across the sideboard. And how June was dawdling! "Eat all your potato, June. Don't leave your knife hanging off your plate like that." "All right, mother. Peter's still crying. Would it be a murder, do you think, to kill a pretend person?" "Please don't kick the table, June." "All right, mother." "What's that song, mother?" Why do children always jam up so close against you when you're playing? And they are always so hot, poor dears. "It's called 'School Days,' I think. "I wish you'd say 'very well' Now run along upstairs." sometimes." "All right." "All right?" "All right, mother. But would it be murdering?" "What murdering?" How mad "I mean, very well, mother. But deningly persistent they were! would it?" "Would it what, June? I haven't the least idea what you're talking about." How exasperating even the loveliest of children could be sometimes! They made you simply want to yell. There was a good deal in this English plan of governesses. But then the English women never kept really in touch with their children. They never could understand all the details of their lives. "What do you mean, June?" she asked, and folded her napkin. "I mean would it be murdering to kill a pretend person? Oh, Delia, I don't want custard. Have I got to eat it, mother?" "Don't say 'got' so much, June. Yes, you must eat it. June may have one plain cake, Delia. Now, June, finish your lunch and go up for your rest until the Brown children come. You may have orange-juice and lady-fingers at four." She wandered across the hall into the livingroom and sat down at the piano. The bowl of lavender sweet peas on it was charming. Just the color of the candles on the mantel beyond, "To kill a pretend person." "No, of course not; what nonsense! I don't want you and Peter to play such silly games. You're to stop it. Do you understand?" "Yes, mother, but-we can't stop it yet because of the pirate." "Of course you can stop such nonsense. 'School-days, schooldays, dear old golden-rule days-"" "But, mother, don't you see, if we stop it now the pirate will climb up the trellis and let the flat black animal out of Petey's closet, and the pirate will stick Peter with his sword thing, and the animal will eat him up-" She was nearly crying. "June, I forbid you to talk any such foolishness. Tell Peter there's no such thing as a pirate. Now go up to your rest." "Yes, mother." At last. Now how did the rest of that song go? "School-days, schooldays, dear old golden-rule days; you were a something in calico-I was your " "Mother!" "What is it, June? Didn't I tell you to go upstairs?" "Yes, mother. I'm going. But if they can't kill a person, I mean a bad wicked person, what do they do to them, I mean?" "Lock them up." ciation, that is, for really good music, and he repeated his stories until she wanted to scream. If he told that one about the Irishman and the parrot at the Adams's dinner to "Oh-like in your locked bureau night she simply couldn't bear it. drawer?" "Yes-only in a jail or prison." Leslie was looking over her pile of music. "Might I lock up that pretend pirate in a closet or something?" "Yes, yes, child. Now go to bed." "Shure I beg yer pardon, sor; I thought ye was a burd." It took a tremendous lot of patience to be married, and so many people couldn't seem to hit it off at all. That was because the women didn't make any effort to have things go well, to understand the personalities of their "Peter's still crying; he doesn't families. That was the secret: want his door shut." "Then tell Martha to leave it open. Now for pity's sake, go!" June went, and Petey's howls subsided from above. 23 It was pleasant to lie out in the long chair in that interval between tea and dressing for dinner. Leslie had one of Sherwood Anderson's books, but she didn't like it very much. It was too well, just the way they always were. She wouldn't care to meet him. She imagined sitting next him at some dinner, and if he should fall in love with her it would be dreadfully hard to handle him. He wasn't the sort who could be jollied off. He'd say: "You know you aren't more than half alive now. Come on." It would be a devastating sort of experience, but tremendously stirring . . . and poor Peter, Peter senior, when he found her note on the pincushion! It would be so horrible for him. He did love her. And he was a darling, although of course he wasn't perfect. He never would get his trumps out first, and he spoiled the children and didn't have a sign of musical appre understanding, and sympathy, and keeping yourself up. It was really a charming