CHAPTER XVII
THAT Friday made the last of our fine days for a month. In the
evening the weather broke: the wind shifted from south to north-
east, and brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. On the
morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of
summer: the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry
drifts; the larks were silent, the young leaves of the early trees
smitten and blackened. And dreary, and chill, and dismal, that
morrow did creep over! My master kept his room; I took possession
of the lonely parlour, converting it into a nursery: and there I
was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid on my knee;
rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still driving
flakes build up the uncurtained window, when the door opened, and
some person entered, out of breath and laughing! My anger was
greater than my astonishment for a minute. I supposed it one of
the maids, and I cried - 'Have done! How dare you show your
giddiness here; What would Mr. Linton say if he heard you?'
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