“Aunt generally leaves Edinburgh alone. It is the people she picks up on her way home that are so uncertain. Dear Mother, can I go now to the cathedral? The flowers are calling me.”
“Are there many flowers this year?”
“More than we expected. The Balfour greenhouse 49 has been stripped and they have such a lovely company of violets and primroses and white hyacinths with plenty of green moss and ivy. The Baikies have a hothouse and have such roses and plumes of curled parsley to put behind them, and lilies-of-the-valley; and I have robbed thy greenhouse, Mother, and taken all thy fairest auriculas and cyclamens.”
“They are for God’s altar. All I have is His. Take what vases thou wants, but Helga must carry them for thee.”
“And, Mother, can I have the beautiful white Wedgewood basket for the altar? It looked so exquisite last Easter.”
“It now belongs to the altar. I gave it freely last Easter. I promised then that it should never hold flowers again for any meaner festival. Take whatever thou wants for thy purpose, and delay me no longer. I have this day to put two days’ work into one day.” Then she lifted her eyes from the pastry she was making and looking at Thora, asked: “Art thou not too lightly clothed?”
“I have warm underclothing on. Thou would not like me to dress God’s altar in anything but pure white linen? All that I wear has been made spotless for this day’s work.”
“That is right, but now thou must make some haste. There is no certainty about Aunt Barbie. She may be at her home this very minute.”
“The boat is not due until ten o’clock.”