Neighbours on the Green

NEIGHBOURS ON THE GREEN
MRS. OLIPHANT ‘Old wives’ tales.’ London MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1889 All Rights Reserved. Richard Clay and Sons, Limited, LONDON AND BUNGAY. Inscribed TO SEVERAL OLD FRIENDS, AND ESPECIALLY TO THE GALLANT SOLDIER AND WRITER, General George Chesney, AND THE DISTINGUISHED CRITIC AND PHILOSOPHER, Mr. R. H. Hutton, WHO AT THE TIME THESE STORIES WERE WRITTEN GAVE DISTINCTION TO THE GREEN.

They were both my neighbours, of course: but to apportion one’s heart’s love in equal shares according to the claims of justice is a very different matter. I saw as much of one sister as the other. And Martha was an excellent girl, quite honest and friendly and good; but as for Ellen, there never could be any question about her. One did not even think of discriminating which were her special good qualities. She was Ellen, that was enough; or Nelly, which I prefer, for my part. We all lived at Dinglefield Green in these old days. It is a model of a village, in one sense of the word; not the kind of place, it is true, to which the name is generally applied, but a village orné , as there are cottages ornés . The real little hamlet, where the poor people lived, was at a little distance, and gave us plenty of occupation and trouble. But for Dinglefield Green proper, it was such a village as exists chiefly in novels. The Green was the central point, a great triangular breadth of soft grass, more like a small common than a village green, with the prettiest houses round—houses inclosed in their own grounds,—houses at the very least embosomed in pretty gardens, peeping out from among the trees. None of us were very rich; nor was there anything that could be called a ‘place’ in the circle of dwellings. But I believe there was as much good blood and good connection among us as are rarely to be found even in a much larger community. The great house opposite, which was separated from the green by a ha-ha, and opened to us only a pretty sweep of lawn, looking almost like a park, belonged to Sir Thomas Denzil, whose pedigree, as everybody knows, is longer than the Queen’s. Next to him was Mrs. Stoke’s pretty cottage who was—one of the Stokes who have given their name to places all over the country: the son is now General Stoke, a C.B., and I don’t know what besides: and her daughter married Lord Leamington. Next to that—but it is needless to give a directory of the place: probably our neighbours, in their different habitations, may appear in their proper persons before my story is done.