Pat of Silver Bush Read Online Free PDF

time twice a day. Then down the hall to her room, with a wistful glance at the close-shut spareroom door as she passed it…the Poet’s room, as it was called, because once a poet who had been a guest at Silver Bush had slept there for a night. Pat had a firm belief that if you could only open the door of any shut room quickly enough you would catch all the furniture in strange situations. The chairs crowded together talking, the table lifting its white muslin skirts to show its pink sateen petticoat, the fire shovel and tongs dancing a fandango by themselves. But then you never could. Some sound always warned them and they were back in their places as demure as you please.
    Pat said her prayers… Now I Lay Me , and the Lord’s Prayer, and then her own prayer. This was always the most interesting part because she made it up herself. She could not understand people who didn’t like to pray. May Binnie, now. May had told her last Sunday in Sunday School that she never prayed unless she was scared about something. Fancy that!
    Pat prayed for everybody in the family and for Judy Plum and Uncle Tom and Aunt Edith and Aunt Barbara…and for Sailor Uncle Horace at sea…and everybody else’s sailor uncle at sea…and all the cats and Gentleman Tom and Joe’s dog…“little black Snicklefritz with his curly tail,” so that God wouldn’t get mixed up between Joe’s dog and Uncle Tom’s dog who was big and black with a straight tail…and any fairies that might be hanging round and any poor ghosts that might be sitting on the tombstones…and for Silver Bush itself…dear Silver Bush.
    â€œPlease keep it always the same, dear God,” begged Pat, “and don’t let any more trees blow down.”
    Pat rose from her knees and stood there a bit rebelliously. Surely she had prayed for everybody and everything she could really be expected to pray for. Of course on stormy nights she always prayed for people who might be out in the storm. But this was a lovely spring night.
    Finally she plumped down on her knees again.
    â€œPlease, dear God, if there is a baby out there in that parsley bed, keep it warm tonight. Dad says there may be a little frost.”

CHAPTER 4
Sunday’s Child
    It was only a few evenings later that there was a commotion in the house at Silver Bush…pale faces…mysterious comings and goings. Aunt Barbara came over with a new white apron on, as if she were going to work instead of visit. Judy stalked about, muttering to herself. Father, who had been hanging round the house all day rather lazily for him, came down from mother’s room and telephoned with the dining-room door shut. Half an hour afterwards Aunt Frances came over from the Bay Shore and whisked Winnie and Joe off on an unlooked-for weekend.
    Pat was sitting on Weeping Willy’s tombstone. She was on her dignity for she felt that she was being kept out of things somehow and she resented it. There was no resorting to mother who had kept her room all the afternoon. So Pat betook herself to the graveyard and the society of her family ghosts until Judy Plum came along…a portentously solemn Judy Plum, looking wiser than any mortal woman could possibly be.
    â€œPat, me jewel, wud ye be liking to spind the night over at yer Uncle Tom’s for a bit av a change? Siddy will be going along wid ye.”
    â€œWhy?” demanded Pat distantly.
    â€œYer mother do be having a tarrible headache and the house has got to be that still. The doctor’s coming…”
    â€œIs mother bad enough to want a doctor?” cried Pat in quick alarm. Mary May’s mother had had the doctor a week before…and died!
    â€œOh, oh, be aisy now, darlint. A doctor’s just a handy thing to have round whin a body has one of thim headaches. I’m ixpecting yer mother to be fine and dandy be the morning if the house is nice and quiet tonight. So just you and Siddy