Free The Grub-and-Stakers Spin a Yarn by Charlotte MacLeod Page A

time.”
    Something large, black, fuzzy, and confusing was rushing toward them at what might best be described as a lollop. This was not a bear, a bison, or even a yak; it was Ethel, back from her nature walk and glad to be reunited with her family. Osbert stepped forward to intercept the charge before she could get too affectionate with Dittany, slapped her sides a few times, told her she was a good old mutt, and inquired whether she’d be interested in hanging around outside to practice her jumps in case Aunt Arethusa showed up.
    Ethel signified that she wouldn’t like this at all. The only things she wanted were her food dish before her and her loved ones around her. They therefore entered the house all three together, Dittany taking precedence because of her delicate condition and her aching feet. Once inside the kitchen, she collapsed on the cot that had stood since time more or less immemorial by the far wall behind the old iron stove with one of Gram Henbit’s crocheted afghans thrown over it and another folded ready to hand at one end.
    Osbert tucked her up tenderly between the two afghans, refilled Ethel’s bowl, helped himself to a couple of hermits, and decided he’d better get in a few more licks on the ostrich ranch while he could, since production would inevitably fall off once Mother Matilda took him on as Director of In-House Security. Dittany wished him happy birding and shut her eyes. When she opened them, people were tiptoeing to and fro.
    Strictly speaking, Clorinda, Arethusa, and Glanville were tiptoeing to. Only Ranville was tiptoeing fro, as needs he must if he and his brother were to reach their joint objective, which was obviously the front parlor. Dittany closed her eyes again so they wouldn’t feel they’d tiptoed in vain or expect her to get up and make either conversation or tea, for neither of which she had any inclination at this time. She only hoped they wouldn’t disturb Osbert en route, as he was sure to be preoccupied with Ralph and might say something hasty which he’d later regret.
    Osbert had formed quite an attachment to Ralph, the seven-foot king ostrich who played a leading role in the work so soon to be temporarily preempted by Mother Matilda’s awful business. Ralph was the name Osbert’s parents had intended to bestow on him until Arethusa, who was his father’s sister, had talked them out of that and into Osbert Reginald.
    All through grammar and high school Osbert had hated his aunt with a hate that was worse than a hate for naming him Osbert. Once he got into college he hadn’t minded so much because he’d already decided to become Lex Laramie and indeed sold his first short story to Wild-Eyed Western magazine while still a sophomore. Now he didn’t mind at all because he knew Dittany would have loved him even if his name had been Shadrach, Meshach, or Abednego; but she could understand why he still retained a certain fondness for the name he’d never had.
    Dittany was darned if she’d name the boy twin Ralph, though. No child of hers was going to play second fiddle to an ostrich. Once that was decided, she spent a minute or so wondering how her mother was coping with seating arrangements in the parlor. Then she thought, “Of course! The piano bench,” and went back to sleep.
    She probably hadn’t been asleep very long before Clorinda stopped at the cot long enough to ask, “Are you asleep, dear?” but seemed content to accept Dittany’s “Yes, Mum,” and let sleeping daughters lie.
    Ethel thumped around a bit in hope of conning Dittany into filling her bowl yet again, but soon realized the tactic wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She collapsed with a grunt and began to snore gently. To Dittany’s half-listening ears came the tap-tap of Osbert’s typewriter. It sounded like the patter of just-hatched ostrich feet.
    Out from the front parlor rolled the strains of “Down Where the Wurtzbuger Flows.” Clorinda had the happy faculty of being able to play