Page 24 - An Australian Lassie

CHAPTER VI

MONDAY MORNTNG

Mrs. Bruce was down on her knees caressing tiny Czar violets. Quite early in the morning (before the
breakfast things were washed or the beds made) she had slipped on one of Dot's picturesque poppy-trimmed
hats and declared her intention of planting the bed outside the study windows thick with these the
sweetest-scented of all flowers.

"And all the time you are working and thinking and plotting, daddie darling, the sweetest scents will be
stealing round you," she said.

For some little time she was quite happy among her violets. But presently a richly hued wall-flower called her
attention to a cluster of its blooms, drooping on the pebbly path for a careless foot to crush,--all for the want
of a few tacks and little shreds of cloth. A heavily-blossomed rose-tree begged that some of its buds might be
clipped, and a favourite carnation put in its claim for a stake.

"So much to do!" said Mrs. Bruce, as she flitted here and there in the old-fashioned garden, which was a
veritable paradise to her. "The roses must be clipped, the violets must be thinned, the carnations must be
staked. And there are the new seedlings to be planted. Oh, T think T will take the week for my garden--and let
the house go!"

A flush of almost girlish excitement was in her cheeks, her garden meant so very much to her. Certainly the
house had strong claims--and it was Monday morning--the very morning for forming and carrying out good
plans and resolutions! Meals wanted cooking, cupboards and drawers tidying; garments darning and patching!
But then--the garden! Did it not also need her. Ah! and did she not also need it!

Even as she hesitated, balancing duty with beauty, Betty's voice floated out through the kitchen window, past
the passion-fruit creeper and the white magnolia tree, past the tiny sweet violets and the study windows, right
to where she stood among the roses and wall-flowers.

"T am so tired of washing up," it said, "it wasn't fair of Dot. She had four plates for her breakfast--/ only had
one. She might remember T've to go to school as well as her."

Then Mrs. Bruce advanced one foot towards the house, and in thought wielded the tea-towel and attacked the
trayful of cups and saucers that she knew would be awaiting the tea-towel.

Tt was Cyril's voice that arrested her. Tt came from the kitchen too.

"What's washing up!" said Cyril contemptuously. "Washing up a few cups and spoons--pooh! How'd you like
to be me and have to clean all the knives, T wonder."

Whereat Mrs. Bruce relinquished thoughts of the tea-towel. Tt would never do, she told herself, to assist Betty
and leave poor Cyril unaided. "And T couldn't clean knives," she said.

But she ran indoors to her bedroom, whence came an angry crying voice. Six-year-old Nancy was, in the
frequent intervals that occurred in the doing of her hair, frolicking about the small hot bedroom and trying
frantically to catch the interest of the thumb-and-cot-disgusted baby.

"Do your hair nicely," said Mrs. Bruce to her second youngest daughter. "T will take baby into the garden.
Button your shoes and ask Betty to see that your ears are clean. And your nails. A little lady always has nice
nails."