Ann and Her Mother

by O. Douglas

"The trifle evenings were few and far between," said her mother; "but we had many a cosy little party among our neighbours."

Marget again broke in. "No' to mention a' the folk that juist drappit in. Oor hoose was a fair thro-gate for folk. A' the ministers that lived a bit away kent whaur to come to in Kirkcaple for their tea. Ye'll mind, Mem, that Mr. and Mrs. Dewar were never muckle away. When Mr. Dewar walkit in frae Buckie and fund naebody in, he wad say to me, 'I'll be back for my tea, Marget. Isn't this baking-day?'" (Marget adopted a loud, affected tone when imitating anyone; this she called "speaking proper.") "Then Mistress Dewar wad come hoppin' in—'deed she was often in afore I got to the door, for I wad mebbe be dressin' when the bell rang. I wad hae to put on my wrapper again, an' there she wad be sittin' on a chair in the lobby, knittin' awa' like mad. 'Always busy, you see, Marget,' she would say; 'I belong to the save-the-moment society.' Then she wad gie that little lauch o' hers. Sic a wee bit o' a thing she wis, mair like a bairn than a mairret wumman."

"Once," said Ann, "I went somewhere to spend a day with Mrs. Dewar, and coming home we had to wait awhile for a train. Mrs. Dewar, of course, was knitting, and as the light was bad in the waiting-room she calmly climbed up on the table and stood, picking up a stitch, as near to the gas-jet as she could get. She made the oddest spectacle with her bonnet a little on one side, as it always was, her little blunt face and childish figure. And to make matters worse she sang as she knitted:

'Did you ever put a penny in a missionary box?
A penny that you might have gone and spent like other folks?'

It was torture to a self-conscious child to hear the giggles of the few spectators of the scene."

Mrs. Douglas laughed softly as if remembering something precious. "Little Mrs. Dewar cared who laughed at her. That was what made her so unusual and so refreshing. The queer, dear, wee body! There was no one I liked so much to come to the house. She was so companionable and so unfussy. If she could only stay ten minutes she was calm and settled for that ten minutes, and then went. I have seen people who meant to stay for hours keep me restless and unhappy all the time by their fluttered look. Whenever I got tired of my house, or my work, or myself, I went to Buckie to Mrs. Dewar. They had a delightful old manse, with a charming garden behind, but in front it faced a blank wall. Someone condoled with Mrs. Dewar on the lack of view. 'Tuts,' she said, 'we've never time to look at a view.''

"Like old Mary Hart at Etterick, when a visitor said to her, 'What a lovely view you have!' 'An' what aboot it?' was the disconcerting answer. I remember the Dewars' manse, Mother. I once stayed there for a week. What a pity Mrs. Dewar had no children of her own! She was a wonder with children. I was only a tiny child, but she taught me so much, and interested me in so many different things and people. After breakfast I had to help her to 'classify' the dishes; put all the spoons together, and wipe the knives with soft paper and make them all ready to be washed. Then we saw that the salts and mustards were tidy, and the butter and jam in dainty dishes. Then we would take a bundle of American papers to a woman who had a son in the United States, and on our way home she would take me down to the shore and point out the exact spot on the rocks where she had once found a beautiful coral comb, and where the next day she had found a mermaid sitting crying for the loss of it. It was a long story, but I know it finished with the grateful mermaid giving a large donation to the Sustentation Fund! Mrs. Dewar had an extraordinary number of relations, who all seemed to be generals and admirals, and things like that, and the tales of the Indian nephews who had come to her as babies were enthralling to me. They were grown up by that time, and, I suppose, on their way to become generals, too. There was always something rather military about Mrs. Dewar's small, alert figure. 'Mustard to mutton,' she would say to me at dinner; 'child, you would be expelled from the mess.' She was really too funny. When Mr. Dewar would say, 'My dear, have you seen my spectacles?' she would reply, 'Seek and ye shall find, not speak and ye shall find.' And if the servants worried her she walked about saying the hymn beginning, 'Calm me, O God, and keep me calm.'"

"I likit Mrs. Dewar," said Marget; "she had queer ways, but she was a leddy. She was yin o' the Keiths o' Rathnay—rale gentry. Eh, Mem, d'ye mind the black that was preachin' for Maister Dewar, an' they couldna keep him in the hoose, for there was illness, and he cam' to us? Eh, I say!"

"Poor man! I remember your face, Marget, when I met you on the stairs the morning he left. You were holding some towels away from you and you said, 'I'm no verra sure aboot that black's towels.'"

"Neither I wis," said Marget; "I'm aye feared the black comes off."