Title:  Nancy

Author:  Rhoda Broughton

Release Date:  May 9, 2004 [EBook #12304]

Language:  English

Character set encoding:  ASCII

*** Start of this project gutenberg EBOOK Nancy ***

Produced by Curtis Weyant, Carol David and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.

NANCY: 

A novel.

By
Rhoda Broughton.

Author of
“‘Good-Bye, sweetheart!’” “Red as A rose is she,” Etc., Etc.

  “As through the land at eve we went,
    And plucked the ripened ears,
  We fell out, my wife and I,
  Oh, we fell out, I know not why,
    And kissed again with tears.”

1874

NANCY.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I.

“Put into a small preserving pan three ounces of fresh butter, and, as soon as it is just melted, add one pound of brown sugar of moderate quality—­”

“Not moderate; the browner the better,” interpolates Algy.

“Cannot say I agree with you.  I hate brown sugar—­filthy stuff!” says Bobby, contradictiously.

“Not half so filthy as white, if you come to that,” retorts Algy, loftily, looking up from the lemon he is grating to extinguish his brother.  “They clear white sugar with but—­”

“Keep these stirred gently over a clear fire for about fifteen minutes,” interrupt I, beginning to read again very fast, in a loud, dull recitative, to hinder further argument, “or until a little of the mixture dipped into cold water breaks clear between the teeth without sticking to them.  When it is boiled to this point it must be poured out immediately or it will burn.”

Having galloped jovially along, scorning stops, I here pause out of breath.  We are a large family, we Greys, and we are all making taffy.  Yes, every one of us.  It would take all the fingers of one hand, and the thumb of the other, to count us, O reader.  Six!  Yes, six.  A Frenchman might well hold up his hands in astonied horror at the insane prolificness—­the foolhardy fertility—­of British householders.  We come very improbably close together, except Tou Tou, who was an after-thought.  There are no two of us, I am proud to say, exactly simultaneous, but we have come tumbling on each other’s heels into the world in so hot a hurry that we evidently expect to find it a pleasant place when we get there.  Perhaps we do—­perhaps we do not; friends, you will hear and judge for yourselves.

A few years ago when we were little, people used to say that we were quite a pretty sight, like little steps one above another.  We are big steps now, and no one any longer hazards the suggestion of our being pretty.  On the other hand, nobody denies that we are each as well furnished with legs, arms, and other etceteras, as our neighbors, nor can affirm that we are notably more deficient in wits than those of our friends who have arrived in twos and threes.