“Ah, Rumsey!” she would say, “I don’t know what you would do without me. If you had not me to take care of you and yours, you would be lost indeed.”
The lady did not seem to consider it a case of his and hers, but went on behaving as if she were a kind of upper servant or nursery governess, while he wanted a companion and help. Certainly she opened his clean pocket-handkerchiefs for him, for fear he should look dandified; and she taught his children well according to her lights, though her teachings certainly had the appearance of what Mrs Mullion called drilling, for she was very strict.
But somehow the doctor was not happy, and spent as little of his time as possible at home. When a wet day compelled him to stop in, as the streams were flooded, he amused himself by going over his fishing-tackle, or making weather-cocks to place out in his garden to scare away the birds, which were supposed to be tempted by the fruit.
On this particular morning, with her cap awry, and looking more unkempt than usual, Mrs Rumsey was very lachrymose and very busy, carving away at the bread and butter, and rocking the cradle with one foot, while at times she cast an occasional eye out of the open door at her twins, Billy and Dilly, two sturdy little boys a couple of years old, fair, fat, and so much alike that it required study to avoid mistakes. They were toddling up and down the pebble garden-path, each with a feeding bottle tied to his waist, the long india-rubber pipe reaching upwards, and the mouth-piece between his lips, the pair looking like a couple of young Turks enjoying a morning hookah in the open air.
The other children were already in their places, sniffing occasionally and looking longingly at the pile of bread-and-butter mounting high, what time mamma gave them torture lessons during the preparation for the meal.
“Why don’t your father come?” she said, dolefully, as she looked impatiently at the door. “He always will stay with his patients so much longer than he need. Who’s that coming?”
“Madge Mullion, ma,” cried the eldest-born, a long, thin girl, whose face lit up as there was a bang of the garden gate and a rustling of skirts; and, after bending down to kiss the children, Madge, looking very pale and pretty, came in without ceremony.
“How are you?” she cried, kissing Mrs Rumsey.
“Very poorly, my dear,” whined the doctor’s wife. “These children will worrit me into my grave.”
“No, no,” cried Madge, as she faced round. “Have you any news?”