The Christmas Mouse Read Online Free PDF Page A

know better than to pick a round tin instead of a square ’un. I’ll let you tackle this, Mary. It’s for Margaret and Mary Waters. They’re good to us all through the year, taking messages and traipsing round with the parish magazine in all weathers.’
    Mary reached across for the tin, then checked. The eyes of the two women met questioningly. Above the sound of the gale outside they had heard the metallic clink of their letter box.
    ‘I’ll go,’ said Mary.

    An envelope lay on the damp mat. She opened the door, letting in a rush of wind and rain and a few sodden leaves. There was no one to be seen, but in the distance Mary thought she could see the bobbing light of a flash-light. To shout would have been useless. To follow, in her slippers, idiotic. She pushed the door shut against the onslaught, and returned to the light with the envelope.
    ‘For you, Mum,’ she said, handing over the glistening packet.
    Mrs Berry withdrew a Christmas card, bright with robins and frosted leaves, and two embroidered white handkerchiefs.
    ‘From Mrs Burton,’ said Mrs Berry wonderingly. ‘Now, who’d have thought it? Never exchanged presents before, have we? What makes her do a thing like this, I wonder? And turning out too, on such a night. Dear soul, she shouldn’t have done it. She’s little enough to spare as it is.’
    ‘You did feed her cat and chickens for her while she was away last summer,’ said Mary. ‘Perhaps that’s why.’
    ‘That’s only acting neighbourly,’ protested Mrs Berry. ‘No call for her to spend money on us.’
    ‘Given her pleasure, I don’t doubt,’ answered Mary. ‘The thing is, do we give her something back? And, if so, what?’
    It was a knotty problem. Their eyes ranged over the presents before them, already allotted.
    ‘We’ll have to find
something
,’ said Mrs Berry firmly. ‘What about the box of soap upstairs?’
    ‘People are funny about soap,’ said Mary. ‘Might think it’s a hint, you know. She’s none too fond of washing, nice old thing though she is.’
    They racked their brains in silence.
    ‘Half a pound of tea?’ suggested Mrs Berry at last.
    ‘Looks like charity,’ replied Mary.
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to a nice packet of tea,’ said Mrs Berry with spirit. ‘What about one of our new tea towels then?’
    ‘Cost too much,’ said Mary. ‘She’d mind about that.’
    ‘I give up then,’ said Mrs Berry. ‘You think of something. I must say these last-minute surprises are all very fine, but they do put you to some thinking.’
    She tied a final knot round the honey pot and rose to her feet again.
    ‘Talking of tea, what about a cup?’
    ‘Lovely,’ said Mary.
    ‘Shall I cut us a sandwich?’
    ‘Not for me. Just a cup of tea.’
    The old lady went out, and Mary could hear the clattering of cups and saucers, and the welcome tinkle of teaspoons. Suddenly, she felt inexpressibly tired. She longed to put her head down among the litter on the table and fall asleep. Sometimes she thought Christmas was more trouble than it was worth. All the fuss and flurry, then an empty purse just as the January bills came in. If only she had her mother’s outlook! She still truly loved Christmas. She truly celebrated the birth of that God who walked beside her every hour of the day. She truly loved her neighbour – even that dratted Mrs Burton, who was innocently putting them to such trouble.
    Mrs Berry returned with the round tin tray bearing the cups and saucers and the homely brown teapot clad in a knitted tea cosy. Her face had a triumphant smile.
    ‘I’ve thought of something. A bottle of my blackcurrant wine. How’s that? She can use it for her cough, if she don’t like it for anything better. What say?’
    ‘Perfect!’ said Mary. In agreement at last, they sipped their tea thankfully.
    Still awake upstairs, Jane heard the chinking of china and the voices of her mother and grandmother. Beside her, Frances snored lightly, her pink mouth slightly