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第48部分（第2页）

simply；　as　if　he　were　alive。　Sometimes　the　tears　would　run　down

her　face；　in　helpless　sadness。　Then　she　recovered；　and　was

herself　again；　happy。

On　wet　days；　she　stayed　in　bed。　Her　bedroom　was　her　city　of

refuge；　where　she　could　lie　down　and　muse　and　muse。　Sometimes

Fred　would　read　to　her。　But　that　did　not　mean　much。　She　had　so

many　dreams　to　dream　over；　such　an　unsifted　store。　She　wanted

time。

Her　chief　friend　at　this　period　was　Ursula。　The　little　girl

and　the　musing；　fragile　woman　of　sixty　seemed　to　understand　the

same　language。　At　Cossethay　all　was　activity　and　passion；

everything　moved　upon　poles　of　passion。　Then　there　were　four

children　younger　than　Ursula；　a　throng　of　babies；　all　the　time

many　lives　beating　against　each　other。

So　that　for　the　eldest　child；　the　peace　of　the　grandmothers

bedroom　was　exquisite。　Here　Ursula　came　as　to　a　hushed；

paradisal　land；　here　her　own　existence　became　simple　and

exquisite　to　her　as　if　she　were　a　flower。

Always　on　Saturdays　she　came　down　to　the　Marsh；　and　always

clutching　a　little　offering；　either　a　little　mat　made　of　strips

of　coloured；　woven　paper；　or　a　tiny　basket　made　in　the

kindergarten　lesson；　or　a　little　crayon　drawing　of　a　bird。

When　she　appeared　in　the　doorway；　Tilly；　ancient　but　still　in

authority；　would　crane　her　skinny　neck　to　see　who　it　was。

〃Oh；　its　you；　is　it？〃　she　said。　〃I　thought　we　should　be

seein　you。　My　word；　thats　a　bobby…dazzlin　posy　youve

brought！〃

It　was　curious　how　Tilly　preserved　the　spirit　of　Tom

Brangwen；　who　was　dead；　in　the　Marsh。　Ursula　always　connected

her　with　her　grandfather。

This　day　the　child　had　brought　a　tight　little　nosegay　of

pinks；　white　ones；　with　a　rim　of　pink　ones。　She　was　very　proud

of　it；　and　very　shy　because　of　her　pride。

〃Your　granmothers　in　her　bed。　Wipe　your　shoes　well　if

youre　goin　up；　and　dont　go　burstin　in　on　her　like　a