r my call at her cottage
door happened to be a perfect one on which to begin an acquaintance with
the lady of "Our Village." She was then living at Three-Mile Cross,
having removed there from Bertram House in 1820. The cottage where I
found her was situated on the high road between Basingstoke and Reading;
and the village street on which she was then living contained the
public-house and several small shops near by. There was also close at
hand the village pond full of ducks and geese, and I noticed several
young rogues on their way to school were occupied in worrying their
feathered friends. The windows of the cottage were filled with flowers,
and cowslips and violets were plentifully scattered about the little
garden. Miss Mitford liked to have one dog, at least, at her heels, and
this day her pet seemed to be constantly under foot. I remember the room
into which I was shown was sanded, and a quaint old clock behind the
door was marking off the hour in small but very loud pieces. The
cheerful old lady called to me from the head of the stairs to come up
into her sitting-room. I sat down by the open window to converse with
her, and it was pleasant to see how the village children, as they went
by, stopped to bow and curtsey. One curly-headed urchin made bold to
take off his well-worn cap, and wait to be recognized as "little
Johnny". "No great scholar," said the kind-hearted old lady to me, "but
a sad rogue among our flock of geese. Only yesterday the young marauder
was detected by my maid with a plump gosling stuffed half-way into his
pocket!" While she was thus discoursing of Johnny's peccadilloes, the
little fellow looked up with a knowing expression, and very soon caught
in his cap a gingerbread dog, which the old lady threw to him from the
window. "I wish he loved his book as well as he relishes sweetcake,"
sighed she, as the boy kicked up his heels and disappeared down the
lane.

Her conversation that afternoon, full of anecdote, ran on in a perpetual
flow of good-humor, and I was shocked, on looking at my watch, to find I
had stayed so long, and had barely time to reach the railway-station in
season to arrive at Oxford that night. We parted with the mutual
determination and understanding to keep our friendship warm by
correspondence, and I promised never to come to England again without
finding my way to Three-Mile Cross.

During the conversation that day, Miss Mitford had many inquiries to
make concerning her A