"Thanks. I always eat an extra big tea here, Mrs. Thomson, everything's that good. Have you a nurse for Phemie, Mrs. Macbean?"
Mrs. Macbean laid down her cup, motioning Jessie away as she tried to take it to refill it, and said solemnly:
"A nurse, Mrs. Forsyth? Nurses have walked in a procession through our house this last month. And, mind you, I haven't a thing to say against one of them. They were all nice women, but somehow they just didn't suit. The first one had an awful memory. No, she didn't forget things, it was the other way. She was a good careful nurse, but she could say pages of poetry off by heart, and she did it through the night to soothe Phemie like. She would get Phemie all comfortable, and then she'd turn out the light, and sit down by the fire with her knitting, and begin something about 'The stag at eve had drunk its fill,' and so on and on and on. She meant well, but who would put up with that? D'you know, that stag was fair getting on Phemie's nerves, so we had to make an excuse and get her away. Then the next was a strong-minded kind of a woman, and the day after she came I found Phemie near in hysterics, and it turned out the nurse had told her she had patented a shroud, and it had given the girl quite a turn. I don't wonder! It's not a nice subject even for a well body. Mr. Macbean was angry, I can tell you, so she went. The next one—a nice wee fair-haired girl—she took appendicitis. Wasn't it awful? Oh! we've been unfortunate right enough. However, the one we've got now is all right, and she considers the servants, and that's the main thing—not, mind you, that I ever have much trouble with servants. I niver had what you would call a real bad one. Mine have all been nice enough girls, only we didn't always happen to agree. Ye know what I mean?"
"Ucha," said Mrs. Thomson. "Are you well suited just now, Mrs. Macbean?"
"Fair, Mrs. Thomson, but that's all I'll say. My cook's is a Cockney! A real English wee body. I take many a laugh to myself at her accent. I'm quite good at speakin' like her. Mr. Macbean often says to me, 'Come on, Mamma, and give us a turn at the Cockney.' Oh! she's a great divert, but—wasteful! It's not, ye know what I mean, that we grudge the things, but I always say that having had a good mother is a great disadvantage these days. My mother brought me up to hate waste and to hate dirt, and it keeps me fair miserable with the kind of servants that are now."
Mrs. Thomson nodded her head in profound agreement; but Mrs. Forsyth said:
"But my! Mrs. Macbean, I wouldna let myself be made miserable by any servant. I just keep the one—not that Mr. Forsyth couldn't give me two if I wanted them, but you can keep more control over one. She gets everything we get ourselves, but she knows better than waste so much as a potato peel. I've had Maggie five years now, and it took me near a year to get her to hang the dishcloths on their nails; but now I have her real well into my ways, and the way she keeps her range is a treat."
Presently Mrs. Forsyth and Mrs. Macbean went away to make other calls, and Mrs. Thomson and her two old friends drew near the fire for a cosy talk.
"Sit well in front and warm your feet, Miss Hendry. Miss Flora, try this chair, and turn back your skirt in case it gets scorched. Now, you'll just stay and have a proper tea and see Papa. Yes, yes," as the Miss Hendrys expostulated, "you just will. Ye got no tea to speak of, and there's a nice bit of Finnan haddie——My! these 'at home' days are tiring."
"They're awful enjoyable," said Miss Flora rather wistfully. "Ye've come on, Mrs. Thomson, since we were neighbours, but I must say you don't forget old friends."