Annabel agreed with him. "And in a little village people don't want a lot of tea-cosies and antimacassars and fancy blotters," she added, as if in large towns the thirst for these articles was insatiable.
"Why not have a Jumble Sale?" suggested Fay. "Jumble sales are so splendid at killing three birds with one stone: they clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and clear out your wardrobe at the same time."
"I don't see how they feed the hungry," Arthur objected.
But Fay had her answer ready. "By the money they make, of course. And in the present instance feeding the hungry would be a synonym for supporting the Parish Nurse."
Annabel's brow was lined with anxiety. "I see what you mean about Jumble sales, but they have terrible disadvantages."
"As for instance?" I prompted her. I saw she was bursting to divulge the tragedies attendant upon Jumble sales.
"We had one, if you remember, five or six years ago for the village hall, and made quite a nice little sum by it. But Cutler bought one of Reggie's old suits at it, and wore it on a Sunday afternoon when he came up to see after the stove in the greenhouses; and I saw him standing in the peach-house and went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder, thinking he was Reggie! Wasn't it dreadful? I feel I shall never get over it as long as I live."
Of course the twins shouted with laughter at this, and Arthur and I were not far behind them in our exuberance of mirth. But Annabel looked quite serious—even distressed.
"I see nothing to laugh at in it—nothing at all," she said in accents of reproof; "it was a most embarrassing position both for me and for Cutler. I'm sure I pitied him as much as I pitied myself."
"Did you say anything?" I asked as soon as I could speak—"while you still believed him to be me, I mean?"