Charity Begins at Home by Alicia Rasley Read Free Book Online

get weary of forever eating grape jam."
    Tristan leaned back against the paneled wall, suppressing a laugh. Lawrence was not so amused at the digression. "You didn't heave it, did you?"
    "No, I didn't. I meant to, but then I thought of how much my mother loved to make the preserves and how she always told me that good jam was just like love, sweet and nourishing— that isn't very appealing, is it? Jam is so sticky! So I put the pot down and sat there in the stillroom and just cried and cried there among the jampots Mother loved so."
    "Mother loved her vase!" Lawrence suddenly wailed. "That's why I broke it! She was so cruel!"
    "Oh, darling, I know! Even if she didn't mean to be, I know how hurt you must have been! And you couldn't tell her so, when she isn't well, could you? So you had to break the vase instead." The slightly ragged edge to her sigh touched Tristan as much as Lawrence's sobs, and he no longer cared very much about the vase. "But I haven't the slightest idea what to do now. Can we mend it?"
    "Not likely," Jeremy replied with mournful pride. "It's in a thousand bits."
    "And someone's sure to notice it's gone. That's why I chose a jampot. No one would notice it was gone, for there were a hundred others. But what are we to do?"
    Lawrence said, "I suppose I must confess to Mama that I did it."
    "Are you sure you can? I never confessed about the jampot, except to you, of course, for I knew you wouldn't spill the soup. I wasn't brave enough. Perhaps you aren't either."
    His manhood questioned, Lawrence could only aver, "I am so brave enough. I'll even confess to Uncle Tristan."
    "My word, Larry, you must be careful. After all, we know your uncle is, well, criminally inclined."
    I? Tristan wanted to protest but held his tongue, for Lawrence, of all people, was defending him. "He's not so horrid as you might think, Charity. He said Jerry and I could be pagans if we liked."
    "Pagans?" Miss Calder echoed faintly. "Aren't you afraid he's a pagan, too? Don't they boil people in oil?" Tristan didn't know whether to be amused or outraged that she was putting such thoughts in his nephews' heads. But Larry's reply reassured him. She knew what she was about, however labyrinthine her methods.
    "That's cannibals. And I don't think he's a cannibal. I don't think he'd even beat me, as long as I apologized."
    "Still, to be safe, I think you might offer to pay him back. That might pacify him. Do you get an allowance?"
    "Not till I go away to school. And I wouldn't want to have to give it up. I could tell him I'll pay him when I come into my inheritance when I'm twenty-one. I'm seven now, so it's only—" He halted, such higher mathematics beyond his ken.
    "A very long time. Well, you can put it to him. But I imagine an apology graciously extended will be graciously accepted, and you can let your solicitors haggle over the price."
    "What's a solicitor?" said Jeremy, but Lawrence shushed him.
    "I can make another vase. Not a— a whatever you said, but I have some modeling clay."
    "That's a good idea. But isn't there something else you should do first?" The boys remained in a baffled silence until she prompted, "The mess here. I wager your downstairs maid has enough to do without this."
    "She's the upstairs maid, too, and the cook." Lawrence gave a put-upon sigh, then said with an oddly adult resignation, "I'll clean it up."
    "I'll help," Jeremy piped up, for he hated to be left out.
    "Do ask the maid to watch you though, so you don't get cut. I wager she'll love sitting back and watching someone else work for a change! And I'll tell you what." The boys' silence was obviously expectant, and she did not disappoint. "If you do a good job sweeping up here, I'll see it you can help me with my Midsummer work! I must build, oh, booths and tables, and I will need some able confederates. I think you are old enough, but, well, we shall see. Now I'll go on up and see your mother. I've picked her some wildflowers from the copse, and they can't