A Christmas Story: Man in His Element: or, A New Way to Keep HouseFrancis, Samuel W. (Samuel Ward)
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A Christmas Story: Man in His Element: or, A New Way to Keep House
Francis, Samuel W. (Samuel Ward)
Housekeeping -- Fiction; Short stories; Siblings -- Fiction
We both signed, and then remembered a witness was necessary. 'I will
call Thomas,' said Mary. 'He won't know what we have written.' I bowed
with a legal stiffness, and waited. She rang--no response.
She rang again. A loud laughter in the kitchen caused her to say, as
usual, 'Oh! they cannot hear the bell,' and she tripped off lightly and
called 'Susan! Susan! _Susan!_' 'and but the booming roars replied and
fast the talk rolled on.' 'Susan,' said she, gently, over the
bannisters.
'Susan is out, marm,' said a granite voice from the second story.
'Don't speak so loud, marm. Johnny has just gone to sleep, and I've had
such trouble with him all the evening; he must have caught cold going to
dancing school. You know, marm I begged you not to send him.
'Mrs. Phillips,' whispered Mary, in a crushed voice, 'where has Susan
gone?'
'She went to her sister's, marm. Her child is very ill with the small
pox, and she said she knew, if you knew he might die, that you would let
her go and sit up with him this last night, poor, dear soul, bless his
heart!'
Oh, how I chuckled!
'Why, Mrs. Phillips, just come down stairs, please; I want to speak to
you.--Come into the library, only Mr. D'Aubrey is here.'
(Humph! ONLY Mr. D'Aubrey!--'Oh, for to-morrow!')
Enter Mrs. Phillips, one of those fat, pylygastric nurses, who divide
the twenty-four hours into four days, so as to have three meals to each
of their diurnal revolutions; whose digestive organs, if they could
speak, would strike for wages; whose eyes move but never look; their
atmosphere--what Germans might call expression--being that of massive
rest.
She slides into the room and immediately sits down, moving her eyes up
to her mistress with a patient and slightly suffering expression, while
the process of deglutition is slowly going on.
I seize a book, pamphlet, anything, hold it in front of my face, and
bite my segar in two.
'Did I understand you to say, Mrs. Phillips, that Susan had gone to sit
up with a _small pox_ patient?'
'Her nephew, yes marm.'
'Oh, how very wrong in her--how--'
'I don't think so, marm.'
I ground my teeth.
'Why Mrs. Phillips?'
'The boy marm, may not be yours, but it is her _kin_ and she ought to
know her duty to a sister's child.'
'Yes, but she might bring the disease to my little children!
she'--'That's in the hands of Providence, marm.'
I ram a handkerchief down my mouth and choke--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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