I went into the morning-room with a worried frown upon my brow. Kathleen
was doing the accounts at the table.
"Kathleen," I said, "it's Veronica's birthday on Wednesday and--"
"What did you say seven eighths were?" said Kathleen. "I asked you last
week."
"I can't possibly carry complicated calculations in my head from week to
week," I said; "you should have made a note of it at the time. It's
Veronica's birthday on Wednesday, and what do you think she wants?"
But Kathleen was enthralled by the greengrocer's book. "Have we really had
eight cabbages this week?" she said. "We must, I suppose. Greengrocers are
generally honest; they live so near to nature. Well, now," she shut up her
books, "what were you saying, dear?"
I sighed, cleared my throat and began again. "It's Veronica's birthday on
Wednesday, and what do you think she wants? She wants," I said
dramatically, "a 'frush' from the bird-shop in the village. The ones that
hang in cages outside the door."
"Well," said Kathleen, "why not?"
"Why not?" I became more than serious. "A daughter of ours has demanded for
a plaything a caged bird. Psychologically it is an important occasion. Now
or never must she learn to look upon a caged bird with horror. What I am
thinking of is the psychological effect upon the child's character. The
psychological--"
"You needn't worry about Veronica's psychology," said Kathleen. "Veronica's
psychology is in the right place."
"You misunderstand the meaning of the word," I said loftily. "However, if
you wish to wash your hands of Veronica's training, if you refuse to cope
with your own child, I must take it upon myself."
"Do," said Kathleen sweetly; "I'll listen."
* * * * *
It was Veronica's birthday. We were outside the bird-shop. The thrushes in
cages hung around the door.
Veronica lifted grave blue eyes to me trustingly. "You promised me a frush,
darlin'," she said.
Veronica is small for her name and has a disarming habit of introducing
terms of endearment into her conversation.
"You didn't quite understand me," I said gently. "I said I'd think about
it."
"Yes, but that means promising, doesn't it? Finking about it _means_
promising. I _fought_ you meant promising. I fought all night you meant
promising. Darlin'." The last word was a sentence all by itself.
Kathleen raised her eyebrows when we came out with the bird in the cage.
"This isn't quite the moment," I said with dignity; "it's best to let her
get it first and realise afterwards."
"Let's all go to Crown Hill now," said Veronica in a voice that admitted of
no denial.
* * * * *
We were on Crown Hill. Veronica had hugged the cage to her small bosom all
the way, making little reassuring noises to its occupant.
"Now," said Kathleen, "hadn't you better begin? Isn't this the psycho--you
know what moment?"