Family -- England -- Juvenile fiction; Motherless families -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
"Manage it your own way, dear, I neither interfere nor wish to
interfere. Oh, what a mess we shall be in! But thank heaven it is only
for a week. My dear child, I allow you to have your way, but I own it is
with trepidation. Now I must really go to Mrs. Judson."
"But one moment, please, father. I have not shown you my plan. You think
badly of me now, but you won't, indeed you won't presently. I am all
system, I assure you. I see my way so clearly. I'll retrench without
being mean, and I'll economize without being stingy. Don't I use fine
words, father? That's because I understand the subject so thoroughly."
"Quite so, Polly. Now I must be going. Good-night, my dear."
"But my plan--you must stay to hear it. Do you see this box? It has
little divisions. I popped them all in before dinner to-day. There is a
lock and key to the box, and the lock is a strong one."
"Well, Polly?"
The Doctor began to get into his overcoat.
"Look, father, dear, please look. Each little division is marked with a
name. This one is Groceries, this one is Butcher, this is Milk, butter,
and eggs, this is Baker, this is Cheesemonger, and this is Sundries--oh
yes, and laundress, I must screw in a division for laundress somehow.
Now, father, this is my delightful plan. When you give me my four
pounds--my eighty shillings--I'll get it all changed into silver, and
I'll divide it into equal portions, and drop so much into the grocery
department, so much into the butcher's, so much into the baker's. Don't
you see how simple it will be?"
"Very, my dear--the game of chess is nothing to it. Good-night, Polly. I
sincerely hope no serious results will accrue from these efforts on my
part to teach you experience."
The Doctor walked quickly down the avenue.
"I'm quite resolved," he said to himself, "to bring them all up as much
as possible on their mother's plan, but if Polly requires many such
lessons as I am forced to give her to-night, there is nothing for it but
to send her to school. For really such an experience as we are about to
go through at her hands is enough to endanger health, to say nothing of
peace and domestic quiet. The fact is, I really am a much worried man.
It's no joke bringing up seven motherless girls, each of them with
characters; the boys are a simple matter--they have school before them,
and a career of some sort, but the girls--it really is an awful
responsibility. Even the baby has a strong individuality of her own--I
see it already in her brown eyes--bless her, she has got her mother's
eyes. But my queer, wild, clever Polly--what a week we shall have with
you presently! Now, who is that crying and sobbing in the dark?"
The Doctor swooped suddenly down on a shadowy object, which lay prone
under an arbutus shrub. "My dear little Firefly, what _is_ the matter?
You ought to be in bed ages ago--out here in the damp and cold, and
such deep-drawn sobs! What has nurse been about? This is really
extremely careless."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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