AN AFTERNOON CALL.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 9, 27 February 1892, Page 215

AN AFTERNOON CALL.

PAID a call the other day, and as it was more entertaining than calls usually are, I thought you might like to hear about it. In the first place, the maid who came to the door was so pretty and had such bright eyes that I wanted to kiss him—l mean her

—on the spot. She wore the most beautiful white cap and a lovely apron that came down to her feet. The little red saucer she carried was too small for my big card, and it fell on the floor, but the maid said it was no matter, and he— I mean she—picked it up in the politest manner possible. Then she showed me into the parlour, where she said I would find Mrs Ching-Ling, the lady of the house. When we enteied the room, sure enough there was the lady sitting before a large kitchen stove with her feet—which you will be astonished to hear were bare—resting on the door of fhe oven in a very unusual position. Somehow I felt so much at home with the pretty maid, that I ventured to ask in a whisper if there was a fire in the stove.

She said ‘ Why, of course there is,’ and pulled Mrs ChingLing’s chair back with such force that the good lady rocked in her seat.

Then the maid, who seemed to be a kind of master—l mean mistress of ceremonies, called my attention to a gentleman who sat on the floor in a corner of the room. This was Mr Ching-Ling. He seemed for some reason to be very much out of spirits, and I was just about to ask him why he chose so lowly a seat when I noticed he wore a Japanese costume, and concluded that was his Eastern manner of receiving guests. Then I turned to the lady, who sat facing me with a very stiff and ungracious air, gazing over the top of my head as if she were trying her best not to see anything. Feeling obliged to say something, I began : ‘ Your husband looks sad ; is he in bad health ?’

‘ Nothing’s the matter with him,' spoke up the maid, before the lady could answer. ‘He always acts like that.’ ‘ Perhaps change of air—’ I ventured to remark, but the maid interrupted me in a most sudden way. ■ I’m going to make you a cup of tea,’ she announced, walking over to the stove. * Oh, thank you,’ I said, ‘ but maybe Mrs Ching-Ling would not like it.’

‘ Why not ?’ said the maid, beginning to pour out a great deal of water from the tea pot and getting his apron very wet.

• Well, you see,’ I answered, ‘she has not spoken to me since I came in, and she looks so rigid and uncomfortable, I am afraid she would like to have me go away.’ ‘ Oh, no she wouldn’t,’ declared the maid. ‘ And she can’t help being stiff. She’s got something the matter with her knees.’

‘ How sad !’ I exclaimed, as I sipped my tea. ‘Kheuraat" ism ?’

I addressed my question to the lady, but the maid would answer.

‘ No,’ she said, in an unconcerned tone, ‘ I don’t know what it is. Do you like your tea ?’ ‘ Very much, thank you.’ ‘ Would you like to see the children ?’ ‘ Oh, yes, indeed !’ I cried, for really the silence of the gloomy gentleman and the stiff lady was growing very oppressive. The maid left the room, and for a few minutes I was left alone with my new friends. Neither of them spoke, and the lady seemed to grow stiffer than ever. Presently the maid came back with the children. There were eleven of them, all ages and sizes. Indeed, the oldest girl was much larger and taller than her father. I shook hands with them all, and was very glad to see them, though I think I never saw children whose clothes were in a worse plight. I said as much to the maid, who remarked scornfully that their mother never sewed anything for them. ‘ Perhaps you might,’ I began, feebly, for I was rather afraid of the maid by this time. ‘ Why, it isn’t my place,’ she burst out, quite roughly. ‘ I’m the cook.’ ‘ Oh, indeed,’ I murmured.

Then I mustered up my courage, and said boldly, ‘ I feel very sorry for this family. Everything is in such disorder. The kitchen stove is in the parlour, and the lady of the house has no shoes and sits with her feet in the fire all day. The children have nothing but rags for clothes, and seem to have dreadful things the matter with their arms anil legs, and yet no one does anything for the poor creatures. Perhaps if you were a girl instead of a bo—oh, 1 beg your pardon, I mean if you knew how to play with dolls—dear me, what «ni I saying !’ I cried, coming to a full stop and feeling very much confused. The maid was gazing at me with a very reproachful look in his blue eyes. ‘ Is that the way you talk when you go calling?’ he asked in a severe tone.

• Not always,’ I said, meekly. ‘ I think you had better go home now,’ said the maid. ‘ Perhaps I had,’ I answered, rising. Then 1 bowed to the sad Japanese gentleman and the stiff lady and the eleven miserable children and took my leave. Just outside the door, some one sprang at me and gave me a big hug and a kiss. It was the maid dressed in a boy’s sailm suit.

‘ You don't know how to play you mean,’ he cried laugh

ing. ‘ 1 did my part all right, but you forgot, you know you did.’