her efforts with interest.
"We bathed Copper with that cloth this afternoon. He was smelly, so we squeezed it out in soapy water, and gave him a lovely wash."
Miriam stopped her labors abruptly, and transferred the cloth to a battered tidy-bin beneath the sink. At this rate, she thought, a packet of J cloths must take priority on tomorrow's shopping list.
"We'll wash up," said Lovell, rising to his feet, "and I think Robin's ready for bed if you could cope with him."
At this, the comatose boy became instantly alert and shook his head violently.
"No! Dadda do! Dadda do!" he yelled, scarlet in the face.
"I think you'd better tonight," said Miriam swiftly. "He'll be more obliging when he knows me. We'll clear up here."
The two males vanished, and Miriam and the girls set about making order out of chaos. There seemed to be a dearth of tea cloths and a decidedly vague idea of where they were kept.
"They just hang about," said Hazel. "On the back of that chair usually."
"I mean the clean ones," said Miriam, her voice sharp with exasperation.
"I think they're in this drawer," said Jenny, struggling with an overfull dresser drawer stuffed with jam pot covers, pieces of string, two soup ladles, and what looked like half a colander. A few pieces of tattered cloth were intermingled with debris and, after close inspection, proved to be extremely ancient tea cloths.
"Aren't you getting excited about Christmas?" inquired Jenny, patting a spoon with one of the tattered rags, as her contribution to wiping the cutlery. "I am. I've asked Father Christmas for a painting set. Lots of different pots and brushes."
"I hope you'll get them," said Miriam civilly.
"Oh, she'll get them," announced Hazel, in a meaning way, "but whether Father Christmas will bring them, I don't know."
Jenny's face became suffused with angry color.
"Of course he'll bring them! My letter to him went straight up the chimney! Yours fell back and got burnt up, and serves you right."
"Now, now," said Miriam warningly. Really, she thought, I sound just like my mother! How stupid "Now, now!" sounded! Almost as idiotic as "Now then," a phrase which could bring on partial madness if considered for too long.
It was quite apparent that Hazel was wise to the myth of Santa Claus, while her sister was still touchingly a believer in the Christmas fairy. She must try and get a quiet word with the older child before too much damage was done.
Lovell reappeared as they were finishing. He looked exhausted and Miriam's heart was smitten.
"Go and sit by the fire, and I'll bring you some coffee," she said. "You don't need to set off immediately, do you?"
"Visiting hours are seven until eight-thirty," he said. "Goodness, it looks clean in here! I didn't give Robin a bath, just washed his face and hands. He's asleep already."
Scandalized, the little girls spoke together.
"But Robin always has a bath!"
"Annie always does him all over! He needs a bath."
"Mummy says we must have a bath before bed. Robin won't like it when he wakes up and finds he's all dirty still."
"He won't wake up," said their father shortly.
"We'll give him an extra long one tomorrow," promised Miriam, setting the kettle to boil, "as it's Christmas Eve!"
When Lovell had drunk his coffee and departed, carrying Miriam's bouquet and some magazines for Eileen, she took the girls up to the bathroom and bribed them into the steaming bath with one of her precious bath cubes.
"I'll come back in ten minutes to see if you are really clean," she told them, and left them to their own devices while she unpacked her case.
Later, scrubbed and sweet-smelling in their flowered night gowns, they held up their arms for a goodnight kiss, and Miriam admitted to herself that just now and again—for very brief periods—children could be very winning.
She descended the long staircase feeling a hundred years old. Fair acre and Holly Lodge seemed light-years away. This reminded her that she had promised to ring Joan.
But
"We bathed Copper with that cloth this afternoon. He was smelly, so we squeezed it out in soapy water, and gave him a lovely wash."
Miriam stopped her labors abruptly, and transferred the cloth to a battered tidy-bin beneath the sink. At this rate, she thought, a packet of J cloths must take priority on tomorrow's shopping list.
"We'll wash up," said Lovell, rising to his feet, "and I think Robin's ready for bed if you could cope with him."
At this, the comatose boy became instantly alert and shook his head violently.
"No! Dadda do! Dadda do!" he yelled, scarlet in the face.
"I think you'd better tonight," said Miriam swiftly. "He'll be more obliging when he knows me. We'll clear up here."
The two males vanished, and Miriam and the girls set about making order out of chaos. There seemed to be a dearth of tea cloths and a decidedly vague idea of where they were kept.
"They just hang about," said Hazel. "On the back of that chair usually."
"I mean the clean ones," said Miriam, her voice sharp with exasperation.
"I think they're in this drawer," said Jenny, struggling with an overfull dresser drawer stuffed with jam pot covers, pieces of string, two soup ladles, and what looked like half a colander. A few pieces of tattered cloth were intermingled with debris and, after close inspection, proved to be extremely ancient tea cloths.
"Aren't you getting excited about Christmas?" inquired Jenny, patting a spoon with one of the tattered rags, as her contribution to wiping the cutlery. "I am. I've asked Father Christmas for a painting set. Lots of different pots and brushes."
"I hope you'll get them," said Miriam civilly.
"Oh, she'll get them," announced Hazel, in a meaning way, "but whether Father Christmas will bring them, I don't know."
Jenny's face became suffused with angry color.
"Of course he'll bring them! My letter to him went straight up the chimney! Yours fell back and got burnt up, and serves you right."
"Now, now," said Miriam warningly. Really, she thought, I sound just like my mother! How stupid "Now, now!" sounded! Almost as idiotic as "Now then," a phrase which could bring on partial madness if considered for too long.
It was quite apparent that Hazel was wise to the myth of Santa Claus, while her sister was still touchingly a believer in the Christmas fairy. She must try and get a quiet word with the older child before too much damage was done.
Lovell reappeared as they were finishing. He looked exhausted and Miriam's heart was smitten.
"Go and sit by the fire, and I'll bring you some coffee," she said. "You don't need to set off immediately, do you?"
"Visiting hours are seven until eight-thirty," he said. "Goodness, it looks clean in here! I didn't give Robin a bath, just washed his face and hands. He's asleep already."
Scandalized, the little girls spoke together.
"But Robin always has a bath!"
"Annie always does him all over! He needs a bath."
"Mummy says we must have a bath before bed. Robin won't like it when he wakes up and finds he's all dirty still."
"He won't wake up," said their father shortly.
"We'll give him an extra long one tomorrow," promised Miriam, setting the kettle to boil, "as it's Christmas Eve!"
When Lovell had drunk his coffee and departed, carrying Miriam's bouquet and some magazines for Eileen, she took the girls up to the bathroom and bribed them into the steaming bath with one of her precious bath cubes.
"I'll come back in ten minutes to see if you are really clean," she told them, and left them to their own devices while she unpacked her case.
Later, scrubbed and sweet-smelling in their flowered night gowns, they held up their arms for a goodnight kiss, and Miriam admitted to herself that just now and again—for very brief periods—children could be very winning.
She descended the long staircase feeling a hundred years old. Fair acre and Holly Lodge seemed light-years away. This reminded her that she had promised to ring Joan.
But
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