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Authors: Margaret J. Anderson
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dresses.
She draped one of the silk dresses over the ironing board, and taking the potholder as she had seen Marjorie do, she lifted the iron from where it had been sitting heating in front of the grate. It was unexpectedly heavy, and she swung it over, landing with a thump, flat on the dress.
Instead of sliding easily over the wrinkled dress the iron stuck and there was a horrid hissing sound and curls of smoke eddied around the iron. There was also a ghastly smell of burning cloth.
“Shona! Shona! Come quick!” Anna yelled in a panic.
Marjorie burst into the room and seized the iron. The handle was hot and she burned her fingers. She grabbed the potholder from Anna and carried the iron back to the fireplace. The ironing board cover was smoldering, so she poured half a kettle of water on it to make sure it didn’t burst into flames.
Then she turned on Anna.
“What did you do that for? What made you do it?” she screamed.
“I only wanted to help, and you wouldn’t let me,” sobbed Anna.
“And I was right, wasn’t I? What will the Miss Campbells say when they come home? They’ll be terribly angry. They probably won’t want evacuees any more, and we’ll be sent back to the orphanage. Then they’ll find out I’m not Shona, and it will all be your fault!”
Marjorie raged on, while poor Anna sat in the big chair by the fireplace, a sad, pale, crumpled figure, too frightened even to cry.
Looking at the gaping hole in the dress, Marjorie shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
Anna got up, her doll in her hand, and went out of the room. Marjorie took her seat by the fire and waited uneasily for the Miss Campbells to come home. Miss Morag would likely want to send them away and get older girls in their place, girls who didn’t break and burn things.
When the Miss Campbells came home and saw the ruined dress, they were tight-lipped and angry.
“It’s mine,” Miss Agnes said, looking at the label.
“Anna! Anna! Will you come down her this minute,” Miss Morag shouted sternly.
There was no answer.
“See if she’s upstairs,” Miss Morag told Marjorie.
Marjorie went up to their bedroom, but Anna wasn’t there. She searched the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and even the Miss Campbells’ room, and then all the downstairs rooms. Anna was nowhere in the house.
“Look again,” Miss Morag said. “She’ll be hiding in a cupboard or in the wardrobe.”
Marjorie didn’t think this was likely, but she went all through the house again. Then she and the Miss Campbells looked outside. It was dark and wet, and the wind snatched away their voices as they called Anna’s name. She couldn’t possibly be hiding anywhere in the garden on such a wild night.
They went inside and wordlessly hung up their coats. Marjorie set the table for tea, while Miss Morag folded away the ironing board and the airing rack. Miss Agnes sat by the fire, staring into the flames.
During tea, Anna’s empty place seemed to dominate the room. The Miss Campbells didn’t even turn on the wireless because they were straining to hear the bang of the front door that would signal Anna’s return. The meal was eaten in uneasy silence.
The period of waiting stretched on, and it was now almost bedtime, yet there was still no sign of Anna. Suddenly Marjorie jumped up and ran upstairs to their bedroom. She came down again, looking perplexed and unhappy.
“Her suitcase is gone. I think she must have run away—and it’s all my fault. I was so cross and angry with her.”
“We’ve none of us been very patient with the poor wee thing,” Miss Morag said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to tell the police.”
“We can’t do that!” Miss Agnes said, looking horror-stricken. “You know what people will say. They’ll be saying she ran away because we were cruel to her.”
“They won’t say that!” protested Marjorie.
“Oh, yes, they will,” Miss Morag said. “This is a terrible place for gossip, and the
She draped one of the silk dresses over the ironing board, and taking the potholder as she had seen Marjorie do, she lifted the iron from where it had been sitting heating in front of the grate. It was unexpectedly heavy, and she swung it over, landing with a thump, flat on the dress.
Instead of sliding easily over the wrinkled dress the iron stuck and there was a horrid hissing sound and curls of smoke eddied around the iron. There was also a ghastly smell of burning cloth.
“Shona! Shona! Come quick!” Anna yelled in a panic.
Marjorie burst into the room and seized the iron. The handle was hot and she burned her fingers. She grabbed the potholder from Anna and carried the iron back to the fireplace. The ironing board cover was smoldering, so she poured half a kettle of water on it to make sure it didn’t burst into flames.
Then she turned on Anna.
“What did you do that for? What made you do it?” she screamed.
“I only wanted to help, and you wouldn’t let me,” sobbed Anna.
“And I was right, wasn’t I? What will the Miss Campbells say when they come home? They’ll be terribly angry. They probably won’t want evacuees any more, and we’ll be sent back to the orphanage. Then they’ll find out I’m not Shona, and it will all be your fault!”
Marjorie raged on, while poor Anna sat in the big chair by the fireplace, a sad, pale, crumpled figure, too frightened even to cry.
Looking at the gaping hole in the dress, Marjorie shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
Anna got up, her doll in her hand, and went out of the room. Marjorie took her seat by the fire and waited uneasily for the Miss Campbells to come home. Miss Morag would likely want to send them away and get older girls in their place, girls who didn’t break and burn things.
When the Miss Campbells came home and saw the ruined dress, they were tight-lipped and angry.
“It’s mine,” Miss Agnes said, looking at the label.
“Anna! Anna! Will you come down her this minute,” Miss Morag shouted sternly.
There was no answer.
“See if she’s upstairs,” Miss Morag told Marjorie.
Marjorie went up to their bedroom, but Anna wasn’t there. She searched the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and even the Miss Campbells’ room, and then all the downstairs rooms. Anna was nowhere in the house.
“Look again,” Miss Morag said. “She’ll be hiding in a cupboard or in the wardrobe.”
Marjorie didn’t think this was likely, but she went all through the house again. Then she and the Miss Campbells looked outside. It was dark and wet, and the wind snatched away their voices as they called Anna’s name. She couldn’t possibly be hiding anywhere in the garden on such a wild night.
They went inside and wordlessly hung up their coats. Marjorie set the table for tea, while Miss Morag folded away the ironing board and the airing rack. Miss Agnes sat by the fire, staring into the flames.
During tea, Anna’s empty place seemed to dominate the room. The Miss Campbells didn’t even turn on the wireless because they were straining to hear the bang of the front door that would signal Anna’s return. The meal was eaten in uneasy silence.
The period of waiting stretched on, and it was now almost bedtime, yet there was still no sign of Anna. Suddenly Marjorie jumped up and ran upstairs to their bedroom. She came down again, looking perplexed and unhappy.
“Her suitcase is gone. I think she must have run away—and it’s all my fault. I was so cross and angry with her.”
“We’ve none of us been very patient with the poor wee thing,” Miss Morag said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to tell the police.”
“We can’t do that!” Miss Agnes said, looking horror-stricken. “You know what people will say. They’ll be saying she ran away because we were cruel to her.”
“They won’t say that!” protested Marjorie.
“Oh, yes, they will,” Miss Morag said. “This is a terrible place for gossip, and the
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