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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
241
"We
don't
let
our
boat
out
for
hire,"
she
answered
with
a
smile
so
honest
and
natural
and
spontaneous
that
I
was
already
saying
to
myself
I
had
never
met
with
anything
like
it
at
all
when
she
stretched
up
her
bare,
dairy-maid
arm--strong,
creamy
and
soft,
just
reached
a
big
key
strung
to
a
wooden
block
and
lying
on
the
top
shelf
of
the
dresser
and
at
once
handed
it
to
me
with:
"But
you
are
quite
welcome
to
use
it
and
here
is
the
key
to
the
boathouse."
I
now
felt
certain
that
she
was
one
in
a
million
and
thanked
her
most
awfully.
I
have
never
met
such
swiftly-moving
generosity.
"It's
very
nice
on
the
Lake
just
now,"
she
said.
"I
like
to
lie
in
the
boat
with
a
book
and
let
her
drift."
I
asked
her
if
she
would
not
come
too,
but
this
tight
little
fairy
was
too
busy
in
the
house.
She
is
Clara
Middleton
done
in
earthenware.
Subsequently
R----
and
I
often
visited
the
cottage
and
we
became
great
friends,
her
mother
showing
us
some
letters
she
received
as
a
girl
from
John
Ruskin--a
great
friend
of
hers.
The
gamekeeper
himself
said
that
for
his
part
he
could
never
read
Ruskin's
books--it
was
like
driving
a
springless
cart
over
a
rocky
road.
We
all
laughed
and
I
said
he
was
prejudiced
in
view
of
the
letters
which
began:
"My
darling,"
and
finished
up
"Yr
loving
J.R."
But
Mrs.
----
said
he
had
never
read
them,
and
Madge
(ah!
that
name!)
said
her
father
had
never
shewn
the
least
interest
in
them
at
which
we
laughed
again,
and
the
gamekeeper
laughed
too.
He
is
such
a
jolly
man--they
all
are
delightfully
simple,
charming
folk
and
we
talked
of
Beasts
and
Birds
that
live
on
the
mountains.
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