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Literary Lapses
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Stephen Leacock
6
Immediately
before
the
earl
as
he
sat
was
the
family
escutcheon
emblazoned
above
the
mantelpiece.
A
child
might
read
the
simplicity
of
its
proud
significance--an
ox
rampant
quartered
in
a
field
of
gules
with
a
pike
dexter
and
a
dog
intermittent
in
a
plain
parallelogram
right
centre,
with
the
motto,
"Hic,
haec,
hoc,
hujus,
hujus,
hujus."
"Father!"--The
girl's
voice
rang
clear
through
the
half
light
of
the
wainscoted
library.
Gwendoline
Oxhead
had
thrown
herself
about
the
earl's
neck.
The
girl
was
radiant
with
happiness.
Gwendoline
was
a
beautiful
girl
of
thirty-three,
typically
English
in
the
freshness
of
her
girlish
innocence.
She
wore
one
of
those
charming
walking
suits
of
brown
holland
so
fashionable
among
the
aristocracy
of
England,
while
a
rough
leather
belt
encircled
her
waist
in
a
single
sweep.
She
bore
herself
with
that
sweet
simplicity
which
was
her
greatest
charm.
She
was
probably
more
simple
than
any
girl
of
her
age
for
miles
around.
Gwendoline
was
the
pride
of
her
father's
heart,
for
he
saw
reflected
in
her
the
qualities
of
his
race.
"Father,"
she
said,
a
blush
mantling
her
fair
face,
"I
am
so
happy,
oh
so
happy;
Edwin
has
asked
me
to
be
his
wife,
and
we
have
plighted
our
troth--at
least
if
you
consent.
For
I
will
never
marry
without
my
father's
warrant,"
she
added,
raising
her
head
proudly;
"I
am
too
much
of
an
Oxhead
for
that."
Then
as
she
gazed
into
the
old
earl's
stricken
face,
the
girl's
mood
changed
at
once.
"Father,"
she
cried,
"father,
are
you
ill?
What
is
it?
Shall
I
ring?"
As
she
spoke
Gwendoline
reached
for
the
heavy
bell-rope
that
hung
beside
the
wall,
but
the
earl,
fearful
that
her
frenzied
efforts
might
actually
make
it
ring,
checked
her
hand.
"I
am,
indeed,
deeply
troubled,"
said
Lord
Oxhead,
"but
of
that
anon.
Tell
me
first
what
is
this
news
you
bring.
I
hope,
Gwendoline,
that
your
choice
has
been
worthy
of
an
Oxhead,
and
that
he
to
whom
you
have
plighted
your
troth
will
be
worthy
to
bear
our
motto
with
his
own."
And,
raising
his
eyes
to
the
escutcheon
before
him,
the
earl
murmured
half
unconsciously,
"Hic,
haec,
hoc,
hujus,
hujus,
hujus,"
breathing
perhaps
a
prayer
as
many
of
his
ancestors
had
done
before
him
that
he
might
never
forget
it.
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