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Unforgotten Classics
Through Welsh Doorways - Illustrated edition
Through Welsh Doorways - Illustrated edition
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Excerpt:
“Aye, it was somethin’ like this: coo-o. Dear, let me see, every year I’ve heard it, an’ David he does it. Coo-o-o! Tut, that sounds like a hen.” Annie peered about her. “Cu, cu,” then she shook with silent laughter. “I know! it goes over and over again, sing-song, sing-song, like this: cu-cu, cu-cu. Aye, that’s better.” Practising the song Annie rocked herself backwards and forwards. “It’s growing better!” she exclaimed, “but, lad, lad, I’m plannin’ to deceive ye”; and the tears rolled out of her old eyes. She brushed the tears away impatiently and began the song again: “Cucu-cu, cucu-cu, cucucucu, cu; aye, that’s fair, aye, it’s fine! He’ll not know me from a real cuckoo. I’ll have to be tryin’ it now, for ye’ve no long, dearie.”
Annie went down into the valley, humming the bird-notes over to herself lest she forget what she had learned. She lifted her short skirts and waded through the marshy places; in her eagerness she was unmindful of the pasture-bogs, her seventy years, her weary body; and her sparse grey hair lay damp on her forehead. In her mother-heart was but one thought: bringing his wish to Davie. Gasping she reached the southern corner of the cottage garden, and there leaned on a trellis for support till she could get her breath. Completely engrossed in what she was to do, she did not think to look about her, she did not listen for possible approaching footsteps, and even Davie had slipped in importance a wee bit behind the cuckoo song. Finally she drew a long breath and began; she paused a moment, then repeated the song, softly, slowly. Pleased with her success, she sang the song again, very softly, very slowly, till it sounded much as if it came from a distance somewhere by the stream near the mill wheel.
“Aye, it was somethin’ like this: coo-o. Dear, let me see, every year I’ve heard it, an’ David he does it. Coo-o-o! Tut, that sounds like a hen.” Annie peered about her. “Cu, cu,” then she shook with silent laughter. “I know! it goes over and over again, sing-song, sing-song, like this: cu-cu, cu-cu. Aye, that’s better.” Practising the song Annie rocked herself backwards and forwards. “It’s growing better!” she exclaimed, “but, lad, lad, I’m plannin’ to deceive ye”; and the tears rolled out of her old eyes. She brushed the tears away impatiently and began the song again: “Cucu-cu, cucu-cu, cucucucu, cu; aye, that’s fair, aye, it’s fine! He’ll not know me from a real cuckoo. I’ll have to be tryin’ it now, for ye’ve no long, dearie.”
Annie went down into the valley, humming the bird-notes over to herself lest she forget what she had learned. She lifted her short skirts and waded through the marshy places; in her eagerness she was unmindful of the pasture-bogs, her seventy years, her weary body; and her sparse grey hair lay damp on her forehead. In her mother-heart was but one thought: bringing his wish to Davie. Gasping she reached the southern corner of the cottage garden, and there leaned on a trellis for support till she could get her breath. Completely engrossed in what she was to do, she did not think to look about her, she did not listen for possible approaching footsteps, and even Davie had slipped in importance a wee bit behind the cuckoo song. Finally she drew a long breath and began; she paused a moment, then repeated the song, softly, slowly. Pleased with her success, she sang the song again, very softly, very slowly, till it sounded much as if it came from a distance somewhere by the stream near the mill wheel.
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