Ladies and Gentlemen, here it is at long last! The August issue of the Pickwick Portfolio. Please accept my extreme apologies in the lateness of this issue! Your patience is appreciated. My goodness, that did sound very professional didn't it? Just a quick note about
. Since school schedules will be starting up soon, there will not be any of UTGT in the next issue. To make up for it, I have made part two longer than normal. Enjoy, and long live the Portfolio!
- Mr. Sam Weller
Venison,
fowl, and all manner of the like were spread before her, roasted to
perfection. Meat pies and pasties with gravies and puddings as well
as cheese, bread, fruit, and various vegtables were also there. Ale,
beer, sack, and the like flowed freely, with honeyed cakes to go with
it. The men who had been busy now came, till the whole cloth was
filled. Then they began to eat. For a long while the joked and
quaffed, laughed and teased one another as the plates were slowly
emptied, and the jugs drank dry. Eventually though, they all, one
after another, had eaten their fill, and sprawled out on the soft
grass. Robin turned to the girl. “Now maiden. Now that you have
eaten your fill, pray tell us your story, and what drove you to make
such a request of me.” The girl nodded, and all men turned to hear
her story.
“My name oh
men, is Rosalyn O' Font. My father is one of our noble King Richard's
knights, but because of his long years of service, is allowed to live
out the rest of his days in peace in this fair land. I am his second
child, and his only daughter. My brother, four years ago, left to be
in the king's army. I remained with my mother and father, being not
yet engaged. Two years ago, my mother fell ill, and but two months
ago, she died, God rest her soul. My father loved mama dearly, more
than life itself. He took her death very hard, and has slowly
succumbed to his grief, seldom seeing anyone, but a few of his
closest friends. But as of late, he has been out and about more,
seeing many people, and going to many places.'
'One might
think this to be a good thing, and so I thought, till he returned
home a fortnight ago from one long trip, and this time with a guest.
He told me that I was to be engaged to this man, as soon as could be
arranged. Now if this man was a young knight, and a man of character
and stature, perhaps I might have fallen in love with him, as my
father commanded me to do. But one can not fall in love with a
gentleman at first sight, and a stranger, what's more. But what
turned my heart against him within me was the strong and evident fact
that this man was no gentleman! He was at least twice my age, with a
face like a snake's. His eyes were cruel and greedy, and the way he
looked at me was enough to put fear in my heart. I swore to myself
that I would never marry this man, and I told my father so. We have
always been honest with one another and so I thought he would take it
well, but no. He looked at me with such a look as I had never seen,
even when he was in his deepest anger, and told me that I would marry
that man, whether I wished it or not. I then realised that my father
was not my father any more, that his grief had poisoned his heart,
and his mind. I continued to resist him, and reminded him many times
of the promise he held to my dear mother, to never force me to marry
a man I didn't love, but a day ago, he threatened me with horrid
threats, to comply to his wishes. Then I realized that I had no
choice but to flee, for even if he would not carry out his threats, I
most certainly would not be happy. So I have come hither to find you,
and to ask if you would accept me into your band.”
Robin sat,
surveying the her. She was young, and very pretty. Her long brown
hair was pulled back in a simple braid. Her dress was sky blue, with
slashed false sleeves. A belt of gilded leather was about her waist.
Physically, she was strong, and she was tall and slim. Her dark brown
eyes were calm now, but behind the mask of feigned strength, was deep
sorrow. He pitied her, and already he knew that he would allow her to
remain in the forest with them. But he did not say this. Instead, he
questioned her further. “Were you not frightened to come to me,
after hearing of my reputation?” For it was well known among the
wealthy of Nottingham that Robin was a thief. “ I am not easily
frightened sir, and I know of your oath never to harm or molest any
women or child, thus I had no fear of you, save of what you might
say.”
Robin said
nothing, but said suddenly, “String a target, one of you, so we may
have some sport!” Several men rushed to do his bidding as a shout
went up. “One can not dine with us in Sherwood without some games,
maid.” He explained. “Of course. Often have I heard of the
shooting in Sherwood forest.” Though her voice remained calm and
soft, he caught a hint of frustration in her voice. Turning to her,
he saw her disappointment. “I promise you maid, I will consider
your request with the utmost care.” She nodded. “Good. Now, be
merry with us, and watch the sport, for my men haven't shot for a
lady in many a month.” Robin's eyes sparkled with laughter, but the
lady herself laughed aloud; a sweet, clear, merry laugh. “Oh, this
shall be a merry bout indeed, for the winner shall most certainly win
my favour.” Robin smiled, and they walked to were the garland had
been strung, several yards off.
