One-Eyed Cat by Paula Fox Page B

had an orange tinge to them except for Christmas which was red and green.
    It was one of the busiest times of the year for the Reverend Wallis. There would be a special Thanksgiving service, arrangements to be made for the delivering of food baskets to needy people in the valley—some of them never came to church but were given baskets anyway—and, at the end of November, a pageant would be presented showing scenes of historical events since the founding of the church. Ned was to play the part of a carpenter’s assistant in a scene in which the first meeting house was razed to make way for the present church. After that would come Christmas time when the church, lit up every evening, was like a village, with people coming and going, committees meeting, presents for the children being wrapped in bright paper, choir practice, and the whole church filled with the forest smell of the great evergreen tree that would stand in the corner below the gallery.
    The church ladies used to provide a good deal of Thanksgiving dinner for the Wallis family. Ned had liked driving home from Tyler with their food hampers on the back seat of the Packard, carrying them into the kitchen and opening them up. It was a little like opening Christmas presents. Papa had cooked the turkey. When it was all done and carved, Papa would carry Mama downstairs and place her in her wheelchair, which had been drawn up to the round oak table beneath the Tiffany-glass shade.
    This year, Ned imagined, Mrs. Scallop would be rushing about the kitchen, glowing like a hot coal, making huge cakes and pies, mashing potatoes, basting the turkey, telling anyone who passed through what a wonderful cook she was.
    Do bullies know they’re bullies? Ned wondered. Do people know when they’re boasting? He walked up the porch steps and, through the window, saw his father sitting at his desk. He was only half glad Papa was home.
    â€œHere’s my report card,” he said when he went into the study.
    Papa smiled and took it from his outstretched hand and looked at it for what seemed a night and a day.
    â€œNed, I don’t believe you’ve been working very hard,” he said at last in a solemn voice. “Marks aren’t so important. The fine thing is to do your best. Neddy, this isn’t your best. Is it?”
    Ned shook his head. His father uncapped his fountain pen to sign the report card. In two minutes, this would be over. In a week, he would have forgotten it. In ten years—
    â€œNed?” his father inquired, looking up at him. “Have you something to say?” When Ned didn’t answer, his father sighed. “I don’t see quite how I can send my boy away for a splendid holiday with his uncle if he is indifferent to his work,” he said, looking down at his desk.
    Hope stirred in Ned’s heart. But he could hardly tell Papa that. “I’ll try to do better next month,” he said, wondering if he could get his grades down so low that Papa wouldn’t let him go to Charleston with Uncle Hilary. Papa was smiling now. “That’s the spirit,” he said.
    Ned was disgusted with himself. Bullies might not know they were bullies, but a liar must know when he had lied. Ned did.
    As it turned out, Mrs. Scallop didn’t cook the Thanksgiving turkey for the Wallis family. She asked for the day off and went to Cornwall, down near the Hudson, to spend the holiday with a cousin of her dead husband’s who lived there. Mr. Scully had his turkey with the Kimball family, and Ned and his father fixed their Thanksgiving dinner together. The church ladies provided three pies: mince, pumpkin and sweet potato. When the table was spread, it looked to Ned as if there was enough food on it to feed all the Kimballs for a week.
    Mama wore her silk dress that was the color of lilac blossoms. On one of her fingers was an amethyst ring, her favorite stone she had told Ned. She was able to wear the ring because