Free Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre by Miss Read Page B

that she's entirely to blame. That father of hers, our Josh - though I'm ashamed to claim him as part of the Pringle family - he's an out and out waster, and his poor wife is as weak-minded as our Minnie. Nothing but a useless drudge, and never gave Minnie any idea of Right and Wrong.'
    'But surely -' I began, but was swept aside by Mrs Pringle's rhetoric. Mrs P. in full spate is unstoppable.
    'I told her once, "If you can't tell that girl of yours the facts of life, then send her to church regular. She'll soon find out all about adultery."'
    It seemed a somewhat narrow approach to the church's teachings but I did not have the strength to argue.
    'More tea?' I asked.
    Mrs Pringle raised a massive hand, rather as if she were holding up the traffic. 'Thank you, no. I'm awash. Must get along to fetch my washing in. It looks as though there's rain to come.'
    I accompanied her to the gate. A few children were still in the playground taking their time to go home.
    'Mind you,' said Mrs Pringle, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper in deference, I presumed, to the innocent ears so near us, 'if there
is
another on the way, I shan't put myself out with more baby knitting. Minnie don't have any idea how to wash knitted things. It's my belief she
boils them
!'

    As Christmas approached that term, the school began to deck itself ready for the festival.
    In the infants' room a Christmas frieze running around the walls kept Miss Briggs's children busy. Santa Claus, decked in plenty of cotton wool, Christmas trees, reindeer resembling rabbits, otters, large dogs and other denizens of the animal world, as well as sacks of toys, Christmas puddings, Christmas stockings and various other domestic signs of celebration were put in place by the young teacher's careful hands, and glitter was sprayed plentifully at strategic points.
    At least, the stuff was supposed to be at strategic points such as the branches of the Christmas trees, but glitter being what it is we found it everywhere. It appeared on the floor, on the window sills, in the cracks of desks, and sometimes a gleam would catch our eyes in the school dinner, blown there, no doubt, by the draught from the door. The stoves suffered too, much to Mrs Pringle's disgust.
    In my own room, glitter was banned on the grounds
that we had quite enough from the room next door, but we had a large picture of a Christmas tree, on which the children stuck their own bright paintings. We also made dozens of Christmas cards for home consumption, and some rather tricky boxes to hold sweets.
    I bought the sweets, a nice straightforward approach to Christmas jollifications. The construction of the boxes, which appeared such a simple operation from the diagram in
The Teachers' World,
was not so easy. Half the boxes burst open at the seams whilst being stuck together. The rest looked decidedly drunken. By the time we had substituted a household glue for the paste we had so hopefully mixed up, the place reeked with an unpleasant fishy smell and I was apprehensive about the sweets although they were wrapped.
    However, nothing could quell the high spirits of the children, and the traditional Christmas party for their parents and friends of the school was its usual jubilant occasion on the last afternoon.
    We all wished each other a happy Christmas as our guests made their way out into the December dark. I waved goodbye until the last figure had disappeared, locked the school door upon the chaos within - plentifully besprinkled with glitter - and returned thankfully to the peace of the school house.
    Tomorrow, I had told Mrs Pringle, would be soon enough to tackle the clearing up, and I would give her a hand.
    Meanwhile, I was content to sit down in my armchair and to let the blessed quietness of my home surround and soothe me.

    I slept like a log, and then ate a hearty breakfast, much
cheered by the thought that it was the first day of the holidays.
    Amy had invited me to her house at Bent for