there too; the candles had
burned down, of course, and the crackers had been snapped and the sweets and nuts eaten up, but after Christmas everything else was packed away; last of all the fairy doll was wrapped in blue
tissue paper, put in a cotton-reel box, laid with the rest in the cedar chest, and the lid was shut.
When it was shut, the chest was still useful. Mother sent the children to sit on it when they were naughty.
The next Christmas Elizabeth was five. ‘You can help to dress the tree,’ said Mother and gave her some crackers to tie on. ‘Put them on the bottom branches,
and then people can pull them,’ said Mother.
The crackers were doll-size, silver, with silver fringes; they were so pretty that Elizabeth did not want them pulled; she could not bear to think of them tattered and torn, and she hid them in
the moss at the bottom of the tree.
‘ What are you doing?’ said Godfrey in a terrible voice.
He had been kneeling on the floor with his stamp collection, for which he had a new valuable purple British Guiana stamp. He jumped up and jerked the crackers out.
‘You’re afraid of the bang so you hid them,’ he said.
Elizabeth began to stammer ‘I – I wasn’t – ‘ But he was already jumping round her, singing, ‘Cowardy, cowardy custard.’
‘Cowardy, cowardy custard . . .’
A gust of wind came under the door, it lifted up the new valuable purple British Guiana stamp and blew it into the fire.
The fairy doll looked straight in front of her, but the wand stirred gently, very gently, in her hand.
Elizabeth was often naughty; she did not seem able to help it, and that year she spent a great deal of time sitting on the cedar chest.
As she sat, she would think down through the cedar wood, and the cotton-reel box, and the blue tissue paper, to the fairy doll inside.
Then she did not feel quite as miserable.
The Christmas after that she was six; she was allowed to tie the witch balls and the icicles on the tree but not to touch the trumpet or the bells. ‘But I can help to
light the candles, can’t I?’ asked Elizabeth.
Josie had been blowing up a balloon; it was a green balloon she had bought with her own money, and she had blown it to a bubble of emerald. You must have blown up balloons, so that you will know
what hard work it is. Now Josie took her lips away for a moment and held the balloon carefully with her finger and thumb.
‘Light the candles!’ she said to Elizabeth. ‘You? You’re far too young.’
Bang went the balloon.
The fairy doll looked straight in front of her, but the wand stirred gently, very gently, in her hand.
Under the tree was a small pale blue bicycle, shining with paint and steel; it had a label that read: ELIZABETH.
‘You lucky girl,’ said Mother.
The old tricycle was given to a children’s home; it would never go ‘wh-ee-ze, wh-ee-ze’ for Elizabeth again. She took the new bicycle and wheeled it carefully onto the road.
‘You lucky girl,’ said everyone who passed.
Elizabeth rang the bell and once or twice she put her foot on the pedal and took it off again. Then she wheeled the bicycle home.
That year Elizabeth was naughtier than ever and seemed able to help it less and less.
She spilled milk on the Sunday newspapers before Father had read them; she broke Mother’s Wedgwood bowl, and by mistake she mixed the paints in Christabel’s new paint box.
‘Careless little idiot,’ said Christabel. ‘I told you not to touch.’
When Mother sent Elizabeth to the shop she forgot matches or flour or marmalade, and Godfrey had to go and get them. ‘You’re a perfect duffer,’ said Godfrey, furious. Going to
dancing, she dropped the penny for her bus fare, and Josie had to get off the bus with her.
‘I’ll never forgive you. Never,’ said Josie.
It grew worse and worse. Every morning when they were setting off to school, ‘Elizabeth, you haven’t brushed your teeth,’ Christabel would say, and they had to wait while
burned down, of course, and the crackers had been snapped and the sweets and nuts eaten up, but after Christmas everything else was packed away; last of all the fairy doll was wrapped in blue
tissue paper, put in a cotton-reel box, laid with the rest in the cedar chest, and the lid was shut.
When it was shut, the chest was still useful. Mother sent the children to sit on it when they were naughty.
The next Christmas Elizabeth was five. ‘You can help to dress the tree,’ said Mother and gave her some crackers to tie on. ‘Put them on the bottom branches,
and then people can pull them,’ said Mother.
The crackers were doll-size, silver, with silver fringes; they were so pretty that Elizabeth did not want them pulled; she could not bear to think of them tattered and torn, and she hid them in
the moss at the bottom of the tree.
‘ What are you doing?’ said Godfrey in a terrible voice.
He had been kneeling on the floor with his stamp collection, for which he had a new valuable purple British Guiana stamp. He jumped up and jerked the crackers out.
‘You’re afraid of the bang so you hid them,’ he said.
Elizabeth began to stammer ‘I – I wasn’t – ‘ But he was already jumping round her, singing, ‘Cowardy, cowardy custard.’
‘Cowardy, cowardy custard . . .’
A gust of wind came under the door, it lifted up the new valuable purple British Guiana stamp and blew it into the fire.
The fairy doll looked straight in front of her, but the wand stirred gently, very gently, in her hand.
Elizabeth was often naughty; she did not seem able to help it, and that year she spent a great deal of time sitting on the cedar chest.
As she sat, she would think down through the cedar wood, and the cotton-reel box, and the blue tissue paper, to the fairy doll inside.
Then she did not feel quite as miserable.
The Christmas after that she was six; she was allowed to tie the witch balls and the icicles on the tree but not to touch the trumpet or the bells. ‘But I can help to
light the candles, can’t I?’ asked Elizabeth.
Josie had been blowing up a balloon; it was a green balloon she had bought with her own money, and she had blown it to a bubble of emerald. You must have blown up balloons, so that you will know
what hard work it is. Now Josie took her lips away for a moment and held the balloon carefully with her finger and thumb.
‘Light the candles!’ she said to Elizabeth. ‘You? You’re far too young.’
Bang went the balloon.
The fairy doll looked straight in front of her, but the wand stirred gently, very gently, in her hand.
Under the tree was a small pale blue bicycle, shining with paint and steel; it had a label that read: ELIZABETH.
‘You lucky girl,’ said Mother.
The old tricycle was given to a children’s home; it would never go ‘wh-ee-ze, wh-ee-ze’ for Elizabeth again. She took the new bicycle and wheeled it carefully onto the road.
‘You lucky girl,’ said everyone who passed.
Elizabeth rang the bell and once or twice she put her foot on the pedal and took it off again. Then she wheeled the bicycle home.
That year Elizabeth was naughtier than ever and seemed able to help it less and less.
She spilled milk on the Sunday newspapers before Father had read them; she broke Mother’s Wedgwood bowl, and by mistake she mixed the paints in Christabel’s new paint box.
‘Careless little idiot,’ said Christabel. ‘I told you not to touch.’
When Mother sent Elizabeth to the shop she forgot matches or flour or marmalade, and Godfrey had to go and get them. ‘You’re a perfect duffer,’ said Godfrey, furious. Going to
dancing, she dropped the penny for her bus fare, and Josie had to get off the bus with her.
‘I’ll never forgive you. Never,’ said Josie.
It grew worse and worse. Every morning when they were setting off to school, ‘Elizabeth, you haven’t brushed your teeth,’ Christabel would say, and they had to wait while
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