"Oo-o! See the funny old man!" giggled The Seraph. "Coat like Jacob an' his
bwethern!"
Angel and I plied Mary Ellen with questions. Who was he? Did he live with
the Peggs? Did she think he was a foreigner? Mary Ellen, supported by her
broom, stared out of the window.
"For th' love of Hiven!" she ejaculated. "If that ain't a sight now! Byes,
it's Mr. Pegg's own father come home from somewheres in th' Indies. Their
cook was tellin' me of the time they have wid him. He's a bit light-headed,
y'see, an' has all his meals in his own room--th' quarest dishes iver--an'
a starlin' for a pet, mind ye."
At that moment the old gentleman perceived that he was watched, and
saluting Mary Ellen gallantly, he called out:
"Good-morning, madam!"
Mary Ellen, covered with confusion, drew back behind the curtain. I was
about to make a suitable reply when I saw Mrs. Mortimer Pegg, herself,
emerge from her house with a very red face, and resolutely grasp her
father-in-law's arm. She spoke to him in a rapid undertone, and, after a
moment's hesitation, he followed her meekly into the house.
How I sympathized with him! I knew only too well the humiliation
experienced by the helpless male when over-bearing woman drags him
ignominiously from his harmless recreation.
A bond of understanding seemed to be established between us at once.
The voice of Mary Ellen broke in on my reverie. She was teasing Angel to
sing.
"Aw give us a chune, Master Angel before th' missus gets back! There's a
duck. I'll give ye a pocket full of raisins as sure's fate!"
Angel, full of music as a bird, could strum some sort of accompaniment to
any song on the piano. It was Mary Ellen's delight on a Saturday morning to
pour forth her pent up feelings in one of the popular songs, with Angel to
keep her on the tune and thump a chord or two.
It was a risky business. But The Seraph mounted guard at the window while I
pressed my nose against the glass case that held the stuffed birds and
wondered if any of them had come from South America. "How jolly," I
thought, "to be there with father."
Tum-te-tum-te-tum, strummed Angel.
"Casey would waltz with the strawberry blonde,
And the--band--played--on."
His sweet reedy tones thrilled the April air.
And Mary Ellen's voice, robust as the whistle of a locomotive, bursting
with health and spirits, shook the very cobwebs that she had not swept
down.
"Casey would waltz with th' strawberry blonde,
And--the--band--play--don!"
Generally we had a faithful subordinate in The Seraph. He had a rather
sturdy sense of honour. On this spring morning however, I think that the
singing of Mary Ellen must have dulled his sensibilities, for, instead of
keeping a bright lookout up the street for the dreaded form of Mrs.
Handsomebody, he lolled across the window-sill, dangling a piece of string,
with the April sunshine warming his rounded back.
And as he dangled the string, Mrs. Handsomebody drew nearer and nearer. She
entered the gate--she entered the house--she was in the parlour!!
Angel and Mary Ellen had just given their last triumphant shout, when Mrs.
Handsomebody said in a voice of cold fury:
"Mary Ellen, kindly cease that ribald screaming. David (David is Angel's
proper name) get up instantly from that piano stool and face me! John,
Alexander, face me!"
We did so tremblingly.
"Now," said Mrs. Handsomebody, "you three boys go up to your bedroom--not
to the schoolroom, mind--and don't let me hear another sound from you
today! You shall get no dinner. At four I will come and discuss your
disgraceful conduct with you. Now march!"
She held the door open for us while we filed sheepishly under her arm. Then
the door closed behind us with a decisive bang, and poor Mary Ellen was
left in the torture-chamber with Mrs. Handsomebody and the stuffed birds.