Family Happiness Read Online Free PDF Page B

brother a soft punch on the side.
    â€œThat’s enough, you two,” said Henry Demarest. “Finish your sandwiches and then off to the library.” He turned to Wendy. “Does anything need to be rearranged in there?”
    â€œI cleared away the breakables,” Wendy said.
    â€œWoolly, woolly, woolly,” growled Pete.
    â€œEnough,” said Polly, but she said it sweetly. She could not deny that she loved it when her children got slightly out of hand. They were allowed to bring any toys they liked with them on Sunday and they might take all of the cushions off the chairs and sofas in the library to make forts. Breakfast was rather a bore for them, but it was good training for their later life. They finished their milk and retreated upstairs to the library muttering, “Woolly, woolly, woolly,” under their breath.
    Meanwhile, a conversation about the future of the aerospace industry had erupted. Henry, Sr., and Henry Demarest pondered the economic issues. Henry, Jr., launched into a speech on a theoretical point. Like most of his speeches—which were not frequent—this one involved the quoting of equations, a signal for Wendy to say, “Darling, no writing on the tablecloth.” Henry, Jr., had once actually done this, and Wendy had always been thankful that he had used pencil, not pen.
    Henry, Sr., then spoke about the eroding of the ozone layer and the conflict between industrialism and the right of a citizen not to be poisoned by his environment. Polly called this speech and others like it “The History of Pollution,” since Henry, Sr., liked to give examples from the past, such as the blighting of the rye crop in medieval France and the spoiling of rural England during the Industrial Revolution. The spoiling of rural England was one of his most cherished topics. He found English agricultural history restful and read in it constantly.
    â€œThe common darnel weed was virtually lost in the twelfth century to the fouling of rivers and streams,” he said. “It is now extremely rare.”
    During this recitation, Andreya had arranged her plate of salmon, tomato, onion, toast, and capers as if it were a still life done by a Japanese master. She did not eat salmon herself. She put it on her plate in order to feed it to Kirby. The family was used to her customary silence, but she was so bright-looking, so full of health and sparkle, that she did not look like a quiet or shy person. She smiled when everyone else smiled, and laughed when they all laughed, and no one except Polly felt guilty about not drawing her out.
    Polly had tender feelings toward Andreya—the sort of feelings you might have for a woodland creature. Polly wished she could talk to Andreya, but she had no idea what she might say. This confused her, since Polly was generally good with the odd, the shy, and the mute.
    This morning Andreya suddenly decided to talk to Polly, next to whom she always sat. She drew her chair a little closer to Polly’s.
    â€œSalmon is a pale pink when it is poached,” she said. “Why is it so very red when it is smoked? I cannot understand this.”
    Polly confessed that she had often wondered the same thing and had never been able to figure it out.
    â€œI am noticing these things,” said Andreya. “The yolk of an egg is greenish when boiled, while fried they are golden. When green beans are quickly steamed they are very green but too long steamed they become the color of army clothes. What is the name of this color?”
    â€œOlive or drab,” said Polly. She was overcome: this was one of the longest sustained conversations she had ever had with Andreya.
    â€œI find that fish is becoming whiter when cooked,” Andreya continued. “For this reason I find cooking so interesting.”
    â€œI love to cook,” said Polly. “But when you cook all the time for four people the object is getting it done. I often forget how