The Fortunes of Springfield Read Online Free PDF
Author: Eleanor Farnes
Davis clicked her tongue in disgust. “Has she been here? I might have known it. She pokes her nose in everywhere, just so that she can carry on all the news and gossip to the next place. She took in every si ngle change you’ve made, I’ll be bound, so that she can tell everybody. She lives alone and it’s the only occupation that she’s got in life.”
“But is she a friend of the children’s family?”
“No, of course not. Mr. Springfield—Mr. Gerald, that is—wouldn’t have her about the place. She has a nasty, unkind tongue and is as two-faced as they make them. She’d say nice things when she was with you, and go straight away and say the nastiest things about you. You don’t want to encourage her, Miss Hearst.”
“The trouble is to discourage her.”
“I know. She worms her way in eve r ywhere. Still, you haven’t got anything to worry about, with all the improvements you’ve made in this place.”
Caroline dismissed Miss Weedon from her mind an d hoped that she would not take it into her head to come too often. She had, in any case, far more important things to think about, and the children figured first on the list.
That they were well on the way to becoming problem children was obvious—with the possible exception of Wendy, who was so malleable that it should not be difficult to guide her in the way she should go. It was hardly surprising that they should be difficult, left, as they had been, to the care of housekeepers who came and went, and especially to the care of Miss Church. There w as no stability in their life; no secure background. They felt they could trust nobody. Babs was so young that Caroline hoped soon to eradicate the bad traits that were appearing: she would soon forget old ways and learn new ones. She was a problem because she never learned to play alone, and followed Caroline around saying: “I don’t know what to d o .” She cried on the sligh t est provocation, and kept it up much longer than could possibly be justified: but Caroline had high hopes of her. It was Terence who appeared most formidable, and Terence whose memory was longest. He seemed to have made up his mind that Caroline was his enemy, one more on his list of enemies. He did not trust anybody and he would not trust her. He gave her dark looks, which plainly said: What is she up to? He swore deliberately, provocatively, and the little girls looked so apprehensive that Caroline knew he must have been previously punished for swearing. She suspected that he had often been punished, and probably hard; and it made him obstinate and truculent. She hardly knew what to do about him.
The first thing, she decided, was to begin to give them a feeling of security: to establish a routine, so that the same things happened over and over again; so that they could expect them to happen. She wanted to become a background for them, so that they would know she was there to turn to. She wanted to treat them with justice and common sense always, but to throw in the love that could transform these admirable but cold virtues. And she could only make a beginning. Why should they trust her right away? She might disappear as others had disappeared, without their knowing how or why. She gave a passing thought to her desire to work abroad: “But this is important,” she thought, “and the other thing will have to be postponed for a while.”
One afternoon, Terence and Wendy returned from school to find that Babs had built a tall and complicated castle of bri c ks in front of the kitchen fire. It was quite a step forward for Babs to have stayed so long at one thing, and Caroline had admired the castle extravagantly. Terence, cold and wanting to come to the fire, kicked it down. Babs immediately wailed and showed no sign of stopping. Wendy said:
“Never mind, Babs, we’ll build it again.”
“I shall kick it down again,” said Terence.
“You will do no such thing,” said Caroline. “You will apologize at
“But is she a friend of the children’s family?”
“No, of course not. Mr. Springfield—Mr. Gerald, that is—wouldn’t have her about the place. She has a nasty, unkind tongue and is as two-faced as they make them. She’d say nice things when she was with you, and go straight away and say the nastiest things about you. You don’t want to encourage her, Miss Hearst.”
“The trouble is to discourage her.”
“I know. She worms her way in eve r ywhere. Still, you haven’t got anything to worry about, with all the improvements you’ve made in this place.”
Caroline dismissed Miss Weedon from her mind an d hoped that she would not take it into her head to come too often. She had, in any case, far more important things to think about, and the children figured first on the list.
That they were well on the way to becoming problem children was obvious—with the possible exception of Wendy, who was so malleable that it should not be difficult to guide her in the way she should go. It was hardly surprising that they should be difficult, left, as they had been, to the care of housekeepers who came and went, and especially to the care of Miss Church. There w as no stability in their life; no secure background. They felt they could trust nobody. Babs was so young that Caroline hoped soon to eradicate the bad traits that were appearing: she would soon forget old ways and learn new ones. She was a problem because she never learned to play alone, and followed Caroline around saying: “I don’t know what to d o .” She cried on the sligh t est provocation, and kept it up much longer than could possibly be justified: but Caroline had high hopes of her. It was Terence who appeared most formidable, and Terence whose memory was longest. He seemed to have made up his mind that Caroline was his enemy, one more on his list of enemies. He did not trust anybody and he would not trust her. He gave her dark looks, which plainly said: What is she up to? He swore deliberately, provocatively, and the little girls looked so apprehensive that Caroline knew he must have been previously punished for swearing. She suspected that he had often been punished, and probably hard; and it made him obstinate and truculent. She hardly knew what to do about him.
The first thing, she decided, was to begin to give them a feeling of security: to establish a routine, so that the same things happened over and over again; so that they could expect them to happen. She wanted to become a background for them, so that they would know she was there to turn to. She wanted to treat them with justice and common sense always, but to throw in the love that could transform these admirable but cold virtues. And she could only make a beginning. Why should they trust her right away? She might disappear as others had disappeared, without their knowing how or why. She gave a passing thought to her desire to work abroad: “But this is important,” she thought, “and the other thing will have to be postponed for a while.”
One afternoon, Terence and Wendy returned from school to find that Babs had built a tall and complicated castle of bri c ks in front of the kitchen fire. It was quite a step forward for Babs to have stayed so long at one thing, and Caroline had admired the castle extravagantly. Terence, cold and wanting to come to the fire, kicked it down. Babs immediately wailed and showed no sign of stopping. Wendy said:
“Never mind, Babs, we’ll build it again.”
“I shall kick it down again,” said Terence.
“You will do no such thing,” said Caroline. “You will apologize at