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Chapters (44)
  1. Lark Rise to Candleford
  2. Copyright
  3. LARK RISE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. OVER TO CANDLEFORD
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  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
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  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. CANDLEFORD GREEN
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  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39

During this long speech the young man had broken in several times with such ejaculations as “That’s all very well” or “Not half”, but he was spared the necessity for any formal comment upon what was almost a lecture by a sound of scuffling and “Whoa-a-s!” and “Come up nows!” in the street, which caused him to cram on the shoe which Tom had been attending to and run. But, a few minutes later, very flushed and hot-looking, he came to the open window and said: “That mare of mine’s got the spirit of a racehorse. A moment more and she’d been off! Got an idea I’ll bring my wife next week; she could hold the reins and read her book while I was inside anywhere, and the outing might do her good. So long, Mr. Whitbread. I must go or she’ll kick the cart to bits.”

Laura never knew if the mare kicked the cart to bits; or if the young couple’s own little applecart of happiness was overturned or steadied; but she can still see the young husband’s face, flushed and distorted with indignation beneath the white straw “boater,” moored so modishly to his button-hole by a black cord, and her Uncle Tom’s pale and grizzled and serious, looking up at him through his spectacles as he said: “Bite on it, my boy. Bite on it.”

27

Candleford Green

On one of her visits to Candleford, Laura herself found a friend, and one whose influence was to shape the whole outward course of her life.

An old friend of her mother’s named Dorcas Lane kept the Post Office at Candleford Green, and one year, when she heard that Laura was staying so near her, she asked her and her cousins to go over to tea. Only Molly would go; the others said it was too hot for walking, that Miss Lane was faddy and old-fashioned, and that there was no one to talk to at Candleford Green and nothing to see. So Laura, Edmund, and Molly went.

Candleford Green was at that time a separate village. In a few years it was to become part of Candleford. Already the rows of villas were stretching out towards it; but as yet the green with its spreading oak with the white-painted seats, its roofed-in well with the chained bucket, its church spire soaring out of trees, and its clusters of old cottages, was untouched by change.