"Now, when your father, General Macintosh, came, I just thinks quickly of your waterproof hangin' in the hall."
"I see."
"Don't you think it's a good plan, mum?"
"Most brilliant," I replied. "When you want to remember to feed the canary you say to yourself the word 'sparrows.'"
There was a pause. I was not looking at Amelia. I was, therefore, unprepared for the blinding sarcasm which followed.
"That's it, mum. When I wants to remember to boil some pertaters I straightway puts on a cabbage. When I'm trying to recollect to clean the master's patent boots I washes his golf stockin's. You've got it quite right, mum. You've understood my meanin'. I'm not blamin' you. Folks can't help the hinterlecks as God gives 'em, and I'm not blamin' you," and picking herself up she marched into the house.
I laughed weakly for some minutes after she had gone. She might have been watching me through the pantry window—I care not.
"Bless you, Amelia, for living with me and looking after me and amusing me. I know the kindness of your heart as well as the sharpness of your tongue. I know with what infinite tact you keep away from the subject of my infirmity, and I am grateful to you."
Presently she was out again. I was lying with my eyes closed.
"You're tired, mum?"