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Updated: June 3, 2025
The toy pistols sent by our father did not arrive till a fortnight after Christmas, and when they did arrive, the joy of possessing them was short-lived, for after Angel had cracked a pane of glass with his, and I had hit Mary Ellen on the ear, so that it was swollen and red for days, Mrs. Handsomebody confiscated them all as dangerous weapons to be kept till we were beyond her control.
Handsomebody in a controlled voice but gripping the arms of her chair. Giftie brought the other. "Oh, Mrs. Handsomebody!" I implored, "please, please, let us keep them! They're as good as gold, and they'd guard the house and everything and maybe save you from drowning some time. Don't take them from us, pl-ease!" The Seraph, in sympathy, began to cry.
He caught her in his arms and held her, mystified but happy . The reunion was interrupted by a pounding at the door. It was a furious Mary Ellen, her night out completely spoiled by the search for us. Thus we were haled before Mrs. Handsomebody, questioned, upbraided, and given, at last, a bowl of hot gruel apiece.
Handsomebody, with a ferocious gleam in her eye, leaned forward to catch the rest. The Seraph's voice was low and insinuating. "I was finking" with a chuckle "that you might poison one of the nicest of the stuffed birds. Then you might get in the glass case wiv the others. We could lock the door on the outside and watch through the glass." "And I expect you think they would tear me piecemeal?
Handsomebody, herself, was dusting the case of stuffed birds, whose plumage, sadly thinned by the attentions of Coppertoes, seemed to quiver with expectancy. We were instructed to wait inside the iron gate, at the front, until train time, when we were to be recalled to the parlour, and take our places on three chairs, already ranged in a row for us. Thus we were to be displayed by Mrs.
"Piecemeal" the cobbler's word for it one could picture him with some bloody fragment, shooting straight upward, his wide pinions spread. Mrs. Handsomebody was speaking in a complaining way to Angel. "A shilling! 'Tis ridiculous. For such a paltry piece of work. I shall go around that way when we take our walk and protest against such extortion. I said sixpence to you when you set out."
We three were seated on three stiff-backed chairs, our backs to the wall. Angel and I told her as much as was good for her to know of the adventure. The Seraph felt that he was being ignored, so when a pause came, he remarked in that throaty little voice of his: "It's a vewy bad fing to be boiled in oil." "What's that?" snapped Mrs. Handsomebody. "Say that again!"
Would Martindale, a full-grown male, submit to being bullied by a creature who wore a bustle, and a black silk apron? Alas, for the whiskered sex! He took his medicine; just as we, hedged in some fateful corner, gulped down our castor oil. Turning the gaiter over in his dark hands, he meekly assented. Mrs. Handsomebody, appeased by her easy victory, inquired after his wife.
Handsomebody, sniffed her ankles; wagged her tail in appreciation of the odour of the liniment that emanated from the injured lady; and finally sat up before her with an ingratiating paddling of the forepaws. Mrs. Handsomebody regarded her sombrely. "May I ask how long you have harboured this stray?"
Angel produced a small bottle of licorice water from his pocket and took a long mouthful. Then he handed it to me. It was soothing, delicious. "Me too!" cried The Seraph, and I held it to his eager little mouth. "Here," said Angel angrily, "he's swiggin' down the whole thing. Drop it, young'un!" At the same moment, the door opened quietly, and Mrs. Handsomebody entered.
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