Magic for Marigold by L. M. Montgomery Page B

And once he swore at me. I just swore back at him. It horrified him so he never set me such a bad example again. The worst quarrel we ever had was when he spilled soup over my purple silk dress. I always believed he did it on purpose because he didn’t like the dress. He has been dead up there in South Harmony graveyard for forty years, but if he were here now I’d like to slap his face for that dress.”
    â€œHow did you get even with him?” asked Marigold, knowing very well Old Grandmother had got even.
    Old Grandmother laughed until she had hardly enough breath left to speak.
    â€œI told him that since he had ruined my dress I’d go to church next Sunday in my petticoat. And I did. ”
    â€œOh, Grandmother.” Marigold thought this was going too far.
    â€œOh, I wore a long silk coat over it. He never knew till we were in our pew. When I sat down the coat fell open in front and he saw the petticoat—a bright Paddy-green it was. Oh, his face—I can see it yet.”
    Old Grandmother rocked herself to and fro on the stone bench in a convulsion of mirth.
    â€œI pulled the coat together. But I don’t think your great-grandfather got much good of that sermon. When it was over he took me by the arm and marched me down the aisle and out to our buggy. No hanging round to talk gossip that day. He never spoke all the way home—sat there with his mouth primmed up. In fact he never said a word about it at all—but he never could bear green the rest of his life. And it was my color. But the next time I got a green dress he gave our fat old washerwoman a dress off the same piece. So of course I couldn’t wear the dress, and I never dared get green again. After all, it took a clever person to get the better of your great-grandfather in the long run. But that was the only serious quarrel we ever had, though we used to squabble for a few years over the bread. He wanted the slices cut thick and I wanted them thin. It spoiled a lot of meals for us.”
    â€œWhy couldn’t you have each cut them to suit yourselves?”
    Old Grandmother chuckled.
    â€œNo, no. That would have been giving in on a trifle. It’s harder to do that than give in on something big. Of course we worked it out like that after we had so many children the question was to get enough bread for the family, thick or thin. But to the end of his life there were times when he would snort when I cut a lovely thin paper-like slice, and times when I honestly couldn’t help sniffing when he carved off one an inch thick.”
    â€œ I like bread thin,” said Marigold, sympathizing with Old Grandmother.
    â€œBut if you marry a man who likes it thick—and I know now that every proper man does—let him have it thick from the start. Don’t stick on trifles, Marigold. The slices of bread didn’t worry me when your great-grandfather fell in love with his second cousin, Mary Lesley. She always tried to flirt with every male creature in sight. Simply couldn’t leave the men alone. She wasn’t handsome but she carried herself like a queen, so people thought she was one. It’s a useful trick, Marigold. You might remember it. But don’t flirt. Either you hurt yourself or you hurt someone else.”
    â€œDidn’t you flirt?” asked Marigold slyly.
    â€œYes. That’s why I’m telling you not to. For the rest—take what God sends you. That was a bad time while it lasted. But he came back. They generally come back if you have sense enough to keep still and wait—as I had, glory be. The only time I broke loose was the night of Charlie Blaisdell’s wedding. Alec sat in a corner and talked to Mary all the evening. I flew out of the house and walked the six miles home in a thin evening dress and satin shoes. It was in March. It should have killed me, of course—but here I am at ninety-nine tough and tasty. And Alec never missed me! Thought I’d gone