A Pair of Clogs by Amy Walton (best summer reads TXT) 📕

and though Iris had not been there since she was eight years old, she remembered it all perfectly; a picture of it rose before her again, and in a moment she was far away from Albert Street. She saw wide stretches of green lawn, with quiet meadows beyond; snowy white blossoms in the orchard, radiant flowers in the garden, borders, a row of royal purple flags with their sword-like leaves, which had specially pleased her because their name was "Iris" as well as her own. How happy she had been for those two or three days. How the sun had shone, and the birds had sung, and what big bunches of flowers she had picked in the fields. It was paradise, indeed. And she had to live in Albert Street. With a sigh she turned her eyes from the bright picture of her fancy, and glanced round the room she sat in. It was very small, and had folding doors which could be opened into the dining-room, and it was just as shabby and untidy as Max and Clement could make it. The chief thing to be noticed about it was the number of blots and splashes of ink; they were everywhere--on the walls, on the deal table, on the mantel-piece, on the map of the world, on the dog's-eared books, and on Max's stumpy finger-ends--there was hardly an inch of space free from them. From the window you could see the narrow straight piece of walled garden, one of many such, stretching along side by side in even rows at the backs of the houses. They were all exactly alike, in shape, in size, in griminess, and in the parched and sickly look of the plants and grass. How hard Iris had tried to make that garden pretty and pleasant to look upon! With hope ever new, and always to be disappointed, she sowed seeds in it, and spent her pennies in roots for it, and raked and dug and watered it. In vain; nothing would grow but some spindly London pride and scarlet geraniums. And indeed this was not surprising, for the garden had many things against it in the shape of poor soil, scorching sun, and numerous sparrows, not to mention boys and cats. A constant warfare was going on in it, for the cats lay in wait for the sparrows, and the boys were always on the watch for the cats, with jugs of water, traps of string, and other cunning stratagems. There was not much chance for the flowers, and even the turf was worn away in mangy patches by the feet of eager and excited combatants. At the end of it, built against the wall, there was an erection of old wire and packing-cases, in which Max and Clement kept rabbits, white rats, and a squirrel. A strange mixed scent of animals and decayed cabbage-leaves was sometimes wafted into the house from this in the summer.

"Perhaps it would be better to shut the window," Mrs Graham would say to Iris. Iris thought it would be better for the boys not to keep rabbits; but to any hint of this kind her mother's answer was always the same: "They may be a little disagreeable sometimes, dear, but I couldn't deprive the poor boys of one of their few amusements."

Her words came into Iris's mind this evening as her eye rested on the unsuccessful garden, and she bent over her work again with a sigh.

Always someone else to think of, someone else to work for, never a little bit of pleasure that was quite her own. How could she be happy? And if she were not happy how could she be contented? It was hard to have nothing pretty to look at. Some people lived in the midst of pretty things; there was her godmother, for instance, who never saw anything ugly or disagreeable near her, but everything that was pleasant and beautiful. People who lived in places like Paradise Court could be patient, and kind, and gentle without any difficulty, but in Albert Street--A sharp scream from the other side of the folding doors, the sound of something thrown, and then a volley of angry sobs and cries. Iris started up and rushed into the next room; she had left her two little sisters there happily at play, but she now found a very different state of things. Dottie, a child of five, stood in the middle of the room, with clenched fists and puckered red face, screaming at the top of her voice, while Susie sat on the floor near nursing a rag doll with perfect composure and calmness.

"Naughty Dottie!" said Iris earnestly, "to make such a noise. What's the matter?"

Dottie could not speak, for she was using all her breath to scream with, but she held out an appealing dumpy arm, and pointed to the doll.

"Why, that's Dottie's doll, Susie," said Iris, turning to the other little girl; "did you take it from her?"

Susie nodded, still with an unmoved countenance, and Dottie redoubled her screams. Iris put both hands over her ears in despair.

"Dottie," she said, "if you don't try to leave off I shall put you to bed, and let Susie keep the doll."

It was not at all easy for Dottie to leave off when she was once well set going, but she checked herself a little.

"Give the doll back, Susie," said Iris.

Susie looked up to see if her sister were in earnest, and meeting a glance of great severity she rose and advanced towards Dottie sideways, with one finger in her mouth, and holding the doll by the legs, head downwards. Dottie, still sniffing and sobbing, made a convulsive snatch at it.

