“Claire,” Kitty went on, “is my greatest friend at school, and she
sometimes helps her aunt. Claire is rather noble too, though not so
noble as Miss Lane.”
“I am glad to hear,” I said, “that you have such a nice girl for a
friend. I suppose it was from her you learnt that it was right to show
kindness to those whose lot is less happy than our own.”
Kitty referred to a letter which she had brought with her into the room,
and then said:
“To-day Claire and her aunt are bringing fifty children down here to
spend the day playing on the beach and paddling in the sea. That will
cost a lot and I expect you to subscribe, Uncle John.”
I at once handed Kitty all the money I had in my pocket. She took
it without a word of thanks. It was quite a respectable sum, perhaps
deserving a little gratitude, but I did not grudge it. I felt I was
getting off cheap if I only had to give money. My sister, Kitty’s
mother, understood the situation better.
“I suppose I must send down bread and jam,” she said. “Did you say fifty
children, Batty?”
“Fifty or sixty,” said Kitty.
“Three pots of jam and ten loaves ought to be enough,” said my sister.
“And cake,” said Kitty. “They must have cake. Uncle John,” she turned to
me, “would you rather cut up bread and jam or walk over to the village
and bring back twenty-five pounds of cake?”
I was not going to get off so easily as I hoped. The day was hot, far
too hot for walking, and the village is two miles off; but I made my
choice without hesitation. I greatly prefer heat to stickiness and I
know no stickier job than making bread and jam sandwiches.
“If you start at once,” said Kitty, “you’ll be back in time to help me
with the bread and jam.”
I regret to say I was back in time to spread the jam out of the last
pot.
Miss Lane’s party arrived by train at 12 o’clock. By that time I had
discovered that I had not bought freedom with my subscription, nor
earned the title of noble by walking to the village. I was expected to
spend the rest of the day helping to amuse Miss Lane’s picnic party.
Kitty and I met them when they arrived.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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