So the great match began, each man
choosing his best bow, his straightest arrow, and all shooting worthy
of recognition. Finally it was Robin's turn. He took careful aim, and
let the arrow fly. No one breathed as it speed towards the target,
and lodged in the centre of the wreath. Shouts went up, for it was a
good shot, and it seemed Robin was the winner.
But as he
turned, there stood Rosalyn with a strung bow, waiting behind him.
“May I shoot, my lord?” A murmur went through the wood, as Robin
nodded, and made way. She stepped up to the target. If the wood was
silent before, it was deathly still now. No one moved, no one
breathed, no one dared to think. The bow was up, the string was back,
and with a twang, the arrow was off. It flew straight and true, with
the speed of the wind, and lodged directly on top of Robins arrow,
flinging it aside with force, and taking its place. There was a
pause, like the calm before a storm, and then a roar of shouts went
up. Rosalyn stood, breathing again, silent and solemn, as if she
could scarce believe it herself. Finally, once the wood was once
again quite, she turned to Robin. “How did you learn to shoot so
well?” She laughed, a little breathless laugh. “My brother sir.
He said he would not have his sister a delicate creature, and taught
me to shoot, so that I could rival any man.” “And rival them you
did, Rosalyn.” She looked at him closely. “Ahh, but you name
should no longer be Rosalyn but Rose, Lady of the Wood.” And then
her eyes lit up, and joy of joys, she understood his words. He
laughed. “Welcome to the forest Rose.”
QUOTES TO NOTE
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
and Sam Weller
“Defeat is not the worst of
failures. Not to have tried is the true failure.” – George Edward
Woodberry
“Seek freedom and become captive
of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.” – Frank
Herbert
“You must be the change you wish
to see in the world.” – Mahatma Gandhi
“Courage is found in unlikely
places.” – J. R. R. Tolkien
“Inspiration arrives as a packet
of material to be delivered.” – John Updike
“Let your mind alone, and see
what happens.” – Virgil Thomson
“Be great in act, as you have
been in thought.” – Jean Paul
“When I let
go of what I am, I become what I might be.” Lao Tzu
“You may find
the worst enemy of best friend in yourself.” English Proverb
“Courage is
the first of human qualities because it is the quality which
guarantees all others.” Winston Churchill
“Live each
day as if your life had just begun.” Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
“The great
thing in this world is not so much where you stand, as in what
direction you are moving.” Oliver Wendell Holmes
“Either you
run the day, or the day runs you.” Jim Rohn
“If not us,
who? If not now, when?” John F. Kennedy
“I don't know
the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please
everybody.” Bill Cosby
“Do not go
where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave
a trail.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Many of
life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how
close they were to success when they gave up.” Thomas Edison
“Our lives
begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
Martin Luther King Jr.
“I am
thankful for all of those who said NO to me. It’s because of them
I'm doing it myself.” Albert Einstein
NOTE-ABLE COMPOSERS
CLAUDE DEBUSSY
by Augustus Snodgrass
Claude Debussy, born August 22,
1862, had a very interesting life. He was born near Paris in St.
Germain-en-Laye where his father owned a china shop, and his mother’s
occupation was a seamstress. He started studying at the Paris
Conservatory at age ten in 1872. There Claude outraged teachers with
weird harmonies that broke all rules. From 1880 to 1882, he was part
of a piano trio for Nadezhda von Meck, taught children piano,
travelled around Italy and Russia, and became familiar with Russian
music. In 1883, Debussy got second place in Prix de Rome and then
finally won the Prix de Rome in 1883 for his cantata L’enfant
Prodigue; however, he felt Rome was a dreary exile from the cafes
of Paris and so only stayed there from 1884 to 1887. During the peak
of his career in the 1890s, he was a pianist, conductor, and
collaborative artist; Claude’s music was described as “supple
music easily adaptable to the lyrical fantasy of dreams and of the
soul.” During this time he wrote Pelleas et Melisande, an
opera based on drama of symbolist poet Maurice Maeterlinck. Despite
criticism, it was a success worldwide. From 1900 to 1914, Debussy
travelled through Europe conducting his works and holding the
reputation as the foremost music critic of his time in artistic
journals. He had daughter Claude-Emma with singer Emma Bardac in 1805
and then married Emma three years later. In his last years, Claude
Debussy was part of the advisory board of the Paris Conservatoire and
worked with Faure, Satie, Chausson, Ravel, and Stravinsky. During
1914, the start of World War I, he did not compose. Claude Debussy
died in 1918 from cancer during the bombardment of Paris.
