Winterbound by Margery Williams Bianco Page B

matters.
    The telephone was put in; hitherto they had managed without it, for the two houses were so near it was very little trouble to slip across. But about the “someone” Mrs. Ellis was firm. Edna would have been the real person but Edna couldn’t leave home, and there was no one else in the neighborhood. In the end, and reluctantly, Cousin Carrie was appealed to, after much groaning from Kay and Garry. Cousin Carrie was interested in variouskinds of social work and could generally be relied upon to “know of someone” among her many protégés. She knew of someone now.
    â€œIt is difficult,” she wrote, “to find exactly the type of person you want at such short notice, for most of the women I know who are out of jobs and might be glad of such an opportunity are far too young. I think I have been fortunate therefore in getting hold of Mrs. Cummings. She has been living with a married daughter recently but before that worked as housekeeper and caretaker for several good families. She is used to the country and thoroughly reliable, elderly but quite capable of light assistance and general supervision, and with two grown girls in the house that is all that should be necessary. She would be willing to come to you for forty dollars a month and her keep, but I gather that under the circumstances would expect to be treated as one of the family.”
    â€œWhat else would one expect?” commented Garry when the letter was read aloud. “We’re plain people; no room here for a servants’ hall if we wanted one. But I think if she’s only going to give light assistance and be treated as one of the family forty dollars is a lot of money these days. I’d expect to work for forty dollars a month.”
    Mrs. Ellis privately thought so too, for forty dollars all but swallowed up the little sum that her sister wouldbe able to pay her and she had hoped to be able to send something home as well, for little extra comforts. But Cousin Carrie evidently knew, and there was no time to pick and choose, as she reminded herself; the main thing was to have someone responsible in the house.
    â€œWhat does she mean by ‘general supervision’?” Kay wondered. “She isn’t going to be in charge of us, anyway.”
    â€œIt’s Cousin Carrie’s delicate way of suggesting a chaperone,” Garry explained. “Obsolete term, to be found in all good Victorian dictionaries. Look it up, Kay.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” said her mother. “Cousin Carrie just means that she’s capable and responsible. She’s probably just some nice middle-aged person who will be glad of a good home and a little change.”
    â€œShe’ll probably get the little change, all right,” Garry said. “I don’t know so much about the pleasant home. Don’t look that way, Penny dear! You know we are perfect models always when you aren’t around to set a bad example. I expect she’ll teach me knitting stitches of an evening while Kay reads the paper aloud.”
    Penny was to leave as soon as possible, so the next few days were busy ones. Martin was frankly envious of anyone going to New Mexico; it was just the sort of thing that would happen to a girl and not a boy, who wouldhave known how to appreciate it. He had no sympathy at all for Peggy, and thought her plain lucky. Kay felt secretly a little the same way. She was glad for her mother to have the change and experience but would have given a great deal to be in her shoes, for Santa Fe called up visions of everything she would most have loved, sunlight and color and a world of new impressions, and most likely the chance of meeting painters and writers as well. A great deal of longing and some bitterness of feeling—not for her mother but with life in general—was packed into the suitcase along with the rolled stockings and underwear. Things always happened, she thought, to people