The Aloe Read Online Free PDF

holding the doll parasols over the face of the wax one – “Where are you going Kezia,” asked Isabel, who longed to find some light and menial duty that Kezia might perform and so be roped in under her government. “Oh just away,” said Kezia.
    “Come back, Kezia. Come back. You’re not to go on the wet grass until it’s dry. Grandma says,” called Isabel.
    “Bossy! bossy!” Linda heard Kezia answer.
    “Do the children’s voices annoy you, Linda,” asked old Mrs Fairfield, coming in at that moment with a breakfast tray. “Shall I tell them to go further away from the house?”
    “No, don’t bother,” said Linda. “Oh, Mother I do not want any breakfast.”
    “I have not brought you any,” said Mrs Fairfield, putting down the tray on the bed table. “A spot of porridge, a finger of toast . . .”
    “The merest sensation of marmalade –” mocked Linda – But Mrs Fairfield remained serious. “Yes, dearie, and a little pot of fresh tea.”
    She brought from the cupboard a white woolen jacket trimmed with red bows and buttoned it round her daughter.
    “Must I?” pouted Linda, making a face at the porridge.
    Mrs Fairfield walked about the room. She lowered the blinds, tidied away the evidences of Burnell’s toilet and gently she lifted the dampened plume of the little round hat. There was a charm and a grace in all her movements. It was not that she merely “set in order”; there seemed to be almost a positive quality in the obedience of things to her fine old hands. They found not only their proper but their perfect place. She wore a grey foulard dress patterned with white pansies, a white linen apron and one of those high caps shaped like a jelly mould of white tulle. At her throat a big silver brooch shaped like a crescent moon with five owls sitting on it and round her neck a black bead watch chain. If she had been a beauty in her youth and she had been a very great beauty – (Indeed, report had it that her miniature had been painted and sent to Queen Victoria as the belle of Australia) old age had touched her with exquisite gentleness. Her long curling hair was still black at her waist, grey between her shoulders and it framed her head in frosted silver. The late roses – the last roses – that frail pink kind, so reluctant to fall, such a wonder to find, still bloomed in her cheeks and behind big gold rimmed spectacles her blue eyes shone and smiled. And she still had dimples. On the backs of her hands, at her elbows – one in the left hand corner of her chin. Her body was the colour of old ivory. She bathed in cold water summer and winter and she could only bear linen next to her skin and suede gloves on her hands. Upon everything she used there lingered a trace of Cashmere bouquet perfume.
    “How are you getting on downstairs,” asked Linda, playing with her breakfast.
    “Beautifully. Pat has turned out a treasure – He has laid all the linoleum and the carpets and Alice seems to be taking a real interest in the kitchen and pantries.”
    “Pantries! There’s grandeur, after that bird cage of a larder in that other cubby hole!”
    “Yes, I must say the house is wonderfully convenient and ample in every way. You should have a good look round when you get up.”
    Linda smiled, shaking her head.
    “I don’t want to. I don’t care. The house can bulge cupboards and pantries, but other people will explore them. Not me.”
    “But why not,” asked Mrs Fairfield, anxiously watching her.
    “Because I don’t feel the slightest crumb of interest, my Mother.”
    “But why don’t you, dear? You ought to try – to begin – even for Stanley’s sake. He’ll be so bitterly disappointed if ... “Linda’s laugh interrupted. “Oh, trust me – I’ll satisfy Stanley. Besides I can rave all the better over what I haven’t seen.” “Nobody asks you to rave, Linda,” said the old woman, sadly.
    “Don’t they?” Linda screwed up her eyes. “I’m not so sure. If I were to jump out