Claude Debussy’s style of music
was quite innovative at the time. His style opposed the classic
themes of the Classical and Romantic eras. Previously, French music
was clear, elegant, and simple. Claude’s music, however, was dreamy
and vague. He sought to liberate music from past conventions and
traditions, and his impressionist style sought to evoke an image,
subtle and discreet. Debussy’s music requires a large orchestra,
but not a loud sound. This is created with a muted, airy texture, so
that single instruments stand out against the whole ensemble. Claude
Debussy’s piano music had a distinctive style with use of register
contrast, pedal to blend sounds, clash of dissonance, and use of
non-Western scales.
Claude Debussy composed in a
number of different genres. These include orchestral music, such as
“Prelude a l’apres-midi d’un faune” and “La Mer”;
dramatic works, such as opera Pelleas et Melisande and ballet
Jeux; chamber music, such as string quartets and sonatas;
piano music, such as “Pour le Piano,” “Estampes,” two books
of Preludes, and 12 Etudes; and songs and choral music.
Many of Claude Debussy’s pieces
are famous today, but perhaps his most famous piece of music,
“Prelude a l’apres-midi d’un faune,” was written when Debussy
was thirty-two years old
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYyK922PsUw). One of my personal
favorites – in fact, I even had the privilege to play it myself
this past year – is “Passepied” from the Suite bergamasque
- 7 -
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjtY8QEIkLQ).
In summary, Claude Debussy had a large impact on the music world and
is still remembered today for his incredibly beautiful and dreamy
melodies. We all wish you a happy birthday, Debussy!
LEONARD BERNSTEIN
by Augustus Snodgrass
Leonard Bernstein was born on
August 25, 1918, in Massachusetts. His parents were Russian-Jewish
immigrants. Leonard started studying at Harvard at age seventeen,
where he studied composition and conducting. In 1943, Bernstein
received the position of assistant conductor of the New York
Philharmonic. He subbed at last minute on a national broadcast and
instantly became star! During his career, Leonard Bernstein was a
composer, educator, pianist, and television personality. He died in
1990.
Leonard Bernstein’s style of
music straddled classical and popular styles. He made use of
classical composition techniques for Broadway, dissonant harmonies,
jazzy rhythms, and soaring melodies. Leonard also had an incredible
gift for orchestration.
The variety of genres that Leonard
Bernstein composed in is admirable. He wrote for orchestra, chorus
and orchestra, operas, musicals, ballets, film scores, chamber music,
instrumental music, and solo vocal music.
Two quite well know pieces of
music composed by Leonard Bernstein are “Mambo” (Dance at the
Gym) and “Tonight” (Ensemble) from West Side Story.
Leonard Bernstein contributed a lot to the modern era of music. Happy
birthday, Bernstein!
Note: Thanks to my
music teacher for describing the styles of music of these two
composers and for compiling the biographies!
KITCHEN KORNER
S’MORES PIE
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
INGREDIENTS
Graham crackers:
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 cups graham flour or
whole wheat flour
1/4 cup bread flour
3 tablespoons brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 tablespoons, plus 1
teaspoon honey
3 tablespoons ice water
Graham piecrust (for 9-inch pie
shell):
6 ounces graham cracker,
recipe above, ground
1 tablespoon brown sugar
3 tablespoons melted butter
Chocolate ice cream:
1/4 cup, plus 1 tablespoon
sugar
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups milk
3/4 cup cream
6 egg yolks
4 ounces bittersweet
chocolate (72 percent), chopped
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
DIRECTIONS
For the graham cracker:
Cut butter into small cubes, add
graham flour, bread flour, brown sugar, salt, baking soda, and
baking powder, and chill until everything is cold. Preheat the oven
to 325 degrees F. Paddle the dry ingredients on low speed until the
butter becomes pea size. Add the honey and water in a thin stream
and paddle until it just comes together. Do not knead. Mold into a
rectangle, wrap, and then chill at least two hours. Cut into strips,
about 1/4-inch thickness; bake forty minutes or until golden brown.
Cool completely.
