Yr Ynys Unyg; or, The lonely island

by Julia de Winton

And so it was quite ready, and with what pride and satisfaction we viewed it. We took little private excursions around it; we made innumerable drives into it; we gave it affectionate little pattings, as if it was a child; we smoothed down little inequalities; we utterly denied the existence of a smell of paint, an idea hazarded by Madame. Schillie had a doubt it was rather on one side, which doubt was driven to the winds. Sybil suggested a wish that it had been made higher, for which she was scouted by the older ones, and nearly tickled to death by the younger ones. Not even the remembrance of our home put us out of conceit of our new, but certainly most clumsy mansion. Oh home! That lovely home? Are we to see it again, or is it only to be seen in a dream of the past; and our kith and kin, our kind good neighbours, all that we loved so much, were we to see them no more? But this was Christmas-day.

The young ones had swept and decorated our church, as well as they could in imitation of the churches at home. Certainly nothing could be more gorgeous than the long trailing creepers that hung suspended all round, some with scarlet flowers, some bright blue, the magnificent hibiscus, the beautiful bell-shaped datura, with innumerable others, to which we could give no names.

This was to be a complete holiday. We dressed in silks and satins, we exchanged gifts, we offered to each other the proper Christmas greeting. Can I say that no heart was sad, that no remembrance of past Christmases haunted the celebration of this day? It is but too true that sad thoughts arose, but they were not for ourselves.

I must, however, proceed with the opening of the new house, which was also to have a name given it. After church we all helped to get dinner ready. Schillie cooked with Jenny, being determined to have some superb turtle soup. I made by her orders some lime punch, Hargrave boiled vegetables of all kinds, the girls got fruit and flowers, Madame arranged them, and the boys were getting the fish. I went into the kitchen to ask Schillie some question relative to the punch, and was sent out with a word and a blow almost. Her face was blazing like a warming pan, the soup was at its most important crisis. Gatty hearing the explosion of wrath, came as was her usual custom to join in the mêlée, also got a shower of invectives, but, knowing the soup-pot could not be left, she stood her ground, and occupied herself in various petty acts of mischief. For instance, the new cook had a perfect series of cloths and such like articles pinned to her when she made her appearance. Hargrave found all the gourds and pipkins into which she had put the vegetables changed, and, not being naturally sweet tempered, she declared, "Miss Gertrude was the most aggravatingest creature she ever met, and she would not serve her for a pound a day." But all ended well, and the dinner was served. We had boiled chickens at the top, and roast chickens at the bottom, and we had roast ducks on both sides, and the great bowl of turtle soup was in the middle, with two jugs of lime punch each side, and we had guava jelly in two places, and a pumpkin pie, and roasted yams, and rice and fruit mixed together of all kinds. In fact, it was a perfect Lord Mayor's feast. Schillie had insisted on dining like Christians, as she called it, with dinner napkins and finger glasses. The rest of the dinner table was covered with fruits and flowers, such as I am sure no Lord Mayor ever saw at his table. Grace was said. Schillie, with the dinner napkin spread out with an air, her face still glowing, but bland in the extreme knowing that she had achieved a triumph of cookery, proceeded to serve the soup. I being the first to taste it pronounced it delicious. Madame thought it the best she had ever tasted! when we heard an exclamation from Schillie, "In the name of all that's ridiculous what's in the soup?" said she, turning wrathfully to Jenny. "Indeed, Madam, you poured it out of the pan yourself, and I only brought it in." "What can it be, here is something hard at the bottom rolling about, and I declare everything was stewed to a sponge when I last stirred it," continued she in rising choler.

Gatty (rising with great alacrity).—"If you please, little Mother, shall I try to fish it out?"

Schillie.—"Fish fiddlesticks out, indeed, Miss Gatty. Ah you may look as demure as you like, I'll be bound you are at the bottom of this mischief. I remember now, when I was taking off these rags you pinned on me, my back was turned. Now, tell me this instant, you young crocodile, what have you been putting in the soup?"

Gatty.—"If you please, little Mother, don't be so angry, it's only a stone, and I washed it quite clean."

Schillie.—"Then take that stone for your dinner, Miss, and nothing else shall you have."

This threat of course went for nothing, and Gatty had as much dinner as any of us, and, perhaps, rather more, considering that she was nearly the biggest of us all, and also never being still, she required more nourishment to keep up the demand upon the constitution.

We made Jenny and Hargrave dine with us. Hargrave mincing her words, looking dignified, and eating next to nothing, because she thought it more ladylike; while Jenny sat between her two dear boys, and made nearly as much noise as they did, swallowing all they made her taste out of their own plates, though she was helped out of the same dishes they were. The chattering on all sides could only equal the eating. I proposed the health of the new house with the first glass of lime punch. This was drank with great applause, and a discussion ensued as to what we should call it.