THE WINDOWbeing "like that" to look at? No one could accuseher of taking pains to impress. She was oftenashamed of her own shabbiness. Nor was she domi-neering, nor was she tyrannical. It was more trueabout hospitals and drains and the dairy. Aboutthings like that she did feel passionately, and would,if she had had the chance, have liked to take peopleby the scruff of their necks and make them see. Nohospital on the whole island. It was a disgrace.Milk delivered at your door in London positivelybrown with dirt. It should be made illegal. A modeldairy and a hospital up here—those two things shewould have liked to do, herself. But how? With allthese children? When they were older, then per-haps she would have time; when they were all atschool.

Oh, but she never wanted James to grow a dayolder! or Cam either. These two she would haveliked to keep for ever just as they were, demons ofwickedness, angels of delight, never to see themgrow up into long-legged monsters. Nothing madeup for the loss. When she read just now to James,"and there were numbers of soldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets," and his eyes darkened, shethought, why should they grow up, and lose allthat? He was the most gifted, the most sensitive ofher children. But all, she thought, were full of89
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