A Song of Sixpence by A. J. Cronin Page A

during the lunch hour to say that her mother would ‘come round’ on Saturday evening, Mother took the opportunity of sounding her out. Naturally, I was not present at the interview, but Maggie’s expression, as she departed, was proud and happy. When I saw her at school that afternoon she had a new air, an important and entirely superior personality as, pausing only to beam a smile towards me, she confided to the other girls in her class that, freed of the tyranny of these everlasting milk cans, she was to be our maid, to have the small attic bedroom, a new dress and a good wage.
    Next day was Saturday. In the afternoon, following her weekly custom, Mother put on her best dove-grey costume and, taking me by the hand, proceeded to the village in the open and friendly manner she invariably adopted on such occasions and which was of course completely the reverse of the attitude affected by her husband. Father’s public attitude was really inexcusable. I believe he had been badly hurt in some way, unknown to me, during those early difficult days at Rosebank and he was not one who readily forgave an insult. Mother was different, amiably disposed towards all the world, willing to overlook a slight, eager to make friends, and she sought always to modify father’s ‘ touchiness’, to disarm prejudice and soften hostility. These Saturday excursions, although ostensibly for the practical purposes of shopping, envisaged other objectives and during our promenade, while holding herself in readiness to accept and return the few acknowledgements made to her, Mother, moving in a glowing ambience of good feeling, would maintain a lively conversation with me on all sorts of subjects, thus conveying to the village an impression of our strong social instincts.
    On this particular afternoon she spent a very agreeable half-hour at Miss Todd’s, the milliner’s, choosing a dark dress and also a new pair of stockings and house shoes for Maggie. Thereafter she had a good gossipy talk with Polly Grant, who now never failed to ask after my cousin Terence, then emerging from the grocery, she actually, received a bow from Mrs Duthie elderly wife of the village doctor. Things were looking up for Mother. And this was not all. As we turned to go home, we encountered Pin Rankin, who pegged hard across the road to intercept us.
    â€˜Have you a moment, Mrs Carroll?’
    Naturally Mother had as many moments as were desired. Pin, a bachelor, was always shy with women. He took a quick breath, which I knew to be the prelude to a longish speech delivered with the same involvement that, no doubt, had marred his sermons.
    â€˜You have a bright boy, m’am. Some of his compositions are outstanding. I read them to the class. But it’s not that I wish to speak to you about. The fact is, Lady Meikle is organizing a charity concert for the Children’s Home to be held in the village hall on the fifth of next month, and I wondered, we wondered if you would consent to perform a piano solo. I, we would be so pleased and grateful if you would favour us.’
    I looked sharply at Mother. She had blushed deeply. She did not answer for a moment.
    â€˜Oh, do, Mother,’ I cried. ‘You know how beautifully you play.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘I will play.’
    On the way home Mother, ordinarily so discursive, remained completely silent. Yet from that silence I knew how deeply this recognition, so long delayed, had gratified her.
    In the kitchen Father was brewing some herbal tea at the stove. His cold was apparently not quite gone and he had taken to dosing himself with a concoction of his own. Now, he looked seedy and in a mood that was far from propitious. When Mother disclosed her great news he stared at her. I could see that he was going to throw this precious invitation back in the teeth of the village.
    â€˜Naturally you told them to go to the devil.’
    â€˜No, Conor.’