I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to Oxenbridge
with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious
snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world of which I imagined
myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other
centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but somewhat
exposed and responsible position--it would be just like her!
I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so strange
that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that they--after
all that was said on the subject not many days ago. Nothing turns out as
one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no
bills posted, no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms
of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every eye. Heigh-
ho! What does it matter, after all? One can always be a Goose Girl!
* * *
I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings!
Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all the
sense of difference? Does she not sometimes reflect that if her children
were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she would be enjoying
certain pretty little attentions dear to a mother's heart? The chicks
would be pecking the food off her broad beak with their tiny ones, and
jumping on her back to slide down her glossy feathers. They would be far
nicer to cuddle, too, so small and graceful and light; the changelings
are a trifle solid and brawny.
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