I knocked at the door of Sunbeam Cottage the other morning to know if they had a boat for hire. The door was promptly opened by a plump, charming little wench of about 17, and I caught a glimpse of the kitchen with its gunrack holding two fowling pieces, a grandfather clock in one corner and a dresser full of blueish china.
"We don't let our boat out for hire," she answered with a smile so honest and natural and spontaneous that I was already saying to myself I had never met with anything like it at all when she stretched up her bare, dairy-maid arm—strong, creamy and soft, just reached a big key strung to a wooden block and lying on the top shelf of the dresser and at once handed it to me with:
"But you are quite welcome to use it and here is the key to the boathouse."
I now felt certain that she was one in a million and thanked her most awfully. I have never met such swiftly-moving generosity.
"It's very nice on the Lake just now," she said. "I like to lie in the boat with a book and let her drift."
I asked her if she would not come too, but this tight little fairy was too busy in the house. She is Clara Middleton done in earthenware.
Subsequently R—— and I often visited the cottage and we became great friends, her mother showing us some letters she received as a girl from John Ruskin—a great friend of hers. The gamekeeper himself said that for his part he could never read Ruskin's books—it was like driving a springless cart over a rocky road. We all laughed and I said he was prejudiced in view of the letters which began: "My darling," and finished up "Yr loving J.R."
But Mrs. —— said he had never read them, and Madge (ah! that name!) said her father had never shewn the least interest in them at which we laughed again, and the gamekeeper laughed too. He is such a jolly man—they all are delightfully simple, charming folk and we talked of Beasts and Birds that live on the mountains.
September 4.
Bathed in the Lake from the boat. It was brilliantly fine. R—— dipped her paddles in occasionally just to keep the boat from grounding. Then I clambered over the bows and stood up to dry myself in the sun like one of Mr. Tuke's young men.