Anila's Journey by Mary Finn Read Free Book Online Page A

at a painted sketch of an oriole I had made last year, on a picnic with Miss Hickey and her friend Mrs Hadley. A storm had appeared like bad magic, with rains that soaked us through while we ran back to the carriage, laughing and spattered with mud. I had finished the oriole from memory back in the house. It was a good likeness.
    â€œYou have caught the curve of the bill perfectly,” he said. “And goodness, what sharp eyes they have!”
    I did not point out to him that the poor bird on the desk had only brown buttons for eyes and that insects had gnawed its bill to dust.
    He left the oriole back and returned to the desk with a little garden bulbul. It had only one leg; the other was supplied by a twig.
    â€œYour bulbul has just the outraged look that I have observed in every one of these creatures,” he said. “Look at this fellow. He has it too. They remind me of farmers’ wives asked to give the parish a few eggs and cabbages at Christmas-time. But perhaps you have painted your one a little more of a red rump than he deserves.”
    â€œBut that was exactly why I chose that bulbul,” I said. “You see, I knew him.”
    Anila, he’s back again, the little red bottom bird. Our own dancing bulbul!
    â€œI liked him because he was much more garish than most. He lived down the lane where my mother and I had our house. He used to take baths in a dish of water we kept outside the door for him. That is one of my oldest drawings. I like it for all those reasons, but it is not as finished as one I would make now.”
    He gave me a sentry’s look.
    â€œMiss Tandy, your correspondent here has not sold you short, not by any means, but she has not explained how you acquired your affinity for nature and that I really look forward to hearing about you from yourself.”
    He stood up. All at once he had so much energy that he crackled.
    â€œBut I must leave you now. I have an engagement. What I propose, if it is agreeable to you, is that you and I take a walk in the city Gardens tomorrow morning. Bring your paper and pens. Then we can discuss how we might proceed and whether this might be at all a proper arrangement. But certainly on the evidence of these pages I cannot imagine I will find your equal in all of Bengal.”
    He paused at the door.
    â€œAsk Mr Minch for directions. He’s not as dour as he looks. And come early.”

MRS PANOSSIAN’S SHOP
    â€œ BUT ANILA, HOW CAN you think Mrs Pan will ever agree to your plan? It’s quite impossible. She will be so cross she won’t want to look at you again. Then you’ll never ever have any work here.”
    It was dinner-time. The white city had closed its doors and shutters and gone back to sleep. There was nobody in Mrs Panossian’s huge shop room except myself and Anoush so she felt free to come out from behind her counter. She stood beside me, biting her lip.
    She had heard my story of meeting Mr Walker, and the birds and Mr Minch and the green china teapot, and she was pleased for me. Then she’d tried on my ring. It fitted her slender third finger perfectly and she turned the arms and heart out as I did.
    â€œFancy man, where are you hiding?” she giggled when I told her what that meant.
    â€œIf it was from anybody but Miss Hickey I would give it to you, I promise.”
    She laughed and squeezed my arm and put the ring back on my little finger.
    Then I told her about my idea.
    â€œJust for the English Christmas, Anoush, you must come and stay with me. My little garden house will hold two string beds, I know it will. We can have our own holiday with nobody beckoning and you need not have to clean up and mind children when you should be free. We could even walk abroad in the evenings like two ladies.”
    â€œLike two ladies,” said Anoush slowly. Her dark eyes were huge as a baby’s.
    We both knew that that was just my talk. Ladies did not walk abroad in the evenings on