For the graham piecrust:
Toss the ground graham crackers,
brown sugar, and three tablespoons melted butter in a bowl until
incorporated. Place the crumb into a pie shell and mold it firmly
and evenly onto the bottom and sides.
For the chocolate ice cream:
Whisk a quarter cup sugar, three
tablespoons cocoa powder, and salt together. Slowly add milk to make
a paste, and then thin it out with rest of the milk. Add the cream.
Scald the milk mixture over medium heat. Melt chocolate over a
double boiler. In a separate bowl, whisk the yolks and one
tablespoon sugar; then slowly temper in the hot cream. Put
everything back into pot. Over low heat, cook the custard until
thick, 165 degrees F. Strain the custard into the melted chocolate
and whisk to homogenize. Cool over ice bath. Chill overnight. Churn
according to the manufacturer's instructions. When the ice cream is
made, you can pour the mixture immediately into the chilled/frozen
graham shell. You can top the pie with store bought marshmallow mix
or with marshmallow fluff. Torch or broil for thirty seconds to one
minute under a broiler, until the top is brown and the marshmallow
is gooey inside!
Note: Source of
recipe (http://www.cookingchanneltv.com/recipes/smores-pie.html)
NONSENSICAL NOTIONS
A HUMOROUS, SHORT STORY
compiled by Augustus Snodgrass
Little Nancy was in the garden
filling in a hole when her neighbor peered over the fence.
Interested in what the youngster was up to, he asked in his
friendliest way, “What are you up to, Nancy?”
“My goldfish died,” replied
Nancy tearfully, without looking up, "and I’ve just buried
him.”
The neighbor commented, “That’s
an awfully big hole for a goldfish, isn’t it?”
Nancy patted down the last heap
of earth and then replied... “That's because he’s inside your
lousy cat.
Note: Source
(http://www.inspire21.com/stories/humorstories/AnimalJokes)
RIDDLES
compiled by Sam Weller
Q:
What has a foot but no legs?
A: A snail
Q:
Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it you die.
What is it?
A: Nothing
Q:
What comes down but never goes up?
A:
Rain
Q:
I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. What am
I?
A:
A candle
Q:
Mary’s father has 5 daughters, Nana, Nene, Nini, Nono. What is the
fifth daughter’s name?
A:
If you answered Nunu, you are wrong. It’s
Mary!
Q:
How can a pants pocket be empty and still have something in it?
A:
It can have a hole in it.
Q:
In a one-story pink house, there was a pink person, a pink cat, a
pink fish, a pink computer, a pink chair, a pink table, a pink
telephone, a pink shower... everything was pink!
What
colour were the stairs?
A:
There weren’t any stairs; it was a one story house!
Q:
A dad and his son were riding their bikes and crashed. Two
ambulances came and took them to different hospitals. The man’s
son was in the operating room and the doctor said, “I can’t
operate on you. You’re my son.”
How
is that possible?
A:
The doctor is his mom!
Q:
What goes up when rain comes down?
A:
An umbrella!
Q:
What is the longest word in the dictionary?
A:
Smiles, because there is a mile between
each “s”
Q:
If I drink, I die. If I eat, I am fine. What am I?
A:
A fire!
Q:
Throw away the outside and cook the inside; then eat the outside and
throw away the inside. What is it?
A:
Corn on the cob, because you throw away the husk, cook and eat the
kernels, and throw away the cob.
Q:
What word becomes shorter when you add two letters to it?
A:
Short
Q:
What travels around the world but stays in one spot?
A:
A stamp
Note:
All riddles curtsey of Funology
STORY TIME
THE GARDEN PARTY – PART II
by Katherine Mansfield,
contributed by Theodore Winstint
“… Here’s
the man.”
He carried more
lilies still, another whole tray.
“Bank them up,
just inside the door, on both sides of the porch, please,” said
Mrs. Sheridan. “Don’t you agree, Laura?”
“Oh, I do,
mother.”
In the drawing-room Meg, Jose and
good little Hans had at last succeeded in moving the piano.
“Now, if we put this
chesterfield against the wall and move everything out of the room
except the chairs, don’t you think?”
“Quite.”
“Hans, move these tables into
the smoking-room, and bring a sweeper to take these marks off the
carpet and - one moment, Hans - ” Jose loved giving orders to the
servants, and they loved obeying her. She always made them feel they
were taking part in some drama. “Tell mother and Miss Laura to
come here at once.
“Very good, Miss Jose.”
