e awake from her sleep of motherhood； her energy moved more
outwards。 The din of growing lives roused her from her apathy。
She too must have her hand in making life。 She was quite ready
to move； taking all her brood。 It would be better now if she
transplanted them。 For she had borne her last child； it would be
growing up。
So that in her easy； unused fashion she talked plans and
arrangements with her husband； indifferent really as to the
method of the change； since a change was ing； even if it did
not e in this way it would e in another。
The house was full of ferment。 Ursula was wild with
excitement。 At last her father was going to be something；
socially。 So long； he had been a social cypher； without form or
standing。 Now he was going to be Art and Handwork Instructor for
the County of Nottingham。 That was really a status。 It was a
position。 He would be a specialist in his way。 And he was an
unmon man。 Ursula felt they were all getting a foothold at
last。 He was ing to his own。 Who else that she knew could
turn out from his own fingers the beautiful things her father
could produce？ She felt he was certain of this new job。
They would move。 They would leave this cottage at Cossethay
which had grown too small for them； they would leave Cossethay；
where the children had all been born； and where they were always
kept to the same measure。 For the people who had known them as
children along with the other village boys and girls would
never； could never understand that they should grow up
different。 They had held 〃Urtler Brangwen〃 one of themselves；
and had given her her place in her native village； as in a
family。 And the bond was strong。 But now； when she was growing
to something beyond what Cossethay would allow or understand；
the bond between her and her old associates was being a
bondage。
〃'Ello； Urs'ler； 'ow are yer goin' on？〃 they said when they
met her。 And it demanded of her in the old voice the old
response。 And something in her must respond and belong to people
who knew her。 But something else denied bitterly。 What was true
of her ten years ago was not true now。 And something else which
she was； and must be； they could neither see nor allow。 They
felt it there nevertheless； something beyond them； and they were
injured。 They said she was proud and conceited； that she was too
big for her shoes nowadays。 They said； she needn't pretend；
because they knew what she was。 They had known her since she was
born。 They quoted this and that about her。 And she was ashamed
because she did feel different from the people she had lived
amongst。 It hurt her that she could not be at her ease with them
any more。 And yet……and yet……one's kite will rise on
the wind as far as ever one has string to let it go。 It tugs and
tugs and will go； and one is glad the further it goes； even it
everybody else is nasty about it。 So Cossethay hampered her； and
she wanted to go away； to be free to fly her kite as high as she
liked。 She wanted to go away； to be free to stand straight up to
her own height。
So that when she knew that her father had the new post； and
that the family would move； she felt like skipping on the face
of the earth； and making psalms of joy。 The old； bound shell of
Cossethay was to be cast off； and she was to dance away into the
blue air。 She wanted to dance and sing。
She made dreams of the new place she would live in； where
stately cultured people of high feeling would be friends with
her； and she would live with the noble in the land； moving to a
large freedom of feeling。 She dreamed of a rich； proud； simple
girl…friend； who had never known Mr。 Harby and his like； nor
ever had a note in her voice of bondaged contempt and fear； as
Maggie had。
And she gave herself to all that she loved in Cossethay；
passionately； because she was going away now。 She wandered about
to her favourite spots。 There was a place where she went
trespassing to find the snowdrops that grew wild。 It was evening
and the winter…darkened meadows were full of mystery。 When she
came to the woods an oak tree had been newly chopped down in the
dell。 Pale drops of flowers glimmered many under the hazels； and
by the sharp； golden splinters of wood that were splashed about；
the grey…green blades of snowdrop leaves pricked unheeding； the
drooping still little flowers were without heed。
Ursula picked some lovingly； in an ecstasy。 The golden chips
of wood shone yellow like sunlight； the snowdrops in the
twilight were like the first stars of night。 And she； alone
amongst them； was wildly happy to have found her way into such a
glimmering dusk； to the intimate little flowers； and the splash
of wood chips like sunshine over the twilight of the ground。 She
sat down on the felled tree and remained awhile remote。
Going home； she left the purplish dark of the trees for the
open lane； where the puddles shone long and jewel…like in the
ruts； the land about her was darkened； and the sky a jewel
overhead。 Oh； how amazing it was to her！ It was almost too much。
She wanted to run； and sing； and cry out for very wildness and
poignancy； but she could not run and sing and cry out in such a
way as to cry out the deep things in her heart； so she was
still； and almost sad with loneliness。
At Easter she went again to Maggie's home； for a few days。
She was； however shy and fugitive。 She saw Anthony； how
suggestive he was to look on； and how his eyes had a sort of
supplicating light； that was rather beautiful。 She looked at
him； and she looked again； for him to bee real to her。 But it
was her own self that was occupied elsewhere。 She seemed to have
some other being。
And she turned to spring and the opening buds。 There was a
large pear tree by a wall； and it was full； thronged with tiny；
grey…green buds； myriads。 She stood before it arrested with
delight； and a realization went deep into her heart。 There was
so great a host in array behind the cloud of pale； dim green； so
much to e forth……so much sunshine to pour down。
So the weeks passed on； trance…like and pregnant。 The pear
tree at Cossethay burst into bloom against the cottage…end； like
a wave burst into foam。 Then gradually the bluebells came； blue
as water standing thin in the level places under the trees and
bushes； flowing in more and more； till there was a flood of
azure； and pale…green leaves burning； and tiny birds with fiery
little song and flight。 Then swiftly the flood sank and was
gone； and it was summer。
There was to be no going to the seaside for a holiday。 The
holiday was the removal from Cossethay。
They were going to live near Willey Green； which place was
most central for Brangwen。 It was an old； quiet village on the
edge of the thronged colliery…district。 So that it served； in
its quaintness of odd old cottages lingering in their sunny
gardens； as a sort of bower or pleasaunce to the sprawling
colliery…townlet of Beldover； a pleasant walk…round for the
colliers on Sunday morning； before the public…houses opened。
In Willey Green stood the Grammar School where Brangwen was
occupied for two days during the week； and where experiments in
education were being carried on。
Ursula wanted to live