“The outside edge, by George!” said Charlie
Sands. “The old sport!”
Without cutting down her speed, bumped home the winner
The real meaning of what was occurring did not penetrate
to any of us
It ended with Tish stalking off into the woods with
the rabbit in one hand and the knife in the other
As fast as she wet a bit of lawn, we followed with
the pails
“Get the canoe and follow. I’m heading
for Island Eleven”
“It’s well enough for you, Tish Carberry,
to talk about gripping a horse with your knees”
“The older I get, Aggie Pilkington, the more
I realize that to take you anywhere means ruin”
“It would be just like the woman to refuse to
come any farther and spoil everything”
HOW TISH BROKE THE LAW AND SOME RECORDS
So many unkind things have been said of the affair
at Morris Valley that I think it best to publish a
straightforward account of everything. The ill
nature of the cartoon, for instance, which showed Tish
in a pair of khaki trousers on her back under a racing-car
was quite uncalled for. Tish did not wear the
khaki trousers; she merely took them along in case
of emergency. Nor was it true that Tish took Aggie
along as a mechanician and brutally pushed her off
the car because she was not pumping enough oil.
The fact was that Aggie sneezed on a curve and fell
out of the car, and would no doubt have been killed
had she not been thrown into a pile of sand.
It was in early September that Eliza Bailey, my cousin,
decided to go to London, ostensibly for a rest, but
really to get some cretonne at Liberty’s.
Eliza wrote me at Lake Penzance asking me to go to
Morris Valley and look after Bettina.
I must confess that I was eager to do it. We
three were very comfortable at Mat Cottage, “Mat”
being the name Charlie Sands, Tish’s nephew,
had given it, being the initials of “Middle-Aged
Trio.” Not that I regard the late forties
as middle-aged. But Tish, of course, is fifty.
Charlie Sands, who is on a newspaper, calls us either
the “M.A.T.” or the “B.A.’s,”
for “Beloved Aunts,” although Aggie and
I are not related to him.
Bettina’s mother’s note:—
Not that she will allow you to do it,
or because she isn’t entirely able to take
care of herself; but because the people here are a
talky lot. Bettina will probably look after
you. She has come from college with a feeling
that I am old and decrepit and must be cared for.
She maddens me with pillows and cups of tea and
woolen shawls. She thinks Morris Valley selfish
and idle, and is disappointed in the church, preferring
her Presbyterianism pure. She is desirous now
of learning how to cook. If you decide to come
I’ll be grateful if you can keep her out of
the kitchen.
Devotedly, Eliza.
