Review
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"Miss Buncle's Book was a charming and funny book with a
unique plot. Lot of shenanigans ensue that will crack you up." -
Christy's Books
"Delightful, charming, warm, cosy those are the type of words I
would use to describe Miss Buncle's Book. " - She Reads Novels
" It is a sweet story that I would highly recommend to anyone who
enjoys light, cozy reads." - The Book Garden
"So thank heavens for Miss's Buncle Book: a darling little tome
that pulled me gently out a literary funk called what is the
world coming to and reminded me that once upon a time authors
like D.E.Stevenson created stories designed to cheer our socks
off, merrily leaving our knickers intact and thrilling us with
the merest of chaste kisses between the middle-aged lonely hearts
of a village called Silverstream." - Brocante Home
"Recommended as a cosy, comfortable and old-fashioned read." -
Good Reading Guide
"I smiled, I giggled, I laughed out loud, I tsk'd tsk'd at some
of the characters' antics but most of all I loved the book! I
can't wait to read another" - Pudgy Penguin Perusals
"People who enjoy the humor of The Help by Kathryn Stockett or
those who enjoy a look at a small town community, such as that in
the much older Cranford by Elizabeth kell, may also enjoy this
book." - Rebecca Reads
" This vintage book, which was written in the 1930's, is an
absolute charmer, like its main character." - book addiction
"I highly recommend this for readers of sweet romances. But I
also recommend it for those who would like a change of pace, are
looking for something light and amusing, or find appealing the
promise of a book that has the charm of vintage photographs and
the comfort of a hug." - Just Janga
"This was my first story by D.E. Stevenson and I wasn't
disappointed. This story goes to show that real life can be
mirrored from a story and become art." - Luxury Reading
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About the Author
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D.E. Stevenson (1892-1973) had an enormously successful
writing career; between 1923 and 1970, four million copies of her
books were sold in Britain and three million in the United
States.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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Chapter One
Breakfast Rolls
One fine summer's morning the sun peeped over the hills and
looked down upon the valley of Silverstream. It was so early that
there was really very little for him to see except the cows
belonging to Twelve-Trees Farm in the meadows by the river. They
were going slowly up to the farm to be milked. Their shadows were
still quite black, weird, and ungainly, like pictures of
prehistoric monsters moving over the lush grass. The farm stirred
and a slow spiral of smoke rose from the kitchen chimney.
In the village of Silverstream (which lay further down the
valley) the bakery woke up first, for there were the breakfast
rolls to be made and baked. Mrs. Goldsmith saw to the details of
the bakery herself and prided herself upon the punctuality of her
deliveries. She bustled round, wakening her daughters with small
ceremony, kneading the dough for the rolls, directing the stoking
of the ovens, and listening with one ear for the arrival of Tommy
Hobday who delivered the rolls to Silverstream before he went to
school.
Tommy had been late once or twice lately; she had informed his
mother that if he were late again she would have to find another
boy. She did not think Tommy would be late again, but, if he
were, she must try and find another boy, it was so important for
the rolls to be out early. Colonel Weatherhead (retired) was one
of her best customers and he was an early breakfaster. He lived
in a gray stone house down near the bridge-The Bridge House-just
site to Mrs. Bold at Cozy Neuk. Mrs. Bold was a widow. She
had nothing to drag her out of bed in the morning, and,
therefore, like a sensible woman, she breakfasted late. It was
inconvenient from the point of view of breakfast rolls that two
such near neighbors should want their rolls at different hours.
Then, at the other end of the village, there was the Vicar. Quite
new, he was, and addicted to early services on the birthdays of
Saints. Not only the usual Saints that everybody knew about, but
all sorts of strange Saints that nobody in Silverstream had ever
heard of before; so you never knew when the Vicarage would be
early astir. In Mr. Dunn's time it used to slumber peacefully
until its rolls arrived, but now, instead of being the last house
on Tommy's list, it had to be moved up quite near the top. Very
awkward it was, because that end of the village, where the old
gray sixteenth-century church rested so peacefully among the
tombstones, had been all late breakfasters and therefore safe to
be left until the end of Tommy's round. Miss Buncle, at
Tanglewood Cottage, for instance, had breakfast at nine o'clock,
and old Mrs. Carter and the Bulmers were all late.
The hill was a problem too, for there were six houses on the
hill and in them dwelt Mrs. Featherstone Hogg (there was a Mr.
