GREEN GRAVES 



For years afterwards I never walked away fromthat little 

 churchyard, even in the large and cheerful company of my 

 sisters, clutching the solid hand of governess or nurse, 

 without the nightmare terror coming on me again. Not 

 a word did I breathe of it, of course / but I would 

 look back over my shoulder, at every turn of the 

 road, horribly expecting to see those uncanny 

 green hounds on the trace of my miserable 

 little heels. 



It was only in my walks I feared, however. 

 When driving backwards and forwards to 

 Mass I felt I could defy the graves. We 

 always drove to the Sunday Mass. How 

 vivid are the impressions of those early 

 days ! As I write I have before me the 

 whole scene. Just before the cracked 

 bell ceased ringing, we would file up 

 the little front aisle and enter the pew 

 reserved for us ,- my mother very solemn, 

 with what we called her church face/ 

 our two governesses and we children. 

 In summer each of the four little girls 

 wore a new starched, very full-skirted print 

 frock / and the one little boy of the party a 

 white duck suit equally stiff from the wash. 

 Our wooden pew ran on the right side of the W 

 Sanctuary rails and was shut off by a little door from the 

 rest of the chapel. It had long bright red rep cushions, and 

 the wood-work was painted a peculiarly pale yellow, hand- 

 somely and wormily grained! Just opposite to us, the 

 better class farmers' families were installed/ and every 



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