“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 3—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 widow for many years, and lived alone, except for the society of a green parrot and a companion. The parrot might more justly have been called the “companion” than the lady who filled that post, for it was an old and valued friend, and in perfect sympathy with its mistress; the companion, on the contrary, was changed very often, and seldom stayed with her more than six months. “And yet,” Mrs Fotheringham was used to observe, “there was really so little she required!” There were only four indispensable things, and for the rest she was not difficult to please. On these points, however, she must be satisfied: The lady must have sound views on Church and State; she must have seen good society; she must read aloud well; and she must understand how to make chicken curry, in case the cook was changed. Strange to say, however, the ladies were constantly found wanting in one or other of these matters. There was always a wrong flavour somewhere, either in the curry, or the church opinions, or the reading aloud, and perhaps this result was partly caused by the close observation of Mrs Fotheringham and the parrot, who seemed to lie in wait for all shortcomings with cold and critical glances. The bird was accustomed often to sit on its mistress’s shoulder in which position it would trifle lovingly with the border of her cap and croon softly and coaxingly into her ear. At these times there was an air of most complete and confidential understanding between the two, which did not include the outside world, and there was something weird about it which might well affect the nerves of the lady on trial.