dress she had on. That pale yellow crêpe was just right for her dark hair. And the short shingle did give her a tremendously distinguished French look. It was such a comfort to know one's self to be good looking. Beauty did certainly count. It was a joy to have the place in such good order. The new gardener had done wonders with the lawn even here at the side. It was beautifully smooth and green, and she loved these long shadows across it, from the two apple-trees. There was a thrush in one, singing. And a foolish robin trying to pull a worm out of the lawn. And the house was lovely. She was so glad they had had tapestry brick. And beetles didn't climb up the vines and drop in the windows at all as Aunt Abbey had said they would. Over by the wall the nasturtium border was like running flame at the foot of the rhododendrons. "Running flame"; that was a good thought. If she took the time to it she could write well herself—a strong psycho logical novel. It would be nice to It would be nice to have a hundred thousand dollars or more. They could build a swimming-pool. But with two children one never had a minute for anything. One was simply rushing all day long. It was almost their bath time now. "Children-June, Peter," she called. They came running around the corner of the garage, shouting and waving sticks as if they were hitting at something. They might break down the shrubs, beating among them like that, and Petey shouldn't scream so wildly. "June!" Peter shrieked from his bushes, and June dragged her hand "Kill him, kill him-kill him- from Leslie's and ran straight across Jingle, Jingle." the lawn calling: June came running across the grass, much too red and overheated, but her brown hair was charming in little curling rings. "Mother, mother," she cried. "I've got to have a stagger-quickly -quickly-" "Darling, you mustn't get so excited. What is a stagger?" "Oh, it's a little sword, to stab you with, you know. Mother, please." "June dear, how hot you are! Did you have a pleasant time with the Brown children?" "Yes, mother-please, mother-I need a stagger dreadfully-" "Petey darling, I'm coming, I'm coming.' "Did you get the stagger?" he called. "Oh, Juney-" and he sobbed wildly. Then Martha's white skirt swished past Leslie, and everything became chaotic. Leslie sat up in her chair, and the book slid to the ground. Disgusting, this tantrum of the children. They had got overtired. There was Peter, his blue sailor suit all dreadfully mussed and rumpled, kicking at Martha and screaming like a slum child, and Martha dragging June out of the bushes by the Petey shrieked from over by the back of her bloomers. How strong wall. "June, June, he's killing Jingle. Oh-h-h-" "The pirate's fighting Jingle by the little gold door," June gasped. "Oh, mother, please let me have a stagger or a carving-knife. Jingle isn't nearly as big as the pirate. I've simply got to have one." "Don't say 'got' June," said Leslie and took her hand firmly. those Irish girls are! It's no easy matter to handle two fighting yelling children and drag them across the lawn like that. "Be quiet, children," Leslie ordered as Martha hauled them up to her. "You are very naughty. You see, Martha"-she had to shout above the noise of weeping and protests-"they got overtired with the Brown children. Carry him up stairs to his bath. June, I'm shocked at such behavior. Go straight into the house and sit perfectly still in a chair until Martha wants you for your bath." "But, mother," June sobbed, "the pirate's killed Jingle almost. He's dreadfully hurt. He's lying all among the nasturtiums. I might save him-" "Go into the house at once." "But Jingle's dying-" She turned with wilful disobedience and ran toward the bushes. Leslie was seldom so angry, and it is dreadfully hard to get up from those canvas chairs. They close up on your back. She struggled out and ran across the lawn after June and caught the child's shoulder and shook her and wanted to box her ears, like a tenement woman. "Go into the house at once," she cried. "If there is any more naughtiness you can't go to the Browns' party. Go at once." 22 Miserable, to have all this friction and chaos at the end of a day! How Martha spoiled them! Well, she would go in and have her own bath and dress for dinner. She would wear the peach-blossom chiffon tonight. She always had a good time when she wore that-and a horrid time when she wore the blue. She did hope she wouldn't have to play bridge with Jamie Mathews. He always overbid. Peter and June were still howling as she went in. They