Jeremy | Page 5

my chair. Mother said--"
"No, she didn't. Mother said--"
"Yes, she did. Mother said--"
"Mother said that when--"
"Oh, you story. You know that Mother said--" Then suddenly a new,
stiffening, trusting dignity filled him, as though he had with a turn of
the head discovered himself in golden armour.

He was above this vulgar wrangling now. That was for girls. He was
superior to them all. He got down from the chair and stood, his head up,
on the old Turkey rug (red with yellow cockatoos) in front of the
roaring fire.
"You may have your old chair," he said to Helen. "I'm eight now, and I
don't want it any more . . . although if I do want it I shall have it," he
added.
He was a small, square boy with a pug-nosed face. His hair was light
brown, thin and stiff, so that it was difficult to brush, and although you
watered it, stood up in unexpected places and stared at you. His eyes
were good, dark brown and large, but he was in no way handsome; his
neck, his nose ridiculous. His mouth was too large, and his chin stuck
out like a hammer.
He was, plainly, obstinate and possibly sulky, although when he smiled
his whole face was lighted with humour. Helen was the only beautiful
Cole child, and she was abundantly aware of that fact. The Coles had
never been a good-looking family.
He stood in front of the fireplace now as he had seen his father do, his
short legs apart, his head up, and his hands behind his back.
"Now, Master Jeremy," the Jampot continued, "you may be eight years
old, but it isn't a reason for disobedience the very first minute, and, of
course, your bath is ready and you catching your death with naked feet,
which you've always been told to put your slippers on and not to keep
the bath waiting, when there's Miss Helen and Miss Mary, as you very
well know, and breakfast coming in five minutes, which there's
sausages this morning, because it's your birthday, and them all getting
cold--"
"Sausages!"
He was across the floor in a moment, had thrown off his nightshirt and
was in his bath. Sausages! He was translated into a world of excitement
and splendour. They had sausages so seldom, not always even on

birthdays, and to-day, on a cold morning, with a crackling fire and
marmalade, perhaps--and then all the presents.
Oh, he was happy. As he rubbed his back with the towel a wonderful
glowing Christian charity spread from his head to his toes and tingled
through every inch of him. Helen should sit in the chair when she
pleased; Mary should be allowed to dress and undress the large woollen
dog, known as "Sulks," his own especial and beloved property, so often
as she wished; Jampot should poke the twisted end of the towel in his
ears and brush his hair with the hard brushes, and he would not say a
word. Aunt Mary should kiss him (as, of course, she would want to do),
and he would not shiver; he would (bravest deed of all) allow Mary to
read "Alice in Wonderland" in her sing-sing voice so long as ever she
wanted. . . Sausages! Sausages!
In his shirt and his short blue trousers, his hair on end, tugging at his
braces, he stood in the doorway and shouted:
"Helen, there are sausages--because it's my birthday. Aren't you glad?”
And even when the only response to his joyous invitation was Helen's
voice crossly admonishing the Jampot: "Oh, you do pull so; you're
hurting!"--his charity was not checked.
Then when he stood clothed and of a cheerful mind once more in front
of the fire a shyness stole over him. He knew that the moment for
Presents was approaching; he knew that very shortly he would have to
kiss and be kissed by a multitude of persons, that he would have to say
again and again, "Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" that he would
have his usual consciousness of his inability to thank anybody at all in
the way that they expected to be thanked. Helen and Mary never
worried about such things. They delighted in kissing and hugging and
multitudes of words. If only he might have had his presents by himself
and then stolen out and said "Thank you" to the lot of them and have
done with it.
He watched the breakfast-table with increasing satisfaction--the large
teapot with the red roses, the dark blue porridge plates, the glass jar

with the marmalade a rich yellow inside it, the huge loaf with the soft
pieces bursting out between the crusty pieces, the solid square of butter,
so beautiful a colour and marked with a large