The barber was turning out the
gas in his little saloon; the greengrocer was emerging with a cigarette
in his mouth and an aster in his button-hole, and a group of children
were escorting the lamplighter on his rounds.
All these good, homely folk were Nevill's Courtiers of the genuine
breed; born in the court, as had been their fathers before them for
generations. And of such to a great extent was the population of the
place. Miss Oman herself claimed aboriginal descent and so did the
sweet-faced Moravian lady next door--a connection of the famous La
Trobes of the old Conventicle, whose history went back to the Gordon
Riots; and as to the gentleman who lived in the ancient
timber-and-plaster house at the bottom of the court, it was reported
that his ancestors had dwelt in that very house since the days of James
the First.
On these facts I reflected as I sauntered down the court: on the strange
phenomenon of an old-world hamlet with its ancient population lingering
in the very heart of the noisy city; an island of peace set in an ocean
of unrest, an oasis in a desert of change and ferment.
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