An exquisitely simple pastoral, a ballet in words, of a little cottage girl.
ad not yet fallen on that poverty which came to their roof under Aunt Senath's shrewish management) standing as one wisht beside the great red earthen pan of scalded cream.
"And 'ee can b'lieve me or no as it like 'ee, my dears," old Madgy would say to many a breathless circle in a farm kitchen during the intervals of her duties overstairs, "but there was the cream in the pan a-heavin' up an' down in gurt waves, like a rough sea, and her staring at 'en like one stricken, as she was poor sawl, sure enough. Eh, it was sent for a sign to her, and a true sign, for that avenen' her man was drowned on his way to her, with his fine cargo of oil and onions and all. And there was the cream heavin' in waves for a sign of the rough seas that took him, though wi' us the skies was fair and the water in the bay as smooth as silk."
A story that filled simple souls in kitchens with awe, but naturally was treated more scornfully in drawing-rooms, where it was felt that signs and portents would hardly be sent to
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