She turned to Meg. “I want to
hear what the piano sounds like, just in case I’m asked to sing
this afternoon. Let’s try over ‘This life is Weary.’”
Pom! Ta-ta-ta Tee-ta! The piano
burst out so passionately that Jose’s face changed. She clasped
her hands. She looked mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and
Laura as they came in.
“This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear -
a Sigh. A Love that Chan-ges, This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear - a Sigh.
A Love that Chan-ges, And then … Good-bye!”
But at the word “Good-bye,”
and although the piano sounded more desperate than ever, her face
broke into a brilliant, dreadfully unsympathetic smile.
“Aren’t I in good voice,
mummy?” she beamed.
“This Life is Wee-ary, Hope
comes to Die. A Dream - a Wa-kening.”
But now Sadie interrupted them.
“What is it, Sadie?”
“If you please, m’m, cook
says have you got the flags for the sandwiches?”
“The flags for the sandwiches,
Sadie?” echoed Mrs. Sheridan dreamily. And the children knew by
her face that she hadn’t got them. “Let me see.” And she said
to Sadie firmly, “Tell cook I’ll let her have them in ten
minutes.
Sadie went.
“Now, Laura,” said her mother
quickly, “come with me into the smoking-room. I’ve got the names
somewhere on the back of an envelope. You’ll have to write them
out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off
your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear
me, children, or shall I have to tell your father when he comes home
to-night? And - and, Jose, pacify cook if you do go into the
kitchen, will you? I’m terrified of her this morning.”
The envelope was found at last
behind the dining-room clock, though how it had got there Mrs.
Sheridan could not imagine.
“One of you children must have
stolen it out of my bag, because I remember vividly - cream cheese
and lemon-curd. Have you done that?”
“Yes.”
“Egg and--“ Mrs. Sheridan
held the envelope away from her. “It looks like mice. It can’t
be mice, can it?”
“Olive, pet,” said Laura,
looking over her shoulder.
“Yes, of course, olive. What a
horrible combination it sounds. Egg and olive.”
They were finished at last, and
Laura took them off to the kitchen. She found Jose there pacifying
the cook, who did not look at all terrifying.
“I have never seen such
exquisite sandwiches,” said Jose’s rapturous voice. “How many
kinds did you say there were, cook? Fifteen?”
“Fifteen, Miss Jose.”
“Well, cook, I congratulate
you.”
Cook swept up crusts with the
long sandwich knife, and smiled broadly.
“Godber’s has come,”
announced Sadie, issuing out of the pantry. She had seen the man
pass the window.
That meant the cream puffs had
come. Godber’s were famous for their cream puffs. Nobody ever
thought of making them at home.
“Bring them in and put them on
the table, my girl,” ordered cook.
Sadie brought them in and went
back to the door. Of course Laura and Jose were far too grown-up to
really care about such things. All the same, they couldn't help
agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive. Very. Cook began
arranging them, shaking off the extra icing sugar.
“Don’t they carry one back to
all one’s parties?” said Laura.
“I suppose they do,” said
practical Jose, who never liked to be carried back. “They look
beautifully light and feathery, I must say."
“Have one each, my dears,”
said cook in her comfortable voice. “Yer ma won't know.”
Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs
so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. All the
same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers
with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream.
“Let’s go into the garden,
out by the back way,” suggested Laura. “I want to see how the
men are getting on with the marquee. They're such awfully nice men.”
But the back door was blocked by
cook, Sadie, Godber's man and Hans.
Something had happened.
“Tuk-tuk-tuk,” clucked cook
like an agitated hen. Sadie had her hand clapped to her cheek as
though she had toothache. Hans’s face was screwed up in the effort
to understand. Only Godber’s man seemed to be enjoying himself; it
was his story.
“What’s the matter? What’s
happened?”
“There’s been a horrible
accident,” said Cook. “A man killed.”
“A man killed! Where? How?
When?”
But Godber’s man wasn’t going
to have his story snatched from under his very nose.
“Know those little cottages
just below here, miss?” Know them? Of course, she knew them.
“Well, there’s a young chap living there, name of Scott, a
carter. His horse shied at a traction-engine, corner of Hawke Street
this morning, and he was thrown out on the back of his head.
Killed.”
“Dead!” Laura stared at
Godber’s man.
“Dead when they picked him up,”
said Godber’s man with relish. “They were taking the body home
as I come up here.” And he said to the cook, “He’s left a wife
and five little ones.”