simply couldn't have other children to play with them since it got them so much excited. She wished the house were bigger. She hated the sound of crying. Sounds of weeping came to her ears even above the agreeable splashings of her bath, but she tried to close her mind to everything outside of herself. Bathing was delightful, and she was always glad that the tub and the walls gave the water that soft blue look, it was so Roman. And bath-salts! But she wished they dissolved faster. One sometimes sat on them uncomfortably. She soaped herself and enjoyed the sheen of her knee rising from the water, and the play of the shadows and sunlight on the wall, and the cool feeling as she raised her arm to pull a towel off the rack. She had lovely skin, really. So many women had mottled arms and necks. Dreadful. That was because they didn't use the proper creams. The racket from the nursery was growing simply intolerable. Peter was shrieking, "Don't shut the door; don't shut the door; please, please— please." How Martha spoiled him! "Mrs. Anthony." How annoying it was when people spoke to you when you were in the tub! "Well, Martha?" Her voice sounded irritated, and she was glad of it. "Pater won't have his door shut." "He must have it shut. He simply can't be allowed to behave so badly. Tell him that you are going to shut his door and he must go to sleep." Steps receded down the hall, and there were murmurs and louder shrieks and June saying: "But, Martha, Martha-Jingle's dying in the nasturtiums, and if he dies there isn't anybody to stop the pirate climbing up and letting out the flat black—” "Now that's enough of that nonsense. If you don't stop I'll call yer mother to spank you, Pater." This from Martha; and the nursery door was shut violently, and Peter gave a despairing howl. Leslie was drying herself angrily. It was disgusting, the house to be so upset at this time of the day. She simply wouldn't pay any attention to Peter's howlings. He'd have to cry himself out; that was all. She slipped on a soft negligée of apricot and lace and ribbons and went into her own room and manicured her nails. But she had not had time to dress before the storm broke out again down the hall; wilder shrieks and sounds indicating that Peter was losing his supper. She put on her negligée again and hurried to the nursery and found a charmingly naked Peter sobbing into the cushion of a window-seat and Martha hunting out a pair of clean night-drawers. "Well, I suppose something he ate didn't agree with him," Leslie said, and Martha snorted: "It's timper, Mrs. Anthony; that's all." "Peter, stop it." She took hold of his little tense shoulders and pulled him around, facing her. "Why, Martha, he looks quite feverish. Where's the thermometer?" Then as Martha was putting Peter into his night-drawers there were shouts below from the lawn. The cook calling: "Come out o' them flowers, June Anthony. What's in that bottle you're pourin' on them?" June in her night-drawers, dancing up and down among the nasturtiums, and emptying the dark contents of a little bottle! Was the child crazy? "Come up at once, June. Bring her up, Bridget." Peter, wrapped in a bunny-blanket on the window-seat, was silenced by a thermometer in the mouth, and there was a scuffle outside on the stairs, June evidently escaping from Bridget, running down the hall and trying to hide in the linen-closet. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, a key turning, some one dashing into the bath-room, water rushing, and then June being dragged by the arm to the door of the nursery. And she had been out in her pajamas! They were too small too, and two buttons off the back. "June, didn't I tell you if there was any more naughtiness you couldn't go to the Browns' party?" June's lips trembled. "Yes, mother, but I just felt I'd got to do it." "Very well then. I'll telephone Mrs. Brown you can't come. But I don't suppose I can-you've accepted. What were you pouring on the nasturtiums?" "Iodine." "Iodine? For heaven's sake why?” "For-for cuts-" Leslie took the thermometer out of Peter's mouth and held it up to the window. It was hard to read. "Oh, Juney," Peter implored, "don't let them shut this door." "Petey," June said and sat on the edge of his crib, "Jingle's all right. I poured iodine all over him. His cuts are all well." "No, he doesn't seem to have any fever, Martha." "No, ma'am, I knew it was just timper." "Jingle's going to sit on the roof outside your window, and if anything comes up the trellis or anywhere he'll hit it on the head with that |