money."
"A lot? A pound a week?"
"A little more than that," admitted Miriam.
The girls sighed with relief.
"Then you're quite rich, aren't you?" smiled Hazel.
"Well then, thank you very much," said Jenny, choosing a yellow one for her spare ball. "You are kind, as well as rich."
The baker's shop was open next door, and Miriam bought fresh currant buns for tea, and a veal and ham pie as a change from the turkey.
"You must be really rich," observed Hazel, as they climbed into the car with their purchases, "if you can buy a great big pie like that. Mummy always makes ours, because she says they are so dear in the shops."
"Well, this is a treat," explained Miriam. And a time- and energy-saver for a struggling aunt, she added to herself.
***
She found time to ring Joan who sounded busy and happy.
"Roger goes tomorrow. A friend is picking him up and they are flying to Switzerland at six o'clock. Plenty of snow there, they say."
"None at Fairacre, I hope?"
"Not yet, but it's cold enough."
They exchanged news. Barbara and the family were off on the Monday. And when could Joan hope to see Miriam?
"With luck, during next week," said Miriam. "It depends if Eileen is allowed home, and how strong she feels."
"Well, Holly Lodge is waiting for you," said Joan. "So come as soon as you can."
"I can promise that," Miriam assured her.
***
The gales continued, rising to their height on Sunday night. There were tales of fishing boats smashed at their moorings, and of large ships riding out the storm within sight of the Norfolk coast. At places the sea had flooded the marshland, and great damage was reported from the seaside towns on the Norfolk and Suffolk coasts. Men spent the weekend filling sandbags to block the gaps in the sea wall where the violence of the high tide had breached it.
At the vicarage, some tiles were blown from the roof and an ancient apple tree was toppled, its roots exposed to the children's horrified gaze and its branches enmeshing a chicken house, mercifully empty.
For the first time, Miriam saw the children frightened that night. The house shuddered in the onslaught, and the banshee wailings, which Miriam had thought belonged to the kitchen only, were increased to envelop the upstairs corridors.
Miriam left a night-light burning in a saucer of water to comfort the little girls. The tall shadows, made by the brave little light, took her back in an instant to her own childhood in just such a bleak vicarage, and she kissed the little girls with extra warmth and sympathy.
The nine o'clock news was devoted largely to the havoc caused by the storm, related with the usual zest with which the imparting of bad news is passed on. Shades of Mrs. Pringle, thought Miriam, watching a woman smugly explaining how she had found her neighbor pinned beneath her own coal shed and describing, with relish, the extent of her injuries.
"That's enough of that!" said Lovell, switching it off. "If I know anything about it, it will have blown itself out within twenty-four hours."
***
It was at twelve the next day when the telephone rang, and it was Eileen on the line, sounding highly jubilant.
"It looks as though I can come home tomorrow. Isn't it wonderful? Can Lovell fetch me in the afternoon? The doctor wants to see me in the morning, and it's really simpler if I have lunch here."
"Marvelous!" cried Miriam. "Let me call Lovell. He's in the garden, sawing the apple tree into logs."
"Any damage?"
"Very little," Miriam told her, "and the wind is dying down nicely."
"Look out for floods by the river," warned Eileen. "The papers haven't arrived yet, and they say a lot of people have had to leave their houses in the low-lying part of the town. Poor things! Can you imagine anything worse than finding your carpets floating downstairs?"
"Yes. Floating upstairs. Here's Lovell now," called Miriam, handing over the telephone to her wind-blown brother.
She could hear the excitement in his voice as she returned to the mound of
"A lot? A pound a week?"
"A little more than that," admitted Miriam.
The girls sighed with relief.
"Then you're quite rich, aren't you?" smiled Hazel.
"Well then, thank you very much," said Jenny, choosing a yellow one for her spare ball. "You are kind, as well as rich."
The baker's shop was open next door, and Miriam bought fresh currant buns for tea, and a veal and ham pie as a change from the turkey.
"You must be really rich," observed Hazel, as they climbed into the car with their purchases, "if you can buy a great big pie like that. Mummy always makes ours, because she says they are so dear in the shops."
"Well, this is a treat," explained Miriam. And a time- and energy-saver for a struggling aunt, she added to herself.
***
She found time to ring Joan who sounded busy and happy.
"Roger goes tomorrow. A friend is picking him up and they are flying to Switzerland at six o'clock. Plenty of snow there, they say."
"None at Fairacre, I hope?"
"Not yet, but it's cold enough."
They exchanged news. Barbara and the family were off on the Monday. And when could Joan hope to see Miriam?
"With luck, during next week," said Miriam. "It depends if Eileen is allowed home, and how strong she feels."
"Well, Holly Lodge is waiting for you," said Joan. "So come as soon as you can."
"I can promise that," Miriam assured her.
***
The gales continued, rising to their height on Sunday night. There were tales of fishing boats smashed at their moorings, and of large ships riding out the storm within sight of the Norfolk coast. At places the sea had flooded the marshland, and great damage was reported from the seaside towns on the Norfolk and Suffolk coasts. Men spent the weekend filling sandbags to block the gaps in the sea wall where the violence of the high tide had breached it.
At the vicarage, some tiles were blown from the roof and an ancient apple tree was toppled, its roots exposed to the children's horrified gaze and its branches enmeshing a chicken house, mercifully empty.
For the first time, Miriam saw the children frightened that night. The house shuddered in the onslaught, and the banshee wailings, which Miriam had thought belonged to the kitchen only, were increased to envelop the upstairs corridors.
Miriam left a night-light burning in a saucer of water to comfort the little girls. The tall shadows, made by the brave little light, took her back in an instant to her own childhood in just such a bleak vicarage, and she kissed the little girls with extra warmth and sympathy.
The nine o'clock news was devoted largely to the havoc caused by the storm, related with the usual zest with which the imparting of bad news is passed on. Shades of Mrs. Pringle, thought Miriam, watching a woman smugly explaining how she had found her neighbor pinned beneath her own coal shed and describing, with relish, the extent of her injuries.
"That's enough of that!" said Lovell, switching it off. "If I know anything about it, it will have blown itself out within twenty-four hours."
***
It was at twelve the next day when the telephone rang, and it was Eileen on the line, sounding highly jubilant.
"It looks as though I can come home tomorrow. Isn't it wonderful? Can Lovell fetch me in the afternoon? The doctor wants to see me in the morning, and it's really simpler if I have lunch here."
"Marvelous!" cried Miriam. "Let me call Lovell. He's in the garden, sawing the apple tree into logs."
"Any damage?"
"Very little," Miriam told her, "and the wind is dying down nicely."
"Look out for floods by the river," warned Eileen. "The papers haven't arrived yet, and they say a lot of people have had to leave their houses in the low-lying part of the town. Poor things! Can you imagine anything worse than finding your carpets floating downstairs?"
"Yes. Floating upstairs. Here's Lovell now," called Miriam, handing over the telephone to her wind-blown brother.
She could hear the excitement in his voice as she returned to the mound of
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