Page 253 - sons-and-lovers

grey, cold day, with a sharp wind blowing out of Derbyshire.
Two fields away Bestwood began, with a jumble of roofs and
red house-ends, out of which rose the church tower and
the spire of the Congregational Chapel. And beyond went
woods and hills, right away to the pale grey heights of the
Pennine Chain.
Paul looked down the garden for his mother. Her head
appeared among the young currant-bushes.
‘Come here!’ she cried.
‘What for?’ he answered.
‘Come and see.’
She had been looking at the buds on the currant trees.
Paul went up.
‘To think,’ she said, ‘that here I might never have seen
them!’
Her son went to her side. Under the fence, in a little bed,
was a ravel of poor grassy leaves, such as come from very
immature bulbs, and three scyllas in bloom. Mrs. Morel
pointed to the deep blue flowers.
‘Now, just see those!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was looking at
the currant bushes, when, thinks I to myself, ‘There’s some-
thing very blue; is it a bit of sugar-bag?’ and there, behold
you! Sugar-bag! Three glories of the snow, and such beau-
ties! But where on earth did they come from?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Paul.
‘Well, that’s a marvel, now! I THOUGHT I knew every
weed and blade in this garden. But HAVEN’T they done
well? You see, that gooseberry-bush just shelters them. Not
nipped, not touched!’

Sons and Lovers