Featherstone Hogg too, of course, but he didn't count, nobody
ever thought of him except as Mrs. Featherstone Hogg's husband)
and Mrs. Greensleeves, and Mr. Snowdon and his two daughters, and
two officers from the camp, Captain Sandeman and Major Shearer,
and Mrs. Dick who took in gentlemen paying guests, all clamoring
for their rolls early-except, of course, Mrs. Greensleeves, who
breakfasted in bed about ten o'clock, if what Milly Spikes said
could be believed.
Mrs. Goldsmith shoved her trays of neatly made rolls into the
oven and turned down her sleeves thoughtfully. Now if only the
Vicar lived on the hill, and Mrs. Greensleeves in the Vicarage,
how much easier it would be! The whole of the hill would be
early, and Church End would be all late. No need then to buy a
bicycle for Tommy. As it was, something must be done, either a
bicycle or an extra boy-and boys were such a nuisance.
Miss King and Miss Pretty dwelt in the High Street next door to
Dr. Walker in an old house behind high stone walls. They had nine
o'clock breakfast, of course, being ladies of leisure, but the
rest of the High Street was early. Pursuing her previous
thoughts, and slackening her activities a little, now that the
rolls were safely in the oven, Mrs. Goldsmith moved the ladies
into the Colonel's house by the bridge, and the gallant Colonel,
with all his goods and chattels, was dumped into Durward Lodge
next door to Dr. Walker.
These pleasant dreams were interrupted by the noisy entrance of
Tommy and his baskets. No time for dreams now.
"Is this early enough for you?" he inquired. "Not ready yet?
Dear me! I've been up for hours, I 'ave."
"Less of your cheek, Tommy Hobday," replied Mrs. Goldsmith
firmly.
***
At this very moment an alarm clock started to vibrate furiously
in Tanglewood Cottage. The clock was in the maid's bedroom, of
course. Dorcas turned over ily and stretched out one hand to
still its clamor. Drat the thing, she felt as if she had only
just got into bed. How short the nights were! She sat up and
swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes. Her
feet found a pair of ancient bedroom slippers-which had once
belonged to Miss Buncle-and she was soon shuffling about the room
and splashing her face in the small basin which stood in the
corner in a three-corner-shaped washstand with a hole in the
middle. Dorcas was so used to all this that she did it without
properly waking up. In fact it was not until she had shuffled
down to the kitchen, boiled the kettle over the ring, and
made herself a pot of tea that she could be said to be properly
awake. This was the best cup of the day and she lingered over it,
feeling somewhat guilty at wasting the precious moments, but
enjoying it all the more for that.
Dorcas had been at Tanglewood Cottage for more years than she
cared to count; ever since Miss Buncle had been a small child
in a basket-work pram. First of all she had been the small,
child's nurse, and then her maid. Then Mrs. Buncle's parlor maid
left and Dorcas had taken on the job; sometimes, in domestic
upheavals, she had found herself in the role of cook. Time
passed, and Mr. and Mrs. Buncle departed full of years to a
better land and Dorcas-who was now practically one of the
family-stayed on with Miss Buncle-no longer a child-as cook,
maid, and parlor maid combined. She was now a small, wizened old
woman with bright beady eyes, but in spite of her advancing years
she was strong and able for more work than many a young girl in
her teens.
"Lawks!" she excled suddenly, looking up at the clock. "Look
at the time, and the drawing-room to be done yet-I'm all behind,
like a cow's tail."
She whisked the tea things into the sink and bustled round the
kitchen putting things to rights, then, seizing the broom and the
dusters out of the housemaid's cupboards, she rushed into Miss
Buncle's drawing-room like a small but extremely violent tornado.
Breakfast was all ready on the dining-room table when Miss
Buncle came down at nine o'clock precisely. The rolls had come,
and the postman was handing in the letters at the front door.
Miss Buncle pounced upon the letters eagerly; most of them were
circulars but there was one long thin envelope with a London
postmark addressed to "John Smith, Esq." Miss Buncle had been
expecting a communication for John Smith for several weeks, but
now that it had come she was almost afraid to open it. She turned
it over in her hands waiting until Dorcas had finished fussing
round the breakfast table.
Dorcas was interested in the letter, but she realized that Miss
Buncle was waiting for her to depart, so at last she departed
reluctantly. Miss Buncle tore it open and spread it out. Her
hands were shaking so that she could cely read it.
ABBOTT & SPICER
Publishers
Brummel Street,
London EC4
-th July.
Dear Mr. Smith,
I have read Chronicles of an English Village and am interested
in it. Could you call at my office on Wednesday morning at twelve
o'clock? If this is not convenient to you I should be glad if you
will suggest a suitable day.
Yours faithfully,
A. Abbott
"Goodness!" excled Miss Buncle aloud. "They are going to take
it."
She rushed into the kitchen to tell Dorcas the amazing news.
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