Читать книгу Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses онлайн | страница 1

Emily Sarah Holt

Published by Good Press, 2022

[email protected]

EAN 4064066097646

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"Ah, God will never let us plant

Our tent-poles in the sand,

But ever, e'er the blossom buds,

We hear the dread command,—

'Arise and get thee hence away,

Unto another land.'"

"Frid!" said little Dorathie in a whisper.

Frid held up a hushing finger with a smile.

"Frid!" came again; in a tone which showed that tears were not very far from Dorathie's blue eyes.

Frid's hand was held out in reply, and little Dorathie, understanding the gesture, sidled along the window-seat until she reached her sister in the opposite corner. There, nestled up close to Frideswide, and held fast by her arm, Dorathie put the melancholy question which was troubling her repose.

"Frid, be you going hence?—verily going?"

The answering nod was a decided affirmative.

"But both of you?—both thee and Agnes?"

Another silent, uncompromising nod from Frideswide.

"O Frid, I shall be all alone! Whatever must I do?"

And the tears came running from the blue eyes.

"Serve my Lady my grandmother," Frideswide whispered back.

"But that is—only—being useful," sobbed Dorathie, "and I—want to—be happy."

"Being useful is being happy," said her sister.

"I would being happy were being useful," was Dorathie's lugubrious answer. "They never go together—not with me."

"So do they alway with me," replied Frideswide.

"Oh, thou! Thou art a woman grown," said Dorathie with a pout.

"Right an old woman," said Frideswide with a sparkle of fun in her eyes, for she was not quite twenty. Dorathie was only eight, and in her estimation Frideswide had attained a venerable age. "But list, Doll! My Lady calleth thee."