go ahead with cushions and other small objects, and had prudently chosen a William Morris pattern which they were assured 'was always in stock'.
'Though that's not to say that the manufacturers may not discontinue some colour or other,' said Ella morosely to her companion. 'Still, we can't do more, and as far as I can see this pattern should tone in pretty well with most colours. The Cart-wrights are having a plain hair-cord carpet, so that's a help.'
Those ignorant of the art of cushion-making might have thought that it was a simple process of stuffing soft material into an attractive bag; but Ella and Muriel were artists, and the problems were formidable. Should they be square or oblong? Should they sport a frill, or be left plain? Should they be piped, and if so, inside or out? What about silk edgings, fringes, tassels?
The discussions went on, each lady clinging tenaciously to her own ideas, but in the meantime quite a lot of local gossip was exchanged in Ella's sitting-room.
'You are lucky to be farther from the school than I am,' said Muriel. 'The noise at playtimes is quite horrendous, and I don't think the teachers are on playground duty as promptly as they were in Miss Watson's time.'
This, Ella realized, was a side-swipe at the new headmaster, whom Muriel had never forgiven for spurning her services as a part-time remedial reading teacher.
'All children get excited at playtime,' she commented diplomatically.
'But that's when accidents happen. I well remember at Nidden once...'
Ella let her ramble on about her old village school which was now closed, where Muriel had spent the greater part of her working life in comparative obscurity.
Her attention returned, however, on hearing Muriel say that she was quite sure that Alan Lester would be coming to live in the school house.
'I doubt it,' responded Ella robustly. 'After all, he had the chance when he took over the job. Prices have gone up since then, for one thing.'
'Maybe,' said Muriel, stooping to pick up a thread from the floor, 'but Betty Bell heard it from his own lips. He was measuring the windows, and saying that he doubted if any of their existing curtains would fit.'
'That's a law of nature,' said Ella. 'Nothing ever fits the next house. That's partly why I don't contemplate moving, and I'm surprised he is.'
'They say,' went on Muriel, 'that it's because of his wife—ailing, in some way. I suppose he worries about her while he's at work.'
'Well, he'll be away at his duties in school anyway,' replied Ella, 'and if she's ailing, I should think the noise of the children would upset her even more. What's the trouble?'
'Betty Bell didn't say.' She held up an embryo cushion cover, surveying it critically. 'I wonder if a frilled ruche of toning satin ribbon would look well round the edge?'
Ella winced.
'No, it wouldn't,' she told her.
It was Harold Shoosmith who next heard more, and it was Alan Lester who enlightened him.
The children were making their way home, loitering in the dusty summer lanes, playing idly on the swings at the corner of Thrush Green, too indolent in the heat to make much noise.
Harold was clipping the privet hedge for the second time that season and thinking how remarkably unpleasant the smell of the little white conical flower-heads was, when he became conscious of the headmaster pacing at the rear of the school house.
He was accompanied by a man whom Harold felt he ought to know. Was he one of the Lulling shopkeepers? A plumber? An electrician? Someone he had met at a party?
Harold contented himself with a wave to both men and continued clipping. A pity the chap who put in this hedge had not settled for yew, thought Harold; it would only need cutting once a year. But then, he supposed, when this privet was planted it was clipped by the full-time gardener who had been kept at 'Quetta', as his house was once called, along with a resident cook and housemaid.
Intent on his work, he was scarcely conscious of the departure
'Though that's not to say that the manufacturers may not discontinue some colour or other,' said Ella morosely to her companion. 'Still, we can't do more, and as far as I can see this pattern should tone in pretty well with most colours. The Cart-wrights are having a plain hair-cord carpet, so that's a help.'
Those ignorant of the art of cushion-making might have thought that it was a simple process of stuffing soft material into an attractive bag; but Ella and Muriel were artists, and the problems were formidable. Should they be square or oblong? Should they sport a frill, or be left plain? Should they be piped, and if so, inside or out? What about silk edgings, fringes, tassels?
The discussions went on, each lady clinging tenaciously to her own ideas, but in the meantime quite a lot of local gossip was exchanged in Ella's sitting-room.
'You are lucky to be farther from the school than I am,' said Muriel. 'The noise at playtimes is quite horrendous, and I don't think the teachers are on playground duty as promptly as they were in Miss Watson's time.'
This, Ella realized, was a side-swipe at the new headmaster, whom Muriel had never forgiven for spurning her services as a part-time remedial reading teacher.
'All children get excited at playtime,' she commented diplomatically.
'But that's when accidents happen. I well remember at Nidden once...'
Ella let her ramble on about her old village school which was now closed, where Muriel had spent the greater part of her working life in comparative obscurity.
Her attention returned, however, on hearing Muriel say that she was quite sure that Alan Lester would be coming to live in the school house.
'I doubt it,' responded Ella robustly. 'After all, he had the chance when he took over the job. Prices have gone up since then, for one thing.'
'Maybe,' said Muriel, stooping to pick up a thread from the floor, 'but Betty Bell heard it from his own lips. He was measuring the windows, and saying that he doubted if any of their existing curtains would fit.'
'That's a law of nature,' said Ella. 'Nothing ever fits the next house. That's partly why I don't contemplate moving, and I'm surprised he is.'
'They say,' went on Muriel, 'that it's because of his wife—ailing, in some way. I suppose he worries about her while he's at work.'
'Well, he'll be away at his duties in school anyway,' replied Ella, 'and if she's ailing, I should think the noise of the children would upset her even more. What's the trouble?'
'Betty Bell didn't say.' She held up an embryo cushion cover, surveying it critically. 'I wonder if a frilled ruche of toning satin ribbon would look well round the edge?'
Ella winced.
'No, it wouldn't,' she told her.
It was Harold Shoosmith who next heard more, and it was Alan Lester who enlightened him.
The children were making their way home, loitering in the dusty summer lanes, playing idly on the swings at the corner of Thrush Green, too indolent in the heat to make much noise.
Harold was clipping the privet hedge for the second time that season and thinking how remarkably unpleasant the smell of the little white conical flower-heads was, when he became conscious of the headmaster pacing at the rear of the school house.
He was accompanied by a man whom Harold felt he ought to know. Was he one of the Lulling shopkeepers? A plumber? An electrician? Someone he had met at a party?
Harold contented himself with a wave to both men and continued clipping. A pity the chap who put in this hedge had not settled for yew, thought Harold; it would only need cutting once a year. But then, he supposed, when this privet was planted it was clipped by the full-time gardener who had been kept at 'Quetta', as his house was once called, along with a resident cook and housemaid.
Intent on his work, he was scarcely conscious of the departure
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