PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3842, 1 November 1927, Page 9

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

' Eilcbn Sebvici.

(Special fob the Otago Witmbbb.) XXII.—LABOUR DAY WEEK-END. (Founded on a letter received by me last Wednesday.—E. S.) Prosina lias been staying with us. I never did approve of Prosina—big, hearty thing that she defying all conventions and doing just' as she pleases—but since this last visit not only do I disapprove more than ever, but I refuse henceforth to recognise her as a cousin of mine. How she could behave as she did and still remain bland and shameless I.jlo not know. She arrived unexpectedly on Saturday evening. The parents were away for the week-end, having left the house and children in my charge, and I was just looking forward to a restful time reading a little and perhaps going for a walk on Monday when Prosina burst in and spoilt it all. Her entry was characteristic. , “ Evening everybody,’’ she called in a piercing voice as she was admitted after a long peal on the door-bell, “ I say, come out here for a minute. I’ve something to show you. Aurora!” The children had been safe in bed for some time, but at the sound of Frosina’s voice they came tumbling out, a quartet of pyjama-ed figures with popping eyes and no slippers on their feet. “ Oh,” I cried, wringing my hands in exasperation, “ How naughty of you ! Go back to your rooms at once, children I You know you shouldn’t come out when you are told to go to sleep. This is shocking ! ”

Prosina glanced at me with a peculiar expression on her face. Then, dumping her suitcase on the floor, she came over and gave me a resounding kiss. “ Don’t be a goose ! ” she said. “ it won’t hurt them. Let them see. It’ll’do them good. Education, my dear. Look through the window—”

She pushed aside the curtain, whereupon the children, without so much as a glance at me, rushed over and peeped out into the sky. “00-o!” thev said.

“ Coming? ” Prosina asked me over her shoulder.

“ Certainly not! ” I replied. “ And, really, Prosina, it’s too bad of you encouraging them like that. They’ll catch their death of cold, and I’ll bo blamed. You might be a little more considerate I ”

But Prosina was too deeply engrossed in pointing out lights and colours to take any notice of me.

“ See,” she was saying. “ green and pale pink and rose. And silver rays darting through it all. Marvellous, isn’t it? You’ll never forget this, kiddies. It’s too big and too beautiful. Now, back to your beds, and, mind you, no talking, or you won’t hear one word of a plan I’ve got for Monday. Off you go.” I was just about to remark that she might as well speak to the stones as expect herself to be obeyed now that she had roused the children from their sleep, when, to my surprise, the. four of them scampered right back to their rooms without a murmur of protest. So I held my peace. Prosina flung herself down on the rug before me. “ My word, that was great! ” she murmured. “ I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And yet you know, even the most wonderful aurora will be spoilt for me, henceforth, because of a ribald verse I heard in connection with the subject. Like to hear it?” Without waiting for me to say, “ No,” she began: I was seated one evening to view the aurora, When down in my path there sat tat Lady Dora. I must mention that I am a little woodborer. "Oh. what manners!” I cried, “Never mind, though. I’ll gnaw her. It will be a most suitable punishment for her, Though I doubt if she'll ever know anything sorer! ” So, intent on the sights in the sky there before her, I battled and toiled like a wild apple-corer: With tooth and with nail in my frenzy I tore her. And aurora I viewed from the far side of Dora ! She looked up at me'expectantly. But. I froze her with disdain. “ Really, Prosina,” I exclaimed, “ you go too far. First you come and encourage Open rebellion among the children, and then you have the temerity to sit down and tell me a most disgusting piece of rhyme. Your taste is—” I could find no word strong enough to express myself. “ And all within a quarter of'an hour of your arrival in the house! ” _ - ■ -■ Prosina rose up and knelt beside me. “ Dear old thing I ” she said. “ Really, I'm sorry! I did mean to impress you favourably this time, because’ I am always annoying you. And now. look what I’ve done! But I promise to be very, very good for the other days. You wait and see.” , She kept her word. In fact, so well did she do so, that I grew really kindly in my feelings towards her, and when on Sunday night she suggested that I should accept an invitation Jfor a motor ride I had just received, and spend the day with my. friends, leaving + he children in her .care. I . agreed to do so. The change would tbc good for me, and she was showing herself so anxious to please ajid was so genuinely fond of the “ pickle quartet,” ns she called the children, that I?, felt I should be. doing right by following her suggestion;Thus it was settled., -I’7

When I awoke on the morrow, however, it was raining.