"Kiss each other," said Iris, for this was always a sign that the quarrel was over for the time and peace agreed on between the two little girls. They had hardly given each other the angry embrace usual at such moments when a boy's voice rang shrilly from the top of the stairs.

"Iris, Iris! Where's Iris? Oh, Iris, do just come here!"

Poor mother! Any chance of her getting some sleep must be over long ago. It was impossible to keep the children quiet.

"Clement," said Iris impatiently, as a boy in knickerbockers came tumbling down-stairs at headlong speed, "I do think you might remember that mother has a headache. Why can't you come and find me instead of shouting about like that?"

"Oh, I say," said Clement, stopping short and staring at her, "aren't you just cross this evening! What makes you in such a tremendous temper?"

Iris felt almost inclined to cry.

"What do you want me for?" she said in a resigned and injured voice.

"Why, just look here!" Clement raised one knee and displayed a wide rent in his knickerbockers, of the shape known as a "trap-door." Through this he stuck his fingers, that it might be shown to better advantage. "Caught it on a nail on the squirrel-house," he said briefly.

"Oh, dear me!" said Iris wearily; "there's an evening's work. And I've only just finished Max's socks. Pray, don't make it any larger, Clement."

"You'll mend it, won't you?" said Clement earnestly, still gazing at his knee. "You see it shows so awfully, and I shall want to put 'em on to-morrow."

"Yes," said Iris, "I suppose I must. I'm sure Mary won't have time."

"You're a brick," said Clement, and he gave her a rough kiss on the cheek and rushed off.

"How tiresome the boys are!" said Iris impatiently to herself; "how tiresome it is to be poor! How tiresome everything is!" and she sat down on the last step of the stairs and rested her head mournfully on her hand. Then her eye caught sight of a letter lying on a table in the passage. It was a fat rich-looking envelope, and it was directed in a stiff upright hand. Iris knew that writing--it was her godmother's. "How funny," she thought, "just as I was thinking of Paradise Court. I'll take it up to mother."

But there was something stranger still in store for her when Mrs Graham had read that letter. It contained an invitation for Iris to spend a whole month with Mrs Fotheringham.

"Mother!" exclaimed Iris.

It was the only word she could say for some moments. It seemed too wonderful and delightful to be true.

"Can I go?" was her next breathless speech.

"Would you like so very much to go?" asked her mother smiling.

It was an unnecessary question, for Iris's whole face was alight with joyful anticipation. Her cheeks flushed, and she shook her long hair back impatiently as though eager to take flight at once.

"It will be a nice holiday for you," continued Mrs Graham.

Suddenly it came into Iris's mind that it was mother who wanted a holiday. How tired she looked, and how often her head ached!

"Mother," she exclaimed impetuously, "I won't go! It's horrid of me to leave you with all the children. You ought to go instead."

"But you see I am not asked. I don't think that would quite do."

"Well, at any rate," said Iris, "_I'd_ better not go," and she sighed.

"That would be a pity, indeed," said her mother; "and I should be sorry to refuse your godmother's kind offer for many reasons. And though I sha'n't see all the beautiful things at Paradise Court, I shall have pleasure, too, while you are there, because I shall know you are enjoying them."

"How I wish we could all have them!" said Iris.

"And yet there's something here in Albert Street," said her mother, "which I've got, and you've got, and even Dottie and Susie have too, which is worth more, and costs more, and does more good than all those things, and which no one could buy, if he were the richest man in the world."

At another time Iris would have paid attention to what her mother said; but now, although she heard the words, her mind was too full of Paradise Court to make any attempt to think of their meaning. She could only say to herself that she was to go quite away from Albert Street for a whole month--away from the noise and worry, and needlework and ugliness, to a place where birds sang, and flowers bloomed, and one might be idle all the day long.


STORY THREE, CHAPTER 2.

PARADISE COURT.

"No price is set on the lavish summer, June may be had by the poorest
comer."--_Lowell_.

Paradise Court, where Mrs Fotheringham lived, was not very far from a small country town. Far enough, however, and sufficiently surrounded by its own garden and meadows, to prevent any vulgar sounds of toil and traffic from penetrating to it.

Mrs Fotheringham disliked the sight of poverty and dirt as much as the noise of hurry and bustle. "All she wanted," she said, "was peace and quietness," and she seldom stirred beyond the gates which opened to the high-road from her own grounds. Here, in the fine summer days, she was contented to take her exercise, to admire her flowers, to consult and scold her gardener, and to poke viciously at the weeds with her walking-stick. She was quite an old lady, a