taking her hand and walking her to Gabriel, who patted the place beside him. Despite the speculative looks, Lacey proudly took that spot that said she mattered to the vicar.
When Bridget stood before her and Gabriel, gazing from one of them to the other, Lacey took the boy from Gabe. “Sit with your PapaGabe for a while then we’ll trade.”
Bridget seemed somewhat content with that, though Lacey suspected she wasn’t, not quite. But she could hardly sit on both their laps at the same time. That Bridget did not try to send the boy on his way pleased Lacey no end.
After Tweenie collected her pennies, Hector the Hungry Hedgehog came out and bowed. When the applause quieted, he cupped his hand above his eyes to search the crowd. “Cricket,” he called. “Oh, Cricket, are you here?”
Bridget slid off her father’s lap and went to stand before the stage facing Hedgehog. “May I help you?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, you may. Pick up that covered box over there, on the side of the stage. Yes, that pink-and-white striped one. Keep it for me, will you? There’s something inside that Sergei the Wolf wants. And I don’t want him to get it.”
Bridget leaned close. “What is it?”
“Merry Mouse. I want to marry her, but Wolf wants to eat her!”
With a gasp, Bridget clasped the covered box protectively.
“Go and sit with your Papa and take good care of Merry, while I take care of Wolf.” Bridget returned to them, puffed with importance and seriously guarding her treasure.
Ivy’s audience clapped for Hector and booed Sergei. They shouted warnings, screamed and giggled, as a battle of wits and brawn raged between hero and villain.
When Sergei had been chased off, Hedgehog acted exhausted and seemed to think he was finally safe, so he settled down to nap, and snore, entertaining his young audience, until Wolf came sneaking back.
The children began to shout, “Wake up, wake up,” Bridget loudest of all.
Hedgehog woke and won the day and the stripling audience cheered. Then he asked Bridget to return the precious box and place it just so on the stage. After she did, Merry Mouse nudged the top up with her head and peeked over the edge. “Thank you, Cricket,” she said. “Please stay for the wedding.”
Parson puppet came out to marry Hector and Merry, but before he did, he bent over to kiss Bridget on the head.
The sanctimonious, long-winded Parson Mouse had been modeled after Gabriel.
Lacey giggled without control, and Gabriel frowned.
As the show ended happily ever after and the final applause died down, Julian came to stand before Lacey, looking from her to Gabriel, trying not to frown over their intimate display of stockinged feet. “I say, Lace, whom precisely do I ask for permission to call on you at Rectory Cottage?”
Gabriel grumped and Lacey found herself at a loss for words. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she wasn’t quite ready for this.
Lady Prout and company stepped nearer, the better to hear.
Prout’s daughter, Olivia, tall, with a slim but promising figure, was tricked out in a pricey day gown that turned her skin to paste, her hair pulled severely back to a knot at her nape, a style that emphasized the length of her nose.
Softer curls at Olivia’s face, and a dress, if it must be brown, should be the purple-brown of puce to draw the beholder to see none but her extraordinary eyes.
But the poor thing—likely made to dress so as not to outshine her peahen of a mother—tended to melt like a flower into a wall, except when tryin g no t to look at Gabe’s feet, at which she failed and tittered foolishly.
Gabriel rose and became Parson Puppet in the flesh with exactly the same scowl in place as he walked away.
“I told Olivia,” Lady Prout whispered to her band of bad-mouthers, loud enough for Lace to hear, “that our dear vicar would no t kee p one of low morals among us.” She raised a shoulder as if to point. “I mean, we have a church to build, he and I,
When Bridget stood before her and Gabriel, gazing from one of them to the other, Lacey took the boy from Gabe. “Sit with your PapaGabe for a while then we’ll trade.”
Bridget seemed somewhat content with that, though Lacey suspected she wasn’t, not quite. But she could hardly sit on both their laps at the same time. That Bridget did not try to send the boy on his way pleased Lacey no end.
After Tweenie collected her pennies, Hector the Hungry Hedgehog came out and bowed. When the applause quieted, he cupped his hand above his eyes to search the crowd. “Cricket,” he called. “Oh, Cricket, are you here?”
Bridget slid off her father’s lap and went to stand before the stage facing Hedgehog. “May I help you?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, you may. Pick up that covered box over there, on the side of the stage. Yes, that pink-and-white striped one. Keep it for me, will you? There’s something inside that Sergei the Wolf wants. And I don’t want him to get it.”
Bridget leaned close. “What is it?”
“Merry Mouse. I want to marry her, but Wolf wants to eat her!”
With a gasp, Bridget clasped the covered box protectively.
“Go and sit with your Papa and take good care of Merry, while I take care of Wolf.” Bridget returned to them, puffed with importance and seriously guarding her treasure.
Ivy’s audience clapped for Hector and booed Sergei. They shouted warnings, screamed and giggled, as a battle of wits and brawn raged between hero and villain.
When Sergei had been chased off, Hedgehog acted exhausted and seemed to think he was finally safe, so he settled down to nap, and snore, entertaining his young audience, until Wolf came sneaking back.
The children began to shout, “Wake up, wake up,” Bridget loudest of all.
Hedgehog woke and won the day and the stripling audience cheered. Then he asked Bridget to return the precious box and place it just so on the stage. After she did, Merry Mouse nudged the top up with her head and peeked over the edge. “Thank you, Cricket,” she said. “Please stay for the wedding.”
Parson puppet came out to marry Hector and Merry, but before he did, he bent over to kiss Bridget on the head.
The sanctimonious, long-winded Parson Mouse had been modeled after Gabriel.
Lacey giggled without control, and Gabriel frowned.
As the show ended happily ever after and the final applause died down, Julian came to stand before Lacey, looking from her to Gabriel, trying not to frown over their intimate display of stockinged feet. “I say, Lace, whom precisely do I ask for permission to call on you at Rectory Cottage?”
Gabriel grumped and Lacey found herself at a loss for words. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she wasn’t quite ready for this.
Lady Prout and company stepped nearer, the better to hear.
Prout’s daughter, Olivia, tall, with a slim but promising figure, was tricked out in a pricey day gown that turned her skin to paste, her hair pulled severely back to a knot at her nape, a style that emphasized the length of her nose.
Softer curls at Olivia’s face, and a dress, if it must be brown, should be the purple-brown of puce to draw the beholder to see none but her extraordinary eyes.
But the poor thing—likely made to dress so as not to outshine her peahen of a mother—tended to melt like a flower into a wall, except when tryin g no t to look at Gabe’s feet, at which she failed and tittered foolishly.
Gabriel rose and became Parson Puppet in the flesh with exactly the same scowl in place as he walked away.
“I told Olivia,” Lady Prout whispered to her band of bad-mouthers, loud enough for Lace to hear, “that our dear vicar would no t kee p one of low morals among us.” She raised a shoulder as if to point. “I mean, we have a church to build, he and I,
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