Turning to me with a look of complicity he clapped me companionably on the back.
âThe old girl got the better of us, boy. And Iâm hanged if I donât like her for it.â
With these few words he reinstated himself. My faith in him was restored. That was always Fatherâs wayâhe had the knack of snatching victory from defeat. But just before we reached home he put a finger to his lips and lowered his left eyelid.
âAll the same, weâll not say anything to your mother.â
Chapter Five
I had made my peace with Maggie, an act of amendment for which, afterwards, I had cause to bless my mother.
Consulting with her on the most appropriate means of atonement she suggested that I should spend my Saturday penny on whatever my betrayed friend liked best. I accordingly purchased, at Luckie Grantâs, a haâpenny worth of black-striped balls and the same amount of coloured transfers and carried these gifts to Maggieâs home on the far side of the railway line.
She was seated by a dull fire in the dark little stone-floored kitchen that smelled of soapsuds. She had a sore throat and wore a woollen stocking fastened round her neck with a safety-pin. Perhaps because of this, she received me gently, so gently that I gave way to remorseful tears. For this weakness Maggie reproved me mildly in words I have never forgotten and which were so painfully true I must record them in Maggieâs own native idiom.
âOch, Laurie, laddie, yeâre a fearfuâ greeter. Yer tear-bag is awfuâ near yer eâen.â
Maggieâs mother was out, to my great relief, for I could not bear her, not alone because she nagged Maggie, but because, calling me âloveâ, and other endearments which I knew to be false, she sought to pump me about my home with insidious questions such as did my mother get on with father, what had she paid for her new hat, and why did we eat fish on Friday?
All that afternoon Maggie and I sat together at the wooden table and stuck the coloured transfers on our hands and arms while sucking the black-striped balls. Cementing our restored amity I gave her a lucky medal which I said would cure her throat. Actually this was a little silver St Christopher medal of the size and shape of a sixpence, but as I dared not invoke the religious element, I made it out to be a charm. Maggie, who liked charms, was delighted and when we parted repeatedly assured me that we were friends again.
In spite of our mutual pledge I did not see much of Maggie that winter. My poor friend was never free. Nevertheless, as I sat at my homework I was pleasantly aware, listening with one ear to my parentsâ conversation, that good things were being prepared for Maggie and for her betterment.
As our circumstances improved, Father had been urging Mother to seek some help in the work of the house. He had never liked to see her scrubbing or sweeping although I must confess that he rarely offered his assistance in such undertakings. Mother, I truly believe, in spite of the apparent absurdity of the statement, enjoyed housework, and the deep satisfaction of creating a spotless, shining, well-ordered home. She was what the Scots term âhouse proudâ and I well remember how, on those days when she had washed the kitchen and scullery floors, I was made to take my shoes off and tread in my stockings on the spread newspapers. Hitherto she had demurred at Fatherâs suggestions, but now twin circumstances induced a change of mind: the new piano demanded better care of her hands, and Maggie, now fourteen, was leaving school at the end of the month.
Mother had a tender heart. She was sorry for Maggie and had grown fond of her. She now made a suggestion to Father which he instantly approved and of which I became the instrument when Mother instructed me:
âLaurie dear, when you see Maggie tell her Iâd like to speak to her mother.â
Next day when Maggie stopped at our house
âThe old girl got the better of us, boy. And Iâm hanged if I donât like her for it.â
With these few words he reinstated himself. My faith in him was restored. That was always Fatherâs wayâhe had the knack of snatching victory from defeat. But just before we reached home he put a finger to his lips and lowered his left eyelid.
âAll the same, weâll not say anything to your mother.â
Chapter Five
I had made my peace with Maggie, an act of amendment for which, afterwards, I had cause to bless my mother.
Consulting with her on the most appropriate means of atonement she suggested that I should spend my Saturday penny on whatever my betrayed friend liked best. I accordingly purchased, at Luckie Grantâs, a haâpenny worth of black-striped balls and the same amount of coloured transfers and carried these gifts to Maggieâs home on the far side of the railway line.
She was seated by a dull fire in the dark little stone-floored kitchen that smelled of soapsuds. She had a sore throat and wore a woollen stocking fastened round her neck with a safety-pin. Perhaps because of this, she received me gently, so gently that I gave way to remorseful tears. For this weakness Maggie reproved me mildly in words I have never forgotten and which were so painfully true I must record them in Maggieâs own native idiom.
âOch, Laurie, laddie, yeâre a fearfuâ greeter. Yer tear-bag is awfuâ near yer eâen.â
Maggieâs mother was out, to my great relief, for I could not bear her, not alone because she nagged Maggie, but because, calling me âloveâ, and other endearments which I knew to be false, she sought to pump me about my home with insidious questions such as did my mother get on with father, what had she paid for her new hat, and why did we eat fish on Friday?
All that afternoon Maggie and I sat together at the wooden table and stuck the coloured transfers on our hands and arms while sucking the black-striped balls. Cementing our restored amity I gave her a lucky medal which I said would cure her throat. Actually this was a little silver St Christopher medal of the size and shape of a sixpence, but as I dared not invoke the religious element, I made it out to be a charm. Maggie, who liked charms, was delighted and when we parted repeatedly assured me that we were friends again.
In spite of our mutual pledge I did not see much of Maggie that winter. My poor friend was never free. Nevertheless, as I sat at my homework I was pleasantly aware, listening with one ear to my parentsâ conversation, that good things were being prepared for Maggie and for her betterment.
As our circumstances improved, Father had been urging Mother to seek some help in the work of the house. He had never liked to see her scrubbing or sweeping although I must confess that he rarely offered his assistance in such undertakings. Mother, I truly believe, in spite of the apparent absurdity of the statement, enjoyed housework, and the deep satisfaction of creating a spotless, shining, well-ordered home. She was what the Scots term âhouse proudâ and I well remember how, on those days when she had washed the kitchen and scullery floors, I was made to take my shoes off and tread in my stockings on the spread newspapers. Hitherto she had demurred at Fatherâs suggestions, but now twin circumstances induced a change of mind: the new piano demanded better care of her hands, and Maggie, now fourteen, was leaving school at the end of the month.
Mother had a tender heart. She was sorry for Maggie and had grown fond of her. She now made a suggestion to Father which he instantly approved and of which I became the instrument when Mother instructed me:
âLaurie dear, when you see Maggie tell her Iâd like to speak to her mother.â
Next day when Maggie stopped at our house
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