The Diary of a Goose Girl
by Kate Douglas Wiggin
THORNYCROFT FARM, near Barbury Green, July 1, 190-.
In alluding to myself as a Goose Girl, I am using only the most
modest of my titles; for I am also a poultry-maid, a tender of
Belgian hares and rabbits, and a shepherdess; but I particularly
fancy the role of Goose Girl, because it recalls the German fairy
tales of my early youth, when I always yearned, but never hoped, to
be precisely what I now am.
As I was jolting along these charming Sussex roads the other day, a
fat buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, I
chanced upon the village of Barbury Green.
One glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could
see with them; but I made assurance doubly sure by driving about a
little, struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-
boy who was my escort. Then, it being high noon of a cloudless
day, I descended from the trap and said to the astonished yokel:
"You may go back to the Hydropathic; I am spending a month or two
here. Wait a moment--I'll send a message, please!"
I then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody.