varnish them,' I told him. He made his way to the side table again without a word, and tipped a little varnish into the old saucer kept for the purpose. When the lesson ended the teapot stand was put on the piano to dry, with all the other objects.
'You've made some nice things,' I told the children. 'Are you pleased with your teapot stand, Joseph?'
'Yes, miss. It's for my mum's birthday, miss. Come Saturday, miss.'
'And it's honestly come by,' I said meaningly.
'And all out of bits thrown away,' commented Ernest gleefully.
'Like my tile,' added Joseph.
I opened my mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.
'There's a fine old mess in my dustpan,' grumbled Mrs Pringle when she arrived after school that afernoon. 'Full of bits of broken tile or something.'
'Joseph should have tipped that in the dustbin,' I said.
Mrs Pringle snorted.
'Been pinching again? Them Coggses is all tarred with the same brush, if you ask me. Tyler's Row, I suppose? Wonder that place isn't gutted by now. Don't know what children are coming to these days. We'd 'ave got a good leathering when I was young, but today—why, the kids don't seem to know right from wrong.'
'It's not for want of telling,' I told her, with feeling.
Part Two
Some Squally Showers
7. Moving Day
PROVIDENCE, kindly for once, sent sunshine on April 20th. Diana had dreaded the day of departure from her old home, but when it arrived, the house looked so strange and bare that she felt as though the parting with it were already over.
Then, too, there was so much to do that there was little time to wax sentimental. Much of the stuff was already at Tyler's Row, for they had been taking over boxes of books, china and cutlery during the last week or so.
They ate their breakfast in the depleted kitchen, with boxes of kitchen utensils stacked around them. The final stages of packing Diana found completely numbing.
'What on earth shall I do with this milk?' she asked, looking hunted, as she held up a jug.
'Chuck it down the sink,' said Peter robustly. 'And throw the rest of the cornflakes and bread to the birds.'
She obeyed, and then stood, looking bewildered.
'Suppose we want a drink later on? I ought to have kept out the flasks, you know, and filled them with coffee.'
'There's a pub at Fairacre, and old Burnaby will be making pots of tea like mad. Don't fret so,' said Peter impatiently.
Diana moved dumbly about her tasks. Most women, she told herself, would have thought about flasks and sandwiches and all the preparations for a move. She felt decidedly inefficient and slightly despairing. What, for instance, did she do with the last wet teacloth?
The removal men were due at nine-thirty. Peter was going ahead to let them into Tyler's Row, and Diana was left behind to see the things out. Later, Peter would return to fetch her, and Tom the cat, whose basket stood on the kitchen dresser in readiness.
'You must leave Tom's saucer,' said Diana, watching Peter cram the last-minute objects into the laundry basket. 'He likes a drink about eleven.'
'Oh my lord!' moaned Peter, clutching his head. 'Tom'll have to go without today. Anyway we've thrown away the milk.'
'Oh dear! He'll go next door for Charlie's. You know what he is!'
'He won't if you shut him in the bedroom,' replied Peter firmly. 'Now, I'm off. Don't panic. Leave it all to the men, and I'll pick you up as soon as I've seen the furniture settled. Probably soon after one.'
Within minutes of his departure the furniture vans arrived, and from then on four hefty men took over. Diana wandered vaguely from room to room, trying to keep out of their way. They seemed remarkably calm and efficient, with their tea chests and mounds of newspapers, and pieces of sacking and polythene sheeting.
She watched the largest of the four deftly wrapping her best tea-set in pieces of newspaper, his great red hands handling each piece much more delicately than she could herself.
There was something very sad about uprooting all
'You've made some nice things,' I told the children. 'Are you pleased with your teapot stand, Joseph?'
'Yes, miss. It's for my mum's birthday, miss. Come Saturday, miss.'
'And it's honestly come by,' I said meaningly.
'And all out of bits thrown away,' commented Ernest gleefully.
'Like my tile,' added Joseph.
I opened my mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.
'There's a fine old mess in my dustpan,' grumbled Mrs Pringle when she arrived after school that afernoon. 'Full of bits of broken tile or something.'
'Joseph should have tipped that in the dustbin,' I said.
Mrs Pringle snorted.
'Been pinching again? Them Coggses is all tarred with the same brush, if you ask me. Tyler's Row, I suppose? Wonder that place isn't gutted by now. Don't know what children are coming to these days. We'd 'ave got a good leathering when I was young, but today—why, the kids don't seem to know right from wrong.'
'It's not for want of telling,' I told her, with feeling.
Part Two
Some Squally Showers
7. Moving Day
PROVIDENCE, kindly for once, sent sunshine on April 20th. Diana had dreaded the day of departure from her old home, but when it arrived, the house looked so strange and bare that she felt as though the parting with it were already over.
Then, too, there was so much to do that there was little time to wax sentimental. Much of the stuff was already at Tyler's Row, for they had been taking over boxes of books, china and cutlery during the last week or so.
They ate their breakfast in the depleted kitchen, with boxes of kitchen utensils stacked around them. The final stages of packing Diana found completely numbing.
'What on earth shall I do with this milk?' she asked, looking hunted, as she held up a jug.
'Chuck it down the sink,' said Peter robustly. 'And throw the rest of the cornflakes and bread to the birds.'
She obeyed, and then stood, looking bewildered.
'Suppose we want a drink later on? I ought to have kept out the flasks, you know, and filled them with coffee.'
'There's a pub at Fairacre, and old Burnaby will be making pots of tea like mad. Don't fret so,' said Peter impatiently.
Diana moved dumbly about her tasks. Most women, she told herself, would have thought about flasks and sandwiches and all the preparations for a move. She felt decidedly inefficient and slightly despairing. What, for instance, did she do with the last wet teacloth?
The removal men were due at nine-thirty. Peter was going ahead to let them into Tyler's Row, and Diana was left behind to see the things out. Later, Peter would return to fetch her, and Tom the cat, whose basket stood on the kitchen dresser in readiness.
'You must leave Tom's saucer,' said Diana, watching Peter cram the last-minute objects into the laundry basket. 'He likes a drink about eleven.'
'Oh my lord!' moaned Peter, clutching his head. 'Tom'll have to go without today. Anyway we've thrown away the milk.'
'Oh dear! He'll go next door for Charlie's. You know what he is!'
'He won't if you shut him in the bedroom,' replied Peter firmly. 'Now, I'm off. Don't panic. Leave it all to the men, and I'll pick you up as soon as I've seen the furniture settled. Probably soon after one.'
Within minutes of his departure the furniture vans arrived, and from then on four hefty men took over. Diana wandered vaguely from room to room, trying to keep out of their way. They seemed remarkably calm and efficient, with their tea chests and mounds of newspapers, and pieces of sacking and polythene sheeting.
She watched the largest of the four deftly wrapping her best tea-set in pieces of newspaper, his great red hands handling each piece much more delicately than she could herself.
There was something very sad about uprooting all
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