Mary Emma & Company by Ralph Moody Page A

some way as he put the paste on. Yes, I’m sure he did. . . . I can see him in my mind’s eye now, going up the stepladder with the paper folded and letting it unfold, section by section, as he went along. Oh, my! I’d nearly forgotten! When he had a ceiling to do he used to put a plank up on two chairs, so he could walk along it as he spread the paper out. Son, do you have any idea as to where you might get hold of a good stout plank?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I told her, “we’ve got one at the store that I used when I was washing the ceiling. Shall I run and get it before closing time?”
    â€œAnd you’ll have to get another stepladder, too,” Grace interrupted. “This ceiling is ten feet high, so chairs wouldn’t be any good, or boxes, or anything like that.”
    â€œI don’t know where I’d find another stepladder,” I told her, “but I could bring the ladder I use when I wash the windows. It’s not very tall and . . .”
    â€œNever mind the details, but run along and get them quickly,” Mother told me. “We have no time to waste if we’re going to finish papering this kitchen tonight. I’ll have the paste ready by the time you’re back.”
    I couldn’t hurry very much with the heavy plank and the ladder. When I reached home with them Grace was just starting to paste one end of a long strip of paper, while Mother held the rest of it in her arms. “Good!” Mother said. “I’m glad you got here just when you did. You might run around and draw the paper along on the table as Gracie pastes it.”
    I drew until I was tight against the wall, but Grace had been able to paste only as far as the middle of the strip. “Now just stop a moment and let me think,” Mother told us. “Father never used to get his paper strung out like this. He folded the sheet in some manner, and I’m sure he kept it all right on the table as he pasted. But then, we never had so big a ceiling to cover. Gracie, suppose you help Ralph fold that pasted portion together smoothly. Don’t let it touch this dirty floor.”
    If we’d both had four hands, or if our arms had been six feet long, we might have been able to do what Mother told us. As it was, we made sort of a mess of it. Before we had the paper folded back, we’d dragged it on the floor three or four times, put nearly a dozen wrinkles in it, and had paste clear up to our wrists.
    â€œDon’t feel badly,” Mother told us. “I’m sure that when it’s on the ceiling any soiled spots will sponge right off, and the creases will smooth out easily with a little brushing. Gracie, if you’d just fold that half over loosely a few times, Ralph could hold it in his arms while we paste the other end.”
    Mother’s face looked puzzled as she drew the strip across the table while Grace slapped on the paste. But when she’d reached the far wall she sang out, “Now I remember how it’s done! This part has to be folded over so that both ends meet at the middle. In that way the whole outside is left dry, then it is simply folded back and forth accordion-fashion from each end. Gracie, if you’ll take one of these corners we’ll lift this end high and walk forward until it will meet the part Ralph’s holding.”
    Mother’s idea seemed to be a good one, but neither her arms nor Grace’s were long enough to reach that high. The loop hit the floor and the two pasted sides stuck together before the ends would come within two feet of meeting.
    â€œHmmmmmf!” Mother sniffed, as she stood pinching her lips and looking at the sticky place between the two ends. “We’ll have to go back and try it again. Ralph, try to hold your end real tightly while we get this unstuck.”
    I braced my stomach against the table while Grace and Mother pulled and the pasted sides came apart