• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 464 0

all he had spent on her… what a splendid turn-out there had been at Mrs Amasa Warren’s funeral; how Carter Flagg’s cat had had a piece bitten right out of the root of its tail; how Shirley had been found in the stable standing right under one of the horses… ‘Mrs Doctor dear, never shall I be the same woman again’; how there was sadly too much reason to fear that the blue plum-trees were developing black knot; how Di had gone about the whole day singing, ‘Mummy’s coming home today, home today, home today’ to the tune of ‘Merrily We Roll Along’; how the Joe Reeses had a kitten that was cross-eyed because it had been born with its eyes open; how Jem had inadvertently sat on some fly-paper before he had put his little trousers on… and how the Shrimp had fallen into the soft-water puncheon in the barn. ‘He was nearly drowned, Mrs Doctor dear, but luckily the doctor heard his howls in the nick of time and pulled him out by his hindlegs.’ (What is the nick of time, Mummy?)

‘He seems to have recovered nicely from it,’ said Anne, stroking the glossy black and white curves of a contented pussy with huge jowls, purring on a chair in the firelight. It was never quite safe to sit down on a chair at Ingleside without first making sure there wasn’t a cat in it. Susan, who had not cared much for cats to begin with, vowed she had to learn to like them in self-defence. As for the Shrimp, Gilbert had called him that a year ago when Nan had brought the miserable, scrawny kitten home from the village where some boys had been tormenting it, and the name clung, though it was very inappropriate now.

‘But… Susan! What has become of Gog and Magog? Oh… they haven’t been broken, have they?’

‘No, no, Mrs Doctor dear,’ exclaimed Susan, turning a deep brick-red from shame and dashing out of the room. She returned shortly with the two china dogs which always presided at the hearth of Ingleside. ‘I do not see how I could have forgotten to put them back before you came. You see, Mrs Doctor dear, Mrs Charles Day from Charlottetown called here the day after you left… and you know how very precise and proper she is. Walter thought he ought to entertain her and he started in by pointing out the dogs to her. “This one is God and this is My God,” he said, poor innocent child. I was horrified, though I thought that die I would to see Mrs Day’s face. I explained as best I could, for I did not want her to think us a profane family, but I decided I would just put the dogs away in the china closet, out of sight, till you got back.’

‘Mummy, can’t we have supper soon?’ said Jem pathetically. ‘I’ve got a gnawful feeling in the pit of my stomach. And oh, Mummy, we’ve made everybody’s favourite dish.’

‘We, as the flea said to the elephant, have done that very thing,’ said Susan with a grin. ‘We thought that your return should be suitably celebrated, Mrs Doctor dear. And now where is Walter? It is his week to ring the gong for meals, bless his heart.’

Supper was a gala meal… and putting all the babies to bed afterwards was a delight. Susan even allowed her to put Shirley to bed, seeing what a very special occasion it was.

‘This is no common day, Mrs Doctor dear,’ she said solemnly.

‘Oh, Susan, there is no such thing as a common day. Every day has something about it no other day has. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘How true that is, Mrs Doctor dear. Even last Friday now, when it rained all day, and was so dull, my big pink geranium showed buds at last after refusing to bloom for three long years. And have you noticed the calceolarias, Mrs Doctor dear?’

‘Noticed them! I never saw such calceolarias in my life, Susan. How do you manage it?’ (There, I’ve made Susan happy and haven’t told a fib. I never did see such calceolarias… thank heaven!)

‘It is the result of constant care and attention, Mrs Doctor dear, but there is something I think I ought to speak of. I think Walter suspects something. No doubt some of the Glen children have said things to him. So many children nowadays know so much more than is fitting. Walter said to me the other day, very thoughtful-like, “Susan,