“Jose, come here.” Laura
caught hold of her sister’s sleeve and dragged her through the
kitchen to the other side of the green baize door. There she paused
and leaned against it. “Jose!” she said, horrified, “however
are we going to stop everything?”
“Stop everything, Laura!”
cried Jose in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“Stop the garden-party, of
course.” Why did Jose pretend?
But Jose was still more amazed.
“Stop the garden-party? My dear Laura, don’t be so absurd. Of
course we can’t do anything of the kind. Nobody expects us to.
Don’t be so extravagant.”
“But we can’t possibly have a
garden-party with a man dead just outside the front gate.”
That really was extravagant, for
the little cottages were in a lane to themselves at the very bottom
of a steep rise that led up to the house. A broad road ran between.
True, they were far too near. They were the greatest possible
eyesore, and they had no right to be in that neighbourhood at all.
They were little mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the
garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and
tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was
poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the
great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans' chimneys.
Washerwomen lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and a man
whose house-front was studded all over with minute bird-cages.
Children swarmed. When the Sheridans were little they were forbidden
to set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they
might catch. But since they were grown up, Laura and Laurie on their
prowls sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They
came out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere; one must
see everything. So through they went.
“And just think of what the
band would sound like to that poor woman,” said Laura.
“Oh, Laura!” Jose began to be
seriously annoyed. “If you’re going to stop a band playing every
time some one has an accident, you’ll lead a very strenuous life.
I’m every bit as sorry about it as you. I feel just as
sympathetic.” Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as
she used to when they were little and fighting together. “You
won’t bring a drunken workman back to life by being sentimental,”
she said softly.
“Drunk! Who said he was drunk?”
Laura turned furiously on Jose. She said, just as they had used to
say on those occasions, “I’m going straight up to tell mother.”
“Do, dear,” cooed Jose.
“Mother, can I come into your
room?” Laura turned the big glass door-knob.
“Of course, child. Why, what’s
the matter? What’s given you such a colour?” And Mrs. Sheridan
turned round from her dressing-table. She was trying on a new hat.
“Mother, a man’s been
killed,” began Laura.
“Not in the garden?”
interrupted her mother.
“No, no!”
“Oh, what a fright you gave
me!” Mrs. Sheridan sighed with relief, and took off the big hat
and held it on her knees.
“But listen, mother,” said
Laura. Breathless, half-choking, she told the dreadful story. “Of
course, we can’t have our party, can we?” she pleaded. “The
band and everybody arriving. They’d hear us, mother; they’re
nearly neighbours!”
To Laura’s astonishment her
mother behaved just like Jose; it was harder to bear because she
seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously.
“But, my dear child, use your
common sense. It’s only by accident we’ve heard of it. If some
one had died there normally - and I can’t understand how they keep
alive in those poky little holes - we should still be having our
party, shouldn’t we?”
Laura had to say “yes” to
that, but she felt it was all wrong. She sat down on her mother’s
sofa and pinched the cushion frill.
“Mother, isn’t it terribly
heartless of us?” she asked.
“Darling!” Mrs. Sheridan got
up and came over to her, carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop
her she had popped it on. “My child!” said her mother, “the
hat is yours. It’s made for you. It’s much too young for me. I
have never seen you look such a picture. Look at yourself!” And
she held up her hand-mirror.
“But, mother,” Laura began
again. She couldn’t look at herself; she turned aside.
This time Mrs. Sheridan lost
patience just as Jose had done.
“You are being very absurd,
Laura,” she said coldly. “People like that don’t expect
sacrifices from us. And it’s not very sympathetic to spoil
everybody’s enjoyment as you’re doing now.”
“I don’t understand,” said
Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room into her own bedroom.
There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was this charming
girl in the mirror, in her black hat trimmed with gold daisies, and
a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look
like that. Is mother right? she thought. And now she hoped her
mother was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was
extravagant. Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor
woman and those little children, and the body being carried into the
house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the
newspaper. I’ll remember it again after the party’s over, she
decided. And somehow that seemed quite the best plan …
POET’S CORNER
THE SNAKE
by Nathaniel Winkle
Once
I saw a snake
It
was beautiful and sleek
Crawling by the log
SIBLINGS
by Nathaniel Winkle
Siblings
will be there
Siblings
can be companions
They are good to have
WANDERLUST
by Nathaniel Winkle
I
want to travel
Because
I have wanderlust
To see every country
