Opposite the Cross Keys by S. T. Haymon

but round at the side you could still read, shadows on the dingy bricks, Bowden & Co. Quality Footwear for Ladies, Gentlemen, and Infants. Artisans’ Boots. Only the Best Suffices .
    With the money from the sale of the factory Mr Bowden had built a lot of horrid little rows of houses in the streets down by the river, and named them after the women in his life, such as Ivy Terrace and May Terrace, named after his wife and his daughter. Nobody knew who Daphne Terrace and Sophie Terrace and Beryl Villas and Millicent Villas were named after, but, as my father said, you had to give a man the benefit of the doubt. When Mr Bowden died, his wife having predeceased him, he left all the houses, and all the rents that came out of them, to his daughter May.
    Maud said that he had ground the faces of the poor, to say nothing of making them ill by putting in bad drains, and no good would ever come of money got in that way. As May Bowden had promised to leave all her money to me when she died, I hoped it was only Maud being niggly: that the money hadn’t been got as sinfully as she made out.
    May Bowden came to the garden gate, pinning a lock of her bright red hair back into place as she came. She wore her hair in a style I was familiar with from old photographs, flat on top as though permanently squashed by the wearing of heavy hats. She leaned over the gate to look at the cowslip ball and the tin with King Edward and Queen Alexandra, both of which I was carrying in the box in which the roast chicken had been packed.
    â€˜You dear child!’ she trilled, showing all the false teeth at once. ‘You’ve brought me cowslips!’
    It was embarrassing to have to explain that the cowslips were spoken for. ‘But I’ll be sure to bring you some back next time,’ I promised, looking sideways at Maud. Mr Fenner, after all, had invited me to come again soon. But all Maud did was to say brutally, ‘They’ll be over by then.’
    â€˜Things are always over when it’s my turn.’ May Bowden spoke without self-pity, but I felt awful. I put the box down on the ground, picked up the tin, and held it out to her.
    â€˜I’ve brought you back something much better than cowslips!’
    May Bowden was in no hurry to take my gift. The stare she directed at King Edward with a hole skewered through his nose held none of the respect she was accustomed to accord royalty.
    She said coldly, ‘I’m not short of tins, thank you.’
    â€˜Not the tin! What’s inside!’
    Carefully, as Tom had done, I raised the lid of the tin, just enough to get my hand inside, and pressing lightly on the toad’s back so that it couldn’t make a sudden leap for freedom. Despite the discomforts of the journey, it still felt cool and contented. Its head popped up between my thumb and forefinger, so sweet, so good-humoured, that May Bowden was instantly conquered.
    â€˜A frog!’ she exclaimed. ‘Just like in the fairy stories!’
    Maud sniffed. ‘If you think that one’s going to turn into a prince you’ve got another think coming! It’s not a frog. It’s a toad.’
    â€˜His name’s Pillow,’ I intervened hastily. ‘I thought he could live in your garden and eat up all the bad insects and things. Adding unwisely, ‘And I could come and visit him, being just next door.’
    May Bowden withdrew the hand which had been about to lift Pillow out of his makeshift nest. Her countenance had become narrow and suspicious.
    â€˜Let’s get one thing straight, young lady. Is it your toad or mine? Or are you simply proposing that I should let you use my amenities for your own purposes?’
    I gulped. Maud opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again without saying anything. Put on the spot, I assumed my most endearing smile and said, ‘It’s yours. I already told you.’
    â€˜Let him choose where he wants to be.’
    May Bowden lifted Pillow