Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; England -- Juvenile fiction; Families -- Juvenile fiction; Wills -- Juvenile fiction
"Why, it's nothing at all," said she. "He's only just been looking at
the bills. He said he'd see how much it was altogether, and it came to
more than he looked to find. He did get in a fury. It made me feel so
fluttery-like, I don't seem to have got over it yet, and my heart beats
like anything. And it isn't my fault. I didn't know there were so many
things not paid for. He was always telling me he hadn't got money in
hand, so I could have things put down to him at the shops."
"How much is it altogether, mother?" I asked.
"I can't tell you," said she. "He frightened me so, I didn't half know
what he was saying. He stamped at me as if he was mad. I don't know
whatever I shall do. He isn't a bit like what he used to be. I always
did say I had one of the kindest of husbands, and now he has never a
pleasant word for anybody. I don't believe he cares for a single person
in the world, so long as he gets what he wants for himself."
"Oh, I think he cares, mother," I said,—"only he doesn't know what to
do about the bills."
"And I'm sure I don't know," said she fretfully,—"so it's no use his
bothering me. I suppose they'll have to wait: for he says he's got
nothing to pay them with. I almost wish the money had never come to us
at all, if things are going to be miserable like this."
"Mother, I think it must be as grannie said," I half whispered. "We
didn't all ask God's blessing with it."
"Oh, I don't know as to that," said she. "It's father's way of going on
that makes things miserable. And he says he won't have me buy nothing
again for ever so long,—and how I can manage—"
"I think you'll be able, mother, for you've got lots of things," I
said; "I'll try to help you. I do wish father would have plainer
dinners, for we spend a deal on eating."
And while we were speaking father walked in. He had a red and angry
look still, and mother shrank away from him as if she was frightened.
"So you're talking it all over, are you?" says he roughly. "Now mind,
Phœbe,—you're a sensible girl, and I look to you. If we go on another
six months as we've been doing, I shall be ruined outright. D'you hear?
We shall be ruined, stock and stone. D'you understand?"
Yes, I did; but I didn't see the need for him to shout at us like that.
Words are strong enough, spoken quietly. But men often seem to think
women can't be frightened into behaving themselves, without they're
hallooed at.
"You've brought me into a pretty pickle, as it is," says he, looking at
mother. "Why, my whole year's income, if I had it this moment, wouldn't
do more than set us straight, and not a penny left for the year to
come."
"Father, what are you going to do?" I made bold to ask. "Are the bills
to be left unpaid?"—and I did not like the thought.
"No," said he gruffly. "There's some won't wait. I'll have to borrow.
It's lucky I have a friend like Mr. Simmons."
"Oh, not Mr. Simmons, father!" said I.
"And why not?" says he.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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