The Rainbow

The child ran about absorbed in life, quiet, full of

amusement. She did not notice things, nor changes nor

alterations. One day she would find daisies in the grass,

another day, apple-blossoms would be sprinkled white on the

ground, and she would run among it, for pleasure because it was

there. Yet again birds would be pecking at the cherries, her

father would throw cherries down from the tree all round her on

the garden. Then the fields were full of hay.

She did not remember what had been nor what would be, the

outside things were there each day. She was always herself, the

world outside was accidental. Even her mother was accidental to

her: a condition that happened to endure.

Only her father occupied any permanent position in the

childish consciousness. When he came back she remembered vaguely

how he had gone away, when he went away she knew vaguely that

she must wait for his coming back. Whereas her mother, returning

from an outing, merely became present, there was no reason for

connecting her with some previous departure.

The return or the departure of the father was the one event

which the child remembered. When he came, something woke up in

her, some yearning. She knew when he was out of joint or

irritable or tired: then she was uneasy, she could not rest.

When he was in the house, the child felt full and warm, rich

like a creature in the sunshine. When he was gone, she was

vague, forgetful. When he scolded her even, she was often more

aware of him than of herself. He was her strength and her

greater self.

Ursula was three years old when another baby girl was born.

Then the two small sisters were much together, Gudrun and

Ursula. Gudrun was a quiet child who played for hours alone,

absorbed in her fancies. She was brown-haired, fair-skinned,

strangely placid, almost passive. Yet her will was indomitable,

once set. From the first she followed Ursula's lead. Yet she was

a thing to herself, so that to watch the two together was

strange. They were like two young animals playing together but

not taking real notice of each other. Gudrun was the mother's

favourite--except that Anna always lived in her latest

baby.

The burden of so many lives depending on him wore the youth

down. He had his work in the office, which was done purely by

effort of will: he had his barren passion for the church; he had

three young children. Also at this time his health was not good.

So he was haggard and irritable, often a pest in the house. Then

he was told to go to his woodwork, or to the church.

Between him and the little Ursula there came into being a

strange alliance. They were aware of each other. He knew the

child was always on his side. But in his consciousness he

counted it for nothing. She was always for him. He took it for

granted. Yet his life was based on her, even whilst she was a

tiny child, on her support and her accord.