses,
and
talking
to
a
little
lass
about
ten
years
of
age
who
seemed
to
make
him
her
companion.
She
ran
to
the
wall,
and
took
up
a
large
stone
to
support
the
wheel
of
one
of
his
carts,
and
ran
on
before
with
it
in
her
arms
to
be
ready
for
him.
She
was
a
beautiful
creature,
and
there
was
something
uncommonly
impressive
in
the
lightness
and
joyousness
of
her
manner.
Her
business
seemed
to
be
all
pleasure--pleasure
in
her
own
motions,
and
the
man
looked
at
her
as
if
he
too
was
pleased,
and
spoke
to
her
in
the
same
tone
in
which
he
spoke
to
his
horses.
There
was
a
wildness
in
her
whole
figure,
not
the
wildness
of
a
Mountain
lass,
but
of
the
Road
lass,
a
traveller
from
her
birth,
who
had
wanted
neither
food
nor
clothes.
Her
mother
followed
the
last
cart
with
a
lovely
child,
perhaps
about
a
year
old,
at
her
back,
and
a
good-looking
girl,
about
fifteen
years
old,
walked
beside
her.
All
the
children
were
like
the
mother.
She
had
a
very
fresh
complexion,
but
she
was
blown
with
fagging
up
the
steep
hill,
and
with
what
she
carried.
Her
husband
was
helping
the
horse
to
drag
the
cart
up
by
pushing
it
with
his
shoulder.
I
reached
home,
and
read
German
till
about
9
o'clock.
I
wrote
to
Coleridge.
Went
to
bed
at
about
12
o'clock....
I
slept
badly,
for
my
thoughts
were
full
of
Wm.
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