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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
74
They
stood
hand
in
hand,
she
in
a
decent
black
dress,
and
both
wearing
very
tight
white
kid
gloves
that
refused
to
hide
entirely
the
whole
of
the
rough
red
hands,
and
they
looked
so
ridiculously
young,
and
the
whole
thing
was
so
wildly
improvident,
that
no
words
of
exhortation
would
come
to
my
lips
as
I
gazed
at
them
in
silence,
between
laughter
and
tears.
I
ought
to
have
told
them
they
were
sinners;
I
ought
to
have
told
them
they
were
reckless;
I
ought
to
have
told
them
by
what
a
narrow
chance
they
had
escaped
the
just
punishment
of
their
iniquity,
and
instead
of
that
I
found
myself
stretching
out
hands
that
were
at
once
seized
and
kissed,
and
merely
saying
with
a
cheerful
smile,
"Nun
Kinder,
liebt
Euch,
und
seid
brav."
And
so
they
were
dismissed,
and
then
the
parson
came,
in
a
fever
at
this
latest
example
of
deadly
sin,
while
I,
with
the
want
of
moral
sense
so
often
observable
in
woman,
could
only
think
with
pity
of
their
childishness.
The
baby
was
born
three
days
later,
and
the
mother
very
nearly
slipped
through
our
fingers;
but
she
was
a
country
girl,
and
she
fought
round,
and
by
and
by
grew
young
again
in
the
warmth
of
married
respectability;
and
I
met
her
the
other
day
airing
her
baby
in
the
sun,
and
holding
her
head
as
high
as
though
she
were
conscious
of
a
whole
row
of
feather
beds
at
home,
every
one
of
which
touched
the
ceiling.
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