“Was that one of your great-grandmother’s stories?” asked the little boy.
“Yes,” said the grandmother. “Don’t you like it?”
“I like it a little—the first part of it,” said the little boy. “But——”
“Remember your promise!” said the grandmother.
CHAPTER XX
TRINITY-MONDAY
You would hardly know the village. As you looked down the street it would seem as if a forest of tall masts and poles had suddenly sprung up. Before every house they stood, two tall uprights—very, very tall—with a beam across the top, and from the beam two very long poles hanging, with a board connecting the lower ends. Yes, they were swings, but not swings like yours, for they were made of these long, long poles instead of ropes.
The sun was hardly up when the little boy came out of the court and made a dash for the swing. There were boys and girls on every swing as far as you could see down the street, and in some of them were fathers and mothers, too, for Trinity-Monday is a great holiday, and no one works who is not obliged to.
It was still very early. The hot mid-summer sun had hardly peeped above the distant hills. The little boy had a long, long day for swinging.