Poor, Dear Margaret KirbyNorris, Kathleen Thompson
General
Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby
Norris, Kathleen Thompson
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories
"Well, of course!" said Mrs. Costello, presently, to the company at
large. Her eye held a warning that her oldest sons did not miss. "As
she says, 'tis a ball all covered with islands and maps, Dad. A globe,
that's the other name for it!"
"Ah, yes, a spear, to be sure!" assented the Mayor, mildly, and Alanna
returned to view.
"But the best of the whole programme is the grandchildren's part,"
volunteered Teresa. "You know, Mother, the girls whose mothers went to
Notre Dame are called the 'grandchildren.' Alanna and I are, there are
twenty-two of us in all. And we are going to have a special march and a
special song, and present Superior with a bouquet!"
"And maybe Teresa's going to present it and say the salutation!"
exulted Alanna.
"No, Marg'ret Hammond will," Teresa corrected her quickly. "Marg'ret's
three months older than me. First they were going to have me, but
Marg'ret's the oldest. And she does it awfully nicely, doesn't she,
Alanna? Sister Celia says it's really the most important thing of the
day. And we all stand round Marg'ret while she does it. And the best of
it all is, it's a surprise for Superior!"
"Not a surprise like Christmas surprises," amended Alanna,
conscientiously. "Superior sort of knows we are doing something,
because she hears the girls practising, and she sees us going upstairs
to rehearse. But she will p'tend to be surprised."
"And it's new dresses all 'round, eh?" said her father.
"Oh, yes, we must!" said Teresa, anxiously.
"Well, I'll see about it," promised Mrs. Costello.
"Don't you want to afford the expense, mother?" Alanna whispered in her
ear. Mrs. Costello was much touched.
"Don't you worry about that, lovey!" said she. The Mayor had presumably
returned to his paper, but his absent eyes were fixed far beyond the
printed sheet he still held tilted carefully to the light.
"Marg'ret Hammond--whose girl is that, then?" he asked presently.
"She's a girl whose mother died," supplied Alanna, cheerfully. "She's
awfully smart. Sister Helen teaches her piano for nothing,--she's a
great friend of mine. She likes me, doesn't she, Tess?"
"She's three years older'n you are, Alanna," said Teresa, briskly, "and
she's in our room! I don't see how you can say she's a friend of YOURS!
Do you, mother?"
"Well," said Alanna, getting red, "she is. She gave me a rag when I cut
me knee, and one day she lifted the cup down for me when Mary Deane
stuck it up on a high nail, so that none of us could get drinks, and
when Sister Rose said, 'Who is talking?' she said Alanna Costello
wasn't 'cause she's sitting here as quiet as a mouse!'"
"All that sounds very kind and friendly to me," said Mrs. Costello,
soothingly.
"I expect that's Doctor Hammond's girl?" said the Mayor.
"No, sir," said Dan. "These are the Hammonds who live over by the
bridge. There's just two kids, Marg'ret and Joe, and their father. Joe
served the eight o'clock Mass with me one week,--you know, Jim, the
week you were sick."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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