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NO PRINCE EITHER
“C ONGRATULATIONS, DEAR Mortimer and Margery!”
Annabelle Broom, the real estate lady, had come to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Moon to their new Concord home. As the moving van drove away from No. 38 Walden Street, the proud owners stood smiling on their very own front porch.
“Why, thank you, Annabelle!” said Mrs. Moon, beaming at her over an armful of teddy bears.
“Oh, don’t thank me,” said Annabelle, shaking her head. “I’ve also come to warn you about the neighbors.”
“The neighbors?” Mrs. Moon glanced nervously at the house next door, where a lanky redheaded boy was loping up the walk.
Her husband frowned. “What’s the matter with the neighbors?”
“Oh, they’re all right, really,” said Annabelle. “In fact Mr. Hall is supposed to be this big important professor.” She rolled her eyes comically. “But as for the children!” She moved closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Dear people, I must warn you, because I see you have a teenage daughter.”
“You don’t mean Emerald?” Margery Moon laughed merrily. “She’s not our daughter. She’s my husband’s second cousin, three times removed.”
“The poor child was an orphan, you see,” explained Mortimer Moon. “So we took her in.”
“How generous of you!” said Annabelle.
“And not only that.” Margery cuddled her teddy bears. “We gave her a job as our maid-of-all-work.”
“How kind of you!” said Annabelle as the screen door opened and a pale girl stepped out on the porch.
“Oh, Emerald,” said Mrs. Moon, “I want you to be extremely careful unloading the car. My crystal goblets are extremely fragile.”
The girl said, “Okay, Mrs. Moon,” and hurried down the steps.
Annabelle watched with narrowed eyes, noting the way the girl’s yellow hair floated out behind her. “Well, just the same, a word of warning. You see, there are three children in the house next door.”
Mortimer Moon raised his eyebrows. “Juvenile delinquents, you mean?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. The girls are fairly harmless, I suppose, and anyway the older girl’s away in Paris, France. Georgie, the little one, is fairly harmless. But there is also a son named Edward.” Annabelle corrected herself. “Or perhaps he’s a nephew. Whatever.”
“He’s the delinquent?” Margery Moon turned her head and stared fearfully at the neighboring house, where the redheaded boy was lingering on the porch with his hands in his pockets.
“Not delinquent exactly,” said Annabelle. “Buthe’s part of a gang, a whole crowd of kids. The rabble, I call them. As far as I know, Edward has never actually been in trouble with the police, but …”
“But what?” said Margery and Mortimer together.
“Just take care, that’s all. I urge you to keep an eye on your maid, Ruby.”
“Emerald,” corrected Margery.
“Of course. I knew it was some precious stone.” Then Annabelle spoke firmly. “If I were you, I’d forbid her to have anything to do with those people. Anything
what-so-ever
.”
“Goodness me!” Margery stared keenly at her husband’s second cousin, three times removed, as she heaved a large box out of the trunk of the car.
“And there’s something else about Number Forty Walden Street,” said Annabelle. “I suppose I should have warned you about it before.”
“Warned us about what?” said Mortimer Moon, frowning.
But then his wife screeched at the maid-of-all-work as she staggered up the walk with the box. “Be careful, Emerald!”
Emerald nodded and struggled up the steps. But as she tottered across the porch, Mrs. Moon shook a warning finger and said, “Those goblets must be washed at once, do you hear me, Emerald?”
Clutching the heavy box, Emerald turned the handle of the screen door with two fingers, bumped the door open with her knee, and kept it open by leaning against it. “Okay, Mrs. Moon,” she said, edging sideways into the house.
“And don’t
NO PRINCE EITHER
“C ONGRATULATIONS, DEAR Mortimer and Margery!”
Annabelle Broom, the real estate lady, had come to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Moon to their new Concord home. As the moving van drove away from No. 38 Walden Street, the proud owners stood smiling on their very own front porch.
“Why, thank you, Annabelle!” said Mrs. Moon, beaming at her over an armful of teddy bears.
“Oh, don’t thank me,” said Annabelle, shaking her head. “I’ve also come to warn you about the neighbors.”
“The neighbors?” Mrs. Moon glanced nervously at the house next door, where a lanky redheaded boy was loping up the walk.
Her husband frowned. “What’s the matter with the neighbors?”
“Oh, they’re all right, really,” said Annabelle. “In fact Mr. Hall is supposed to be this big important professor.” She rolled her eyes comically. “But as for the children!” She moved closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Dear people, I must warn you, because I see you have a teenage daughter.”
“You don’t mean Emerald?” Margery Moon laughed merrily. “She’s not our daughter. She’s my husband’s second cousin, three times removed.”
“The poor child was an orphan, you see,” explained Mortimer Moon. “So we took her in.”
“How generous of you!” said Annabelle.
“And not only that.” Margery cuddled her teddy bears. “We gave her a job as our maid-of-all-work.”
“How kind of you!” said Annabelle as the screen door opened and a pale girl stepped out on the porch.
“Oh, Emerald,” said Mrs. Moon, “I want you to be extremely careful unloading the car. My crystal goblets are extremely fragile.”
The girl said, “Okay, Mrs. Moon,” and hurried down the steps.
Annabelle watched with narrowed eyes, noting the way the girl’s yellow hair floated out behind her. “Well, just the same, a word of warning. You see, there are three children in the house next door.”
Mortimer Moon raised his eyebrows. “Juvenile delinquents, you mean?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. The girls are fairly harmless, I suppose, and anyway the older girl’s away in Paris, France. Georgie, the little one, is fairly harmless. But there is also a son named Edward.” Annabelle corrected herself. “Or perhaps he’s a nephew. Whatever.”
“He’s the delinquent?” Margery Moon turned her head and stared fearfully at the neighboring house, where the redheaded boy was lingering on the porch with his hands in his pockets.
“Not delinquent exactly,” said Annabelle. “Buthe’s part of a gang, a whole crowd of kids. The rabble, I call them. As far as I know, Edward has never actually been in trouble with the police, but …”
“But what?” said Margery and Mortimer together.
“Just take care, that’s all. I urge you to keep an eye on your maid, Ruby.”
“Emerald,” corrected Margery.
“Of course. I knew it was some precious stone.” Then Annabelle spoke firmly. “If I were you, I’d forbid her to have anything to do with those people. Anything
what-so-ever
.”
“Goodness me!” Margery stared keenly at her husband’s second cousin, three times removed, as she heaved a large box out of the trunk of the car.
“And there’s something else about Number Forty Walden Street,” said Annabelle. “I suppose I should have warned you about it before.”
“Warned us about what?” said Mortimer Moon, frowning.
But then his wife screeched at the maid-of-all-work as she staggered up the walk with the box. “Be careful, Emerald!”
Emerald nodded and struggled up the steps. But as she tottered across the porch, Mrs. Moon shook a warning finger and said, “Those goblets must be washed at once, do you hear me, Emerald?”
Clutching the heavy box, Emerald turned the handle of the screen door with two fingers, bumped the door open with her knee, and kept it open by leaning against it. “Okay, Mrs. Moon,” she said, edging sideways into the house.
“And don’t
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