中 国 語 朋 友

It is a fine story. It began in April 1820, when we came to Haworth for the first time...

There was a strong wind blowing that day too, out of a dark, cloudy sky. We could see snow on the moors. The road to Haworth goes up a hill, and there was ice on the stones of the road. Maria, my wife, was afraid to ride up the hill in the carts.

'We'll walk, children,' she said. 'if one of those horses falls down, there'll be a terrible accident. Come on, let's go and see our new house.'

She was a small woman, my wife, and not very strong. But she carried the baby, Anne, up the hill in her arms. I carried Emily - she was one and a half years old then. The others walked. My two-year-old son, Patrick Branwell, walked with me, and Charlotte, who was nearly four, walked with her mother. The two oldest children -Elizabeth and Maria - ran on in front. The were excited, and laughed and tallked all the way.

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