gone out soon after dawn。 A cold wind was blowing。 He had his
old trousers tucked into his boots； he wore no coat nor
waistcoat； his shirt…sleeves fluttered in the wind； his face was
ruddy and intent； in a kind of sleep。 When he was at work he
neither heard nor saw。 A long； thin man； looking still a youth；
with a line of black moustache above his thick mouth； and his
fine hair blown on his forehead； he worked away at the earth in
the grey first light； alone。 His solitariness drew the child
like a spell。
The wind came chill over the dark…green fields。 Ursula ran up
and watched him push the setting…peg in at one side of his ready
earth； stride across； and push it in the other side； pulling the
line taut and clear upon the clods intervening。 Then with a
sharp cutting noise the bright spade came towards her； cutting a
grip into the new； soft earth。
He struck his spade upright and straightened himself。
〃Do you want to help me？〃 he said。
She looked up at him from out of her little woollen
bonnet。
〃Ay；〃 he said； 〃you can put some taters in for me。
Look……like that……these little sprits standing
up……so much apart； you see。〃
And stooping down he quickly； surely placed the spritted
potatoes in the soft grip； where they rested separate and
pathetic on the heavy cold earth。
He gave her a little basket of potatoes； and strode himself
to the other end of the line。 She saw him stooping； working
towards her。 She was excited； and unused。 She put in one potato；
then rearranged it； to make it sit nicely。 Some of the sprits
were broken； and she was afraid。 The responsibility excited her
like a string tying her up。 She could not help looking with
dread at the string buried under the heaped…back soil。 Her
father was working nearer； stooping； working nearer。 She was
overe by her responsibility。 She put potatoes quickly into
the cold earth。
He came near。
〃Not so close；〃 he said； stooping over her potatoes； taking
some out and rearranging the others。 She stood by with the
painful terrified helplessness of childhood。 He was so unseeing
and confident； she wanted to do the thing and yet she could not。
She stood by looking on； her little blue overall fluttering in
the wind； the red woollen ends of her shawl blowing gustily。
Then he went down the row； relentlessly； turning the potatoes in
with his sharp spade…cuts。 He took no notice of her； only worked
on。 He had another world from hers。
She stood helplessly stranded on his world。 He continued his
work。 She knew she could not help him。 A little bit forlorn； at
last she turned away； and ran down the garden； away from him； as
fast as she could go away from him； to forget him and his
work。
He missed her presence； her face in her red woollen bonnet；
her blue overall fluttering。 She ran to where a little water ran
trickling between grass and stones。 That she loved。
When he came by he said to her：
〃You didn't help me much。〃
The child looked at him dumbly。 Already her heart was heavy
because of her own disappointment。 Her mouth was dumb and
pathetic。 But he did not notice； he went his way。
And she played on； because of her disappointment persisting
even the more in her play。 She dreaded work； because she could
not do it as he did it。 She was conscious of the great breach
between them。 She knew she had no power。 The grown…up power to
work deliberately was a mystery to her。
He would smash into her sensitive child's world
destructively。 Her mother was lenient； careless The children
played about as they would all day。 Ursula was
thoughtless……why should she remember things？ If across the
garden she saw the hedge had budded； and if she wanted these
greeny…pink； tiny buds for bread…and…cheese； to play at teaparty
with； over she went for them。
Then suddenly； perhaps the next day； her soul would almost
start out of her body as her father turned on her； shouting：
〃Who's been tramplin' an' dancin' across where I've just
sowed seed？ I know it's you； nuisance！ Can you find nowhere else
to walk； but just over my seed beds？ But it's like you； that
is……no heed but to follow your own greedy nose。〃
It had shocked him in his intent world to see the zigzagging
lines of deep little foot…prints across his work。 The child was
infinitely more shocked。 Her vulnerable little soul was flayed
and trampled。 Why were the foot…prints there？ She had not
wanted to make them。 She stood dazzled with pain and shame and
unreality。
Her soul； her consciousness seemed to die away。 She became
shut off and senseless； a little fixed creature whose soul had
gone hard and unresponsive。 The sense of her own unreality
hardened her like a frost。 She cared no longer。
And the sight of her face； shut and superior with
self…asserting indifference； made a flame of rage go over him。
He wanted to break her。
〃I'll break your obstinate little face；〃 he said； through
shut teeth； lifting his hand。
The child did not alter in the least。 The look of
indifference； plete glancing indifference； as if nothing but
herself existed to her； remained fixed。
Yet far away in her； the sobs were tearing her soul。 And when
he had gone； she would go and creep under the parlour sofa； and
lie clinched in the silent； hidden misery of childhood。
When she crawled out； after an hour or so； she went rather
stiffly to play。 She willed to forget。 She cut off her childish
soul from memory； so that the pain； and the insult should not be
real。 She asserted herself only。 There was not nothing in the
world but her own self。 So very soon； she came to believe in the
outward malevolence that was against her。 And very early； she
