Chronicles of Clovis
The Way To The Dairy
The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the Park exchanging
biographical confidences about the long succession of passers-by.
"Who are those depressed-looking young women who have just gone by?" asked the
Baroness; "they have the air of people who have bowed to destiny and are not quite sure
whether the salute will be returned."
"Those," said Clovis, "are the Brimley Bomefields. I dare say you would look depressed
if you had been through their experiences."
"I'm always having depressing experiences;" said the Baroness, " but I never give them
outward expression. It's as bad as looking one's age. Tell me about the Brimley
"Well," said Clovis, "the beginning of their tragedy was that they found an aunt. The aunt
had been there all the time, but they had very nearly forgotten her existence until a distant
relative refreshed their memory by remembering her very distinctly in his will; it is
wonderful what the force of example will accomplish. The aunt, who had been
unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantly rich, and the Brimley Bomefields grew
suddenly concerned at the loneliness of her life and took her under their collective wings.
She had as many wings around her at this time as one of those beast-things in
"So far I don't see any tragedy from the Brimley Bomefields' point of view," said the
"We haven't got to it yet," said Clovis. "The aunt had been used to living very simply,
and had seen next to nothing of what we should consider life, and her nieces didn't
encourage her to do much in the way of making a splash with her money. Quite a good
deal of it would come to them at her death, and she was a fairly old woman, but there was
one circumstance which cast a shadow of gloom over the satisfaction they felt in the
discovery and acquisition of this desirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that a
comfortable slice of her little fortune would go to a nephew on the other side of her
family. He was rather a deplorable thing in rotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the
way of getting through money, but he had been more or less decent to the old lady in her
unremembered days, and she wouldn't hear anything against him. At least, she wouldn't
pay any attention to what she did hear, but her nieces took care that she should have to
listen to a good deal in that line. It seemed such a pity, they said among themselves, that
good money should fall into such worthless hands. They habitually spoke of their aunt's
money as 'good money,' as though other people's aunts dabbled for the most part in