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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
30
Down
there
in
the
rose
beds,
among
the
hundreds
of
buds
there
is
only
one
full-blown
rose
as
yet,
a
Marie
van
Houtte,
one
of
the
loveliest
of
the
tea
roses,
perfect
in
shape
and
scent
and
colour,
and
in
my
garden
always
the
first
rose
to
flower;
and
the
first
flowers
it
bears
are
the
loveliest
of
its
own
lovely
flowers,
as
though
it
felt
that
the
first
of
its
children
to
see
the
sky
and
the
sun
and
the
familiar
garden
after
the
winter
sleep
ought
to
put
on
the
very
daintiest
clothes
they
can
muster
for
such
a
festal
occasion.
Through
the
open
schoolroom
windows
I
can
hear
the
two
eldest
babies
at
their
lessons.
The
village
schoolmaster
comes
over
every
afternoon
and
teaches
them
for
two
hours,
so
that
we
are
free
from
governesses
in
the
house,
and
once
those
two
hours
are
over
they
are
free
for
twenty-four
from
anything
in
the
shape
of
learning.
The
schoolroom
is
next
to
the
verandah,
and
as
two
o'clock
approaches
their
excitement
becomes
more
and
more
intense,
and
they
flutter
up
and
down
the
steps,
looking
in
their
white
dresses
like
angels
on
a
Jacob's
ladder,
or
watch
eagerly
among
the
bushes
for
a
first
glimpse
of
him,
like
miniature
and
perfectly
proper
Isoldes.
He
is
a
kind
giant
with
that
endless
supply
of
patience
so
often
found
in
giants,
especially
when
they
happen
to
be
village
schoolmasters,
and
judging
from
the
amount
of
laughter
I
hear,
the
babies
seem
to
enjoy
their
lessons
in
a
way
they
never
did
before.
Every
day
they
prepare
bouquets
for
him,
and
he
gets
more
of
them
than
a
prima
donna,
or
at
any
rate
a
more
regular
supply.
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