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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
88
When
she
came
back
to
get
the
dinner
ready,
the
baby
was
still
crowing
placidly
in
its
perambulator,
and
the
little
Elizabeth,
with
all
the
clothes
burnt
off
her
body,
was
lying
near
the
grate
dead.
Of
course
the
mother
was
wild
with
grief,
distracted,
raving,
desperate,
and
of
course
all
the
other
women
were
shocked
and
horrified;
but
point
the
moral
as
we
might,
we
could
not
bring
them
to
see
that
it
was
an
avoidable
misfortune
with
nothing
whatever
to
do
with
the
Finger
Gottes,
and
the
mothers
who
preferred
locking
their
babies
up
alone
to
sending
them
to
be
looked
after,
went
on
doing
so
as
undisturbed
as
though
what
had
occurred
could
in
no
wise
be
a
lesson
to
themselves.
"Pray,
Herr
Lehrer,
why
are
those
two
little
boys
sitting
over
there
on
that
seat
all
by
themselves
and
not
singing?"
I
asked
at
the
conclusion
of
the
hymn.
"That,
gracious
lady,
is
the
vermin
bench.
It
is
necessary
to
keep--"
"Oh
yes,
yes--I
quite
understand--good
afternoon.
Good-bye,
children,
you
have
sung
very
nicely
indeed."
"Now,"
said
I
to
myself,
when
I
was
safely
out
in
the
street
again,
"I
am
going
home."
"Oh,
not
yet,"
at
once
protested
my
unmanageable
conscience;
"your
favourite
old
woman
lives
in
the
next
cottage,
and
surely
you
are
not
going
to
leave
her
out?"
"I
see
plainly,"
I
replied,
"that
I
shall
never
be
quite
comfortable
till
I
have
got
rid
of
you"
and
in
I
went
to
the
next
house.
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