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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
87
Our
numerous
godchildren
were
not
in
school
because,
as
we
have
only
lived
here
three
years,
they
are
not
yet
old
enough
to
share
in
the
blessings
of
education.
I
stand
godmother
to
the
girls,
and
the
Man
of
Wrath
to
the
boys,
and
as
all
the
babies
are
accordingly
named
after
us
the
village
swarms
with
tiny
Elizabeths
and
Boys
of
Wrath.
A
hunchbacked
woman,
unfit
for
harder
work,
looks
after
the
babies
during
the
day
in
a
room
set
apart
for
that
purpose,
so
that
the
mothers
may
not
be
hampered
in
their
duties
at
the
farm;
they
have
only
to
carry
the
babies
there
in
the
morning,
and
fetch
them
away
again
in
the
evening,
and
can
feel
that
they
are
safe
and
well
looked
after.
But
many
of
them,
for
some
reason
too
cryptic
to
fathom,
prefer
to
lock
them
up
in
their
room,
exposed
to
all
the
perils
that
surround
an
inquiring
child
just
able
to
walk,
and
last
winter
one
little
creature
was
burnt
to
death,
sacrificed
to
her
mother's
stupidity.
This
mother,
a
fair
type
of
the
intelligence
prevailing
in
the
village,
made
a
great
fire
in
her
room
before
going
out,
so
that
when
she
came
back
at
noon
there
would
still
be
some
with
which
to
cook
the
dinner,
left
a
baby
in
a
perambulator,
and
a
little
Elizabeth
of
three
loose
in
the
room,
locked
the
door,
put
the
key
in
her
pocket,
and
went
off
to
work.
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