“ They won’t be going now,” I saidi when she came into my room. “ It’s far too wet.”-

“ Oh, yes, they will,” she retorted. “ I’ve just rung them up and they’re going all right. Come, and I’ll help you to get ready. It’ll be lovely in a little while—just showers at present. You’ll never notice them in the car. And the ride will be beautiful.”

So, persuaded by her, I rose and dressed, moving about on tip-toe so as not to rouse the children. When the “toot” of the car outside informed me that my hosts had come, I was ready to leave. Somebody said that motoring is all joy. He would not have said it if he had been with us on Monday. To begin with, the car was one of the old-fashioned variety with side curtains which, being full of holes, were excellent for ventilation on fine days, but admitted both wind and rain at other times. To follow, when’ turning a corner we swerved round somehow so that our back wheels went into a greasy rut, and it took' two solid hours before we were free. To con; tinue, we punctured- a tyre right away from anywhere. And to finish, when we decided to have a meal, while it was being mended we found that w e had brought no food with us, having intended to lunch at an hotel. That was the last straw. Here we were, miles away from hotels of any kind, and the rain falling all the time. As a result, when the puncture was mended we made for home in high dudgeon, passing tea houses on the way, but too disgruntled to look at them. ' I arrived hack at least four hours earlier than .1 had intended.

I let myself into the house. Nobody was about, so I concluded that Prosina had taken the children out for a walk. Well, I would have, something to eat, and so win back my good temper before they returned. Cheered up at the thought, I went to the drawing room for a book I had left there.

I opened the door. Then I received one of thqse shocks the force of which-is so great that, looking back later, one marvels that one did not completely succumb beneath it. The drawing room is a dainty place, pale green and silver as to colour scheme, and a delight to anybody artistic. Its beauty demands that it be treated with respect. Imagine my feelings, then, when to my startled eyes'there leapt the vision of all the chairs and tables standing stiffly against the wall and so covered with lines of rugs as to resemble nothing I could think'of. Over the carpet a profusion of newspapers was spread, while in the middle of the room, squatting round the spirit lamp over which had been erected a tripod of sticks supporting a billyful of tea, were the children and Prosina, barefooted and draped in old coats with feathers in their hairy and munching huge lumps of bread and meat made into sandwiches. Mugs of tea were held by each person, and an old cocoa tin full of sugar stood conveniently near. I shrieked. They had not noticed me. At my voice, therefore, they jumped in such alarm as nearly to upset the billy. 1 hen their faces went steadily more and more crimson.

“ Prosina ! ” I gasped. She came forward, ridiculous in her coat and feathers, and wrigeled her bare toes as she stood. The children waited with their mouths open. “ Just a picnic, dear,” she said. ‘‘Nothing to worry about.” “ A picnic '. * In the drawing room ! Oh ! How could you! ” For a moment she looked rueful and embarrassed. Then, to my indignation, her mouth began to twitch. “ I suppose it does look bad,” she said. “But really it isn’t. You just came in at the wrong time, that's all. I promised them a picnic for Labour Day, no matter what happened, thinking, of course, that as it was fine last year it would certainly be so -again to-day. Then, when it rained, we decided to have the picnic inside in'stead, and we spread rugs and things round to keep the room clean, and had it in here. We're Indians camped in the mountains.” “ But the drawing room ! ” I repealed. “The drawing room!” She spread her hands. “ It was the biggest room, to remind us of open spaces,” she said, “ and the only one with a picture of a stag in it to lend local colour. So we used it. Oh—don’t look so horrified. We haven’t hurt anything, and you would never have known if you hadn’t come back so soon. Can’t you see how funny it is? ” And the wretched girl went into peals and peals of laughter. I can' say no more. There are some things too dreadful for description, aiyl this is one of them. It'is-enough for me to add that never again, as long as I live, shall I have anything to do with that heathen barbarian and misguided monstrosity—my cousin Prosina.