learned that even her adored father was part of this
malevolence。 And very early she learned to harden her soul in
resistance and denial of all that was outside her； harden
herself upon her own being。
She never felt sorry for what she had done； she never forgave
those who had made her guilty。 If he had said to her； 〃Why；
Ursula； did you trample my carefully…made bed？〃 that would have
hurt her to the quick； and she would have done anything for him。
But she was always tormented by the unreality of outside things。
The earth was to walk on。 Why must she avoid a certain patch；
just because it was called a seed…bed？ It was the earth to walk
on。 This was her instinctive assumption。 And when he bullied
her； she became hard； cut herself off from all connection； lived
in the little separate world of her own violent will。
As she grew older； five； six； seven； the connection between
her and her father was even stronger。 Yet it was always
straining to break。 She was always relapsing on her own violent
will into her own separate world of herself。 This made him grind
his teeth with bitterness； for he still wanted her。 But she
could harden herself into her own self's universe；
impregnable。
He was very fond of swimming； and in warm weather would take
her down to the canal； to a silent place； or to a big pond or
reservoir； to bathe。 He would take her on his back as he went
swimming； and she clung close； feeling his strong movement under
her； so strong； as if it would uphold all the world。 Then he
taught her to swim。
She was a fearless little thing； when he dared her。 And he
had a curious craving to frighten her； to see what she would do
with him。 He said； would she ride on his back whilst he jumped
off the canal bridge down into the water beneath。
She would。 He loved to feel the naked child clinging on to
his shoulders。 There was a curious fight between their two
wills。 He mounted the parapet of the canal bridge。 The water was
a long way down。 But the child had a deliberate will set upon
his。 She held herself fixed to him。
He leapt； and down they went。 The crash of the water as they
went under struck through the child's small body； with a sort of
unconsciousness。 But she remained fixed。 And when they came up
again； and when they went to the bank； and when they sat on the
grass side by side； he laughed； and said it was fine。 And the
dark…dilated eyes of the child looked at him wonderingly；
darkly； wondering from the shock； yet reserved and unfathomable；
so he laughed almost with a sob。
In a moment she was clinging safely on his back again； and he
was swimming in deep water。 She was used to his nakedness； and
to her mother's nakedness； ever since she was born。 They were
clinging to each other； and making up to each other for the
strange blow that had been struck at them。 Yet still； on other
days； he would leap again with her from the bridge； daringly；
almost wickedly。 Till at length； as he leapt； once； she dropped
forward on to his head； and nearly broke his neck； so that they
fell into the water in a heap； and fought for a few moments with
death。 He saved her； and sat on the bank； quivering。 But his
eyes were full of the blackness of death。 It was as if death had
cut between their two lives； and separated them。
Still they were not separate。 There was this curious taunting
intimacy between them。 When the fair came； she wanted to go in
the swing…boats。 He took her； and； standing up in the boat；
holding on to the irons； began to drive higher； perilously
higher。 The child clung fast on her seat。
〃Do you want to go any higher？〃 he said to her； and she
laughed with her mouth； her eyes wide and dilated。 They were
rushing through the air。
〃Yes；〃 she said； feeling as if she would turn into vapour；
lose hold of everything； and melt away。 The boat swung far up；
then down like a stone； only to be caught sickeningly up
again。
〃Any higher？〃 he called； looking at her over his shoulder；
his face evil and beautiful to her。
She laughed with white lips。
He sent the swing…boat sweeping through the air in a great
semi…circle； till it jerked and swayed at the high horizontal。
The child clung on； pale； her eyes fixed on him。 People below
were calling。 The jerk at the top had almost shaken them both
out。 He had done what he could……and he was attracting
censure。 He sat down； and let the swingboat swing itself
out。
People in the crowd cried shame on him as he came out of the
swingboat。 He laughed。 The child clung to his hand； pale and
mute。 In a while she was violently sick。 He gave her lemonade；
and she gulped a little。
〃Don't tell your mother you've been sick；〃 he said。 There was
no need to ask that。 When she got home； the child crept away
under the parlour sofa； like a sick little animal； and was a
long time before she crawled out。
But Anna got to know of this escapade； and was passionately
angry and contemptuous of him。 His golden…brown eyes glittered；
he had a strange； cruel little smile。 And as the child watched
him； for the first time in her life a disillusion came over her；
something cold and isolating。 She went over to her mother。 Her
soul was dead towards him。 It made her sick。
Still she forgot and continued to love him； but ever more
coldly。 He was at this time； when he was about twenty…eight
years old； strange and violent in his being； sensual。 He
acquired some power over Anna； over everybody he came into
contact with。
After a long bout of hostility； Anna at last closed with him。
She had now four children； all girls。 For seven years she had
been absorbed