Women of the Country

Women of the Country, by
Gertrude Bone

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Title: Women of the Country
Author: Gertrude Bone
Release Date: August 25, 2004 [EBook #13278]
Language: English
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Women of the Country
THE ROADMENDER SERIES Uniform with this Volume

The Roadmender. By MICHAEL FAIRLESS. The Gathering of
Brother Hilarius. By MICHAEL FAIRLESS. The Grey Brethren. By
MICHAEL FAIRLESS. A Modern Mystic's Way. (Dedicated to
Michael Fairless.) Magic Casements. By ARTHUR S. CRIPPS.
Thoughts of Leonardo da Vinci, as recorded in his Note-Books. Edited
by EDWARD MCCURDY. The Sea Charm of Venice. By
STOPFORD A. BROOKE. Longings. By W.D. MCKAY. From the
Forest. By W. SCOTT PALMER. Pilgrim Man. By W. SCOTT
PALMER. Winter and Spring. By W. SCOTT PALMER. Michael
Fairless: Life and Writings. By W. SCOTT PALMER and A.M.
HAGGARD. Vagrom Men. By A.T. STORY. Light and Twilight. By
EDWARD THOMAS. Rest and Unrest. By EDWARD THOMAS.
Rose Acre Papers: including Horæ Solitaræ. By EDWARD THOMAS.
[Illustration]
Women of the Country
By
Gertrude Bone
With Frontispiece by Muirhead Bone

London
Duckworth & Co.
Henrietta Street, W.C.

Published 1913

WOMEN OF THE COUNTRY

CHAPTER I
When I was a child I lived in a small sea-coast town, with wide, flat
sands. The only beautiful thing in the place--a town of no
distinction--were the sunsets over this vast, level expanse. I remember
them at intervals, as one recalls things seen passing in a train through a
solitary landscape. I seem to see myself, a child with a child's
imagination, standing on those wet sands, looking out over their purple
immensity to the glittering line of the tide on the horizon, and to see
again the sun in such a wide heaven that it seemed to have the world to
itself, and to watch the changes in the sky as it sank, drawing with it the
light. These great sands were dangerous at times, shifting in whirling
and irresistible rushes of water, and changing the course of the channel,
which was unaltered by the tide and which always lay out a gleaming
artery from the almost invisible sea.
It was Sunday morning--a day observed with such precision in that
little town that I was almost alone out of doors. A string of cart-horses,
their day of rest well-earned, were being led across the sands from the
level tide. The sand, uncovered by the sea for weeks, was bleached to
an intolerable whiteness, but there was no wind to lift it, and the sea
was tranquil, its little waves all hastening in one direction, like a shoal
of fish making for a haven. The sun was already changing its early
glory to heat. All the erections for amusement on the shore looked a
little foolish in that solitude. I returned to the town along the empty
asphalt roads and went with my companions to church. It was a church
whose pretensions were high and genteel. Nothing of a personal nature
was ever heard from its well-bred pulpit. The hymns were discreetly
chosen to avoid excitement, and a conversion would have given offence.
The minister for that day was a young man from the poorer end of the
town, and I remember, even as a child, being disturbed by the
announcement of his first hymn, "Rock of Ages." Even the organ
blundered as it played so common a tune as Rousseau's Dream, and I,
who learning counterpoint, feared to be seen singing so ordinary a
melody, lest it should set me down as unmusical for ever. But soon my
concern was with the unfortunate young man, for he was, I felt sure,
quite ignorant of the habits of such congregations as ours, and would

certainly offend our best people. For after that we read the parable of
the Prodigal Son and sang, "The Sands of Time are Sinking." Then I
forgot even this curious lapse from our Sunday custom, so clearly did
the tale now begun by the preacher bring again before my eyes those
inhuman sands, that lonely sky, and the unstayed power of the sea.
He had chosen, so he said, for his service this morning the favourite
hymns, Scripture, and text of an obscure member of the congregation
taken from earth in a strange manner the day before. For more years
than he could remember, there had come and gone