DINNA ken hoo I got through the dinner that night. Ma fingers was a' thumbs and ma head was in a bizz. I didna notice that cook had surpassed hersel' and I clean forgot what I had seen in the summer-hoose that forenoon. However, Mr. Shark didna mak' ony announcement, and it was weel for me he didna, for onything oot o' the usual then would ha'e sent me dean off ma onion. It would ha'e took vera little to ha'e made me drap the potatoes and dance on them.
Frederick wasna hissel' either. Him and me had a collision, and the roly-poly was near a waster. Fortunately it was sticky as weel as tender, and, like the man in the railway accident, kept its seat though severely shook. But it was a narrow escape for Mrs. Pabbity frae gettin' the pink sauce on her back hair. The fact is, folk in boardin' hooses, even o' the best quality, never ken the risks they run.
It was a mercy I had naething in ma hand when the next shock cam'. The Captain and the Colonel and Mrs. Beetle was the last to rise, and on their way to the door the Colonel suddenly turned to Frederick at the sideboard and, without sayin' a word, shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder, and then stottered oot afore Frederick was half through his salute.
"Much ado aboot naething, Jemima!" says Frederick, wi' a sort o' laugh, but red in the face.
I didna reply, bein' unable owin' to another silly lump in ma throat and a shoogliness aboot ma knees.
He started to clear awa', and I done the same. The conversation was few, and he performed the maist o' it. It was chiefly aboot the holiday folk he had seen in the town. A question was tormentin' me, but I wouldna ha'e asked it to save ma neck. If he didna like to tell me, I would carry ma curiosity to the grave; for I'll confess I was curious this time.
Later on, in the kitchen, it was cook that tried to keep up the chat, but she has nae gift o' the gab, so it was a quiet supper, though an extra guid one. Frederick praised it, and so did I, but we could hardly finish what cook put on oor plates, and I could see that she was sair disappinted; in fac', there was tears in her eyes.
"I made a special wee roly for ye," she says, when I was gi'ein' inward thanks that the feast was ended; "but maybe ye'll no' be heedin' aboot it noo."
"No' heedin' aboot it?" says Frederick, wi' a quick look at me. "Just gi'e us the chance, cook! If it's half as guid as the big one looked, I wouldna trust masel' long in its company. What dae you say, Jemima?"
"Ay," I answers, checkin' back a groan; "the boarders was fair greedy for your roly, cook. If I had drapped it on the floor, there would ha'e been a rare scramble for it, I can assure ye."
"Weel, weel," she says, cheerin' up, "I wouldna wonder if the wee one's nicer nor the big one."
When she set it on the table, I see Frederick's face fa', and I felt like sinkin' to the lino. Wee? It was a thumper!
"Noo," says cook, "ye'll ha'e to divide it betwixt ye, for roly doesna agree wi' me."
As I've said afore, I canna bear to hurt onybody's feelin's, and Frederick's pretty much the same. We shifted that roly—maybe Heaven helped us; but when I'm on auld wife (if I'm spared) I'll still remember it, and tell its history to ma children's children, even to the fourth generation (if ony). And I'll say this for the roly: the struggle to win ootside ma share took ma mind frae its trouble for the time bein'.
At last Frederick got up and gi'ed cook a poke o' peppermints he had bought in the town; and peppermints is aboot as scarce as peacocks' eggs nooadays. Cook near grat on his neck. They was like manna in the wilderness, she declared.
"Jemima," he says, "I've had a day off, so it's up to me to dae the dishes. Sit still and rest ye."
"Thank ye," says I, "but I prefer to dae ma bit."
"I'll dae the lot," says cook, "and you young folks can tak' it easy for a change. That roly o' mines doesna digest in five minutes"—which was exceedin'ly true.
Of course, we didna listen to her, and after some argie-bargie we started on the job as usual.
It was Frederick which spoke first.
"Ma mither would like ye to gang to your supper on Sunday," he says. "I'll maybe no' be there masel', but there's a lady comin' to see ma mither—a Red Cross Nurse that has been in France and Italy, and ma mither thinks ye would like to hear her stories."
"I'm obliged to your mither," says I, and then without thinkin'—"I thought your mither didna care to hear aboot the war."