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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Golden Scarecrow"


"Good-morning, mum. Good-morning, mum. Now, Miss 'Lina, thank your kind
aunties for their beautiful presents."
She stood up, clutching the doll.
"T'ank you, Auntie Vi'let; t'ank you, Auntie Em'ly--your lovely
pwesents."
"That's right, Angelina. I hope you'll use them sensibly. What's that
she's holding, nurse?"
"It's a doll Mr. Edward's sent her, mum."
"What a hideous creature! Edward might have chosen something---- Time for
her to go out, nurse, I think--now, while the sun's warm."
But she did not hear. She did not know that they had gone. She sat there
in a dreamy ecstasy rocking the red-cheeked creature in her arms,
seeing, with her black eyes, visions and the beauty of a thousand
worlds.

III
The name Rose was given to her. Rose had been kept, as a name, until
some one worthy should arrive.... "Wosie Bwaid," a very good name. Her
nakedness was clothed first in Rachel's bridesmaid's attire--alas! poor
Rachel!--but the lace and finery did not suit those flaming red cheeks
and beady black eyes. Rose was, there could be no question, a daughter
of the soil; good red blood ran through her stout veins.


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