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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
93
Saturday,
January
30th.--A
cold
dark
morning.
William
chopped
wood.
I
brought
it
in
a
basket....
He
asked
me
to
set
down
the
story
of
Barbara
Wilkinson's
turtle
dove.
Barbara
is
an
old
maid.
She
had
two
turtle
doves.
One
of
them
died,
the
first
year
I
think.
The
other
continued
to
live
alone
in
its
cage
for
nine
years,
but
for
one
whole
year
it
had
a
companion
and
daily
visitor--a
little
mouse,
that
used
to
come
and
feed
with
it;
and
the
dove
would
carry
it
and
cover
it
over
with
its
wings,
and
make
a
loving
noise
to
it.
The
mouse,
though
it
did
not
testify
equal
delight
in
the
dove's
company,
was
yet
at
perfect
ease.
The
poor
mouse
disappeared,
and
the
dove
was
left
solitary
till
its
death.
It
died
of
a
short
sickness,
and
was
buried
under
a
tree,
with
funeral
ceremony
by
Barbara
and
her
maidens,
and
one
or
two
others.
On
Saturday,
30th,
Wm.
worked
at
The
Pedlar
all
the
morning.
He
kept
the
dinner
waiting
till
four
o'clock.
He
was
much
tired....
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