Big Game - A Story for Girls

"Your picnic!" cried Mrs McNab.

"My picnic!" corrected the Editor. "I never gave a picnic before, and

I'm weighed down by responsibility. My brother refuses to help me, and

Mrs McNab is a Spartan, and nips my suggestions in the bud. She thinks

we ought to be satisfied with bread and butter; I want cakes and fruit;

I want her to bake, and she says she has no time to bake; I want to send

over to Rew on the chance of getting strawberries; she says she has no

one to send. If you agree with me, Miss Vane, perhaps she will make

time; I know by experience that she is always better than her word!"

Mrs McNab sniffed ironically.

"There's scones for ye, and good fresh butter--what do ye want forbye?

Ye'd get nae mair if ye were at hame, and it's not going to kill ye,

walking a couple of miles. I've something else to do on a Thursday

morning than waste my time messing over things that aren't needed."

Mr Elgood leant against the dresser, and surveyed her more in sorrow

than in anger.

"Now what have you to do?" he demanded. "It's absurd to pretend that

there is anything to clean, because you never give a thing a chance to

become dirty. There is cold meat for lunch, as you yourself informed

me, so there's no cooking on hand. This house goes by machinery, with

Elspeth to stoke up the motive power. What can be left for you? I

can't think of a single thing."

"Maybe not. A man-body never kens what goes on under his nose, though

he'd be keen enough to find out if anything went wrong. It's the day I

clean my candlesticks and brasses. They don't go on shining by

themselves, whatever ye may think."

"Candlesticks and brasses!" George Elgood repeated the words with

gloomy emphasis, fixing the speaker with reproachful eyes.

"Candlesticks and brasses! And you put such things as those before

me, and the first--one of the first, favours I have ever asked! ... A

big plum cake, with almonds at the top, and a round of shortbread; it

seems to me a most moderate request. There's not a soul in the inn who

will notice a shade of extra polish on the candlesticks to-night, but

they will all bear me a lifelong grudge if I don't give them enough to

eat. Have you ever been to a picnic where you were expected to be

satisfied with bread and butter, Miss Vane?"

Margot's shake of the head was tragic in its solemnity.

"Never! and I don't intend to begin. I know where we can get some

fruit, at any rate, for I heard the woman at the grocer's shop saying

that she had raspberries to sell. That is far easier than sending over

to Rew, and I'd be delighted to take a basket and bring back all I can

get. While Mrs McNab makes the cakes!"