How it Began
“Dear, dear!” said Grannie, “woes
cluster, as my mother used to say.”
“Let us hope that this is the last woe, and
that now the luck will turn,” said Aunt Mary.
Mollie did not say anything. She had smiled the
Guides’ smile valiantly through the worst of
her misfortunes, but now she was so tired that she
felt nothing short of a hammer and two tacks could
fasten that smile on to her face any longer. So
she closed her eyes and lay back on the cushions,
feeling that Fate had done its worst and that no more
blows were possible in the immediate future.
Grannie fetched an eiderdown and tucked it cosily
round the patient, who looked pale and chilly even
on this fine warm day in June, while Aunt Mary tidied
away the remains of lotions and bandages left by the
doctor.
“The best thing now will be a little sleep,”
said Grannie, looking down with kind old eyes at her
granddaughter, “a little quiet sleep and then
a nice tea, with the first strawberries from the garden.
I saw quite a number of red ones this morning, and
Susan shall give us some cream.”
Mollie opened her eyes again and tried to look pleased,
but even the thought of strawberries and cream could
not make her feel really happy in her heart; for one
thing, she still felt rather sick.
“That will be lovely,” she said, as gratefully
as she could, “and now I think I will
try to go to sleep, and perhaps forget things for
a little while—” and, in spite of
all her efforts, a few tears insisted upon rolling
down her cheeks as she thought of home, and Mother’s
disappointment, and the dull time that lay before her.
Mollie Gordon’s home was in London, in the somewhat
dull district of North Kensington, where her father,
Dr. Gordon, had a large but not particularly lucrative
practice, and her mother cheerfully made the best
of things from Monday morning till Sunday night.
There were five children: Mollie and her twin
brother Dick; Jean, Billy, and Bob. They lived
in a large, ugly house, one of a long row of ugly
houses in a dull gardenless street, where the sidewalks
were paved, and the plane trees which bordered the
road were stunted and dusty. In the near neighbourhood
ran a railway line, a car line, and four bus routes,
so that noise and dust were familiar elements in the
Gordons’ lives—so familiar, indeed,
that they passed unnoticed.
A month ago Mollie had been in the full swing of mid-term.
Every moment of her life had been taken up with lessons,
games, and Guiding; the days had been too short for
all she wanted to get into them, and, if she had been
allowed, she would certainly have followed the poet’s
advice to “steal a few hours from the night”,
but, fortunately for herself, she had a sensible mother
whose views did not coincide with the poet’s.
