PRESENTS

Taranaki Daily News, 17 December 1926, Page 1 (Supplement)

PRESENTS

A FAMILY TALE. (Bj’ Bertram Just). “'Now then,” said Mrs. Parwig, “draw your chair up. Dad, and let’s get it done an’ done with. I'll be writin’ down them as I know already, an’ you be thinkin’ of the others.” She moistened her pencil and bent over a slip of paper headed “Xmas Presence. ’ “Aunt- Fanny—a photy frame,” she spelt laboriously. “Uncle Ben- terbaccer. Aunt Lou Aunt Lou . . . .” “ ’Ere, ’old on, Mother,” said Mr. Parwig. “That won’ do. You know better’n that.” “Won’t do. Didn’t Aunt Fanny say, last time we was over, as she'd ’ad to put great-grandfather on top o’ Lord Nelson in the drawin’-roum, an’ I ses to myself, you bear that in mind come Christmas, Martha Parwig. Wotchcr mean, won’t do?” “You know as well as I do,” said Mr. Parwig. “Gimme that pencil,” He struck through his wife’s open entries. . . , “Aunt Fanny,” he continued, “is goin to ’ave the silver cake basket she s bin crazy for longer’n I can remember. ’ He wrote it clown triumphantly. “You are a one!” said Mrs. Parwig. “Then I reckon Uncle Ben might ave a few cigars with ’is terbaccer?” Mr. Parwig sniffed. ' “Cigars! Uncle Ben gets the hadjustable chair for ’is poor ole back, an’ don’t ver fergit it.” “Lor!” exclaimed Mrs. Parwig. She clapped her hands with delight. “Aunt Lou!” she cried. “She can ’ave ’er eiderdown, bless 'er heart; pink roses and all!” “You bet,” said Mr. Parwig, and wrote fiercely. Then ideas flowed thick and fast. “Cousin Fred—a “striking clock.” “An’ Fred’s boy—wot about a crystal set?” “Joe can ’ave his bicycle, Dad, an' get home to dinner with Minnie.” “An’ Minnie shall ’ave ’er • sewin’ machine.” “There’s Mrs. Knitley down the road,” said Mrs. Parwig, softly. “She’s done a lot for me when Joe was a tiny mite. ’Er ’usband’s still out, poor chap. . . “Right you are, Mother. A few notes in a registered envelope, eh ? An’ nothin’ about the sender.” After an hour’s work Mr. Parwig threw down his pencil wearily, but his chubby face beamed with honest joy. “An’ now, wot about yourself, Mother?” he said. “Wot’s your pertiekler fancy Perk or di’monds?” “Oh, I dunno,” said Mrs. Parwig. “A nice length o’ serge, or a pair of vawses for the parlour.” “Well, I know,” chuckled her husband. “Wot about a nice fur coat, Mrs. P? Somethink not too loud, but nice and comfy.” “Don’t be a fool. Tom Parwig. Fur coats for the likes o’ me! Throw that paper away, do, an’ ’ave done with this play-actin’.” Mr. Parwig grinned. “Reckon we’re both a pair of old fools. Mother; ’Ow long is it we’ve bin playin’ this game?” , “I dunno, Dad. Years an’ years. An each year we’ve chosen something diff’rent for ’em all. Don’t seem any nearer coming true, either.” She took a fresh slip of paper and began to write. “Aunt Fanny—photy frame,” she spelt laboriously. Then she paused. “Any’ow, Dad,” she said, decisively, we’ve alius meant what we said. An’ maybe one day we won’t stand any worse’n them as cud afford good Christmas presents an’ didn’t give ’em.” “Amen,” said Mr. Parwig.