The Rainbow

It was curious how Tilly preserved the spirit of Tom

Brangwen, who was dead, in the Marsh. Ursula always connected

her with her grandfather.

This day the child had brought a tight little nosegay of

pinks, white ones, with a rim of pink ones. She was very proud

of it, and very shy because of her pride.

"Your gran'mother's in her bed. Wipe your shoes well if

you're goin' up, and don't go burstin' in on her like a

skyrocket. My word, but that's a fine posy! Did you do it all by

yourself, an' all?"

Tilly stealthily ushered her into the bedroom. The child

entered with a strange, dragging hesitation characteristic of

her when she was moved. Her grandmother was sitting up in bed,

wearing a little grey woollen jacket.

The child hesitated in silence near the bed, clutching the

nosegay in front of her. Her childish eyes were shining. The

grandmother's grey eyes shone with a similar light.

"How pretty!" she said. "How pretty you have made them! What

a darling little bunch."

Ursula, glowing, thrust them into her grandmother's hand,

saying, "I made them you."

"That is how the peasants tied them at home," said the

grandmother, pushing the pinks with her fingers, and smelling

them. "Just such tight little bunches! And they make wreaths for

their hair--they weave the stalks. Then they go round with

wreaths in their hair, and wearing their best aprons."

Ursula immediately imagined herself in this story-land.

"Did you used to have a wreath in your hair,

grandmother?"

"When I was a little girl, I had golden hair, something like

Katie's. Then I used to have a wreath of little blue flowers,

oh, so blue, that come when the snow is gone. Andrey, the

coachman, used to bring me the very first."

They talked, and then Tilly brought the tea-tray, set for

two. Ursula had a special green and gold cup kept for herself at

the Marsh. There was thin bread and butter, and cress for tea.

It was all special and wonderful. She ate very daintily, with

little fastidious bites.

"Why do you have two wedding-rings, grandmother?--Must

you?" asked the child, noticing her grandmother's ivory coloured

hand with blue veins, above the tray.

"If I had two husbands, child."

Ursula pondered a moment.

"Then you must wear both rings together?"

"Yes."

"Which was my grandfather's ring?"

The woman hesitated.

"This grandfather whom you knew? This was his ring, the red

one. The yellow one was your other grandfather's whom you never

knew."

Ursula looked interestedly at the two rings on the proffered

finger.

"Where did he buy it you?" she asked.

"This one? In Warsaw, I think."

"You didn't know my own grandfather then?"

"Not this grandfather."

Ursula pondered this fascinating intelligence.

"Did he have white whiskers as well?"