BED TIME TALES

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12621, 4 December 1926, Page 16

BED TIME TALES

FUN AT THE FLETCHER’S Mrs Fletcher was untying a parcel, which was laid on the kitchen table. Teddy, who was supposed to be studying about chemical manure, looked up. “What’s that, mother?’’ “Overalls,” she returned, pleasantly. “Overalls! Who for?” “I don’t know; you must ask your father.” Teddy got up from his chair and strolled across to the table. The parcel was unwrapped, disclosing three blue suits, something like pyjamas, known as boiler suits. “I know what these are,” he cried; “the plumber had one when he came to mend the cistern.” Just then Patrick came in from the yard, munching an apple. “Hallo,” he said. “New suits?” “Yes,” said Mr Fletcher, who had followed him_ in. ‘New suits, and these are not the sort you’ve to keep clean.” The boys turned round, rather mystified at this remark, but their father cleared things up when he added: “They’re to put ever your suits to keep them clean.” "When we’re working?” “Yes,” said Mr Fletcher. “Just be quick and get into them, and then bring me those three buckets just outside the scullery door.” “What are we going to do?” cried leddy. There was no reply, however, so they snatched up a suit each, and struggled into them. , “Hev! You’ve got mine! This is much too big for me, shouted Patrick, as he vainly tried to turn up ends of sleeve and trousers and draw in folds round the waist. “I haven’t! This is a lovely fit.” t “Will vou be quiet! Y’ou’ve got vour father’s on, Pat. Here s yours.” Mrs Fletcher helped him 'into it, and buttoned up the front. “Hooray! Now I’m a plumber,” cried Pat, and capered about. “Hurry up with those buckets,” cried Mr Fletcher from the yard. “We want to get on.” The two bovs ran out, and found their father in the cowhouse. There was a big' heap of lime just outside the door, and Mr Fletcher put some in each bucket, and then filled it with water. “Stir it up,” “Well! Were coing to whitewash. What fun!” cried Ted. “Where’s the brush?” They were each given a large brush with a long handle. “I sav, Dad, this isn’t a whitewash brush.” “First of all we must sweep the cobwebs down from the rafters and walls, and clean the place out thoroughly, then we shan’t be covering any dirt up.” They set to work with a will, and so vigorously did they brush and sweep that soon the air in the cowhouse was thick with dust, and they had to retire into the fresh air, coughing. But the place certainlv did look much better, and as Mr T ietcher was cleaning the stalls and scraping the division posts, the time simply'flew. Indeed, it seemed only a few moments before Norah appeared with three mugs of cocoa and three pieces of apple pasty. “What a mess,” she said. Teddy was up in arms in a moment. “Mess!” he spoke with his mouth full. “We’re making it spotless ; you wait till it’s as white as snow.” Norah ventured inside. “Anywav, it smells of fog, and cobwebs, and dust.” And she” went to the house with the empty pots, while the three set to work again. “We’ll just sweep the floor and get the thick off, so that we shan’t tread it about,” said Mr Fletcher, “and then we’ll get on with the whitewash.” “Shall I get the small steps?” “Yes,” Mr Fletcher thought a moment, “and you might bring the stool, for Teddy to brush above the windows.” Patrick returned in a moment with the steps. “Mother says we’re not going to have her kitchen stool to fllthy up,” he announced. “We’re to use a box.” Then the whitewashing commenced in real earnest. There was such a splashing and slapping, and the old dingy walls of the cowhouse began to look much different. “Lizzie,” the cat, popped her head in for a moment to see if her, usual trough of milk was there, and received a large splash from a brush right in the middle of her back. She gave a yell, and ran for dear life. Ihe cowhouse was nearly finished when Mr Fletcher called the bovs to him. “Look!” he said, and, lifting up a little tuft of hay that had stuffed a crack in the corner of the cowhouse, he disclosed a little nest of baby mice, so tiny that they looked like shrimps. “Let’s call Lizzie to them,” said Patrick, cruel boy! “No, we’ll leave them alone,” replied Mr Fletcher. “See! There’s the mother.” A flash of bright beadv eyes and a quiver of whisker, and that was all they could see’, but you may be sure that Mrs Mouse anxiously watched the three menfolk to see what would become of her babies, and when Mr Fletcher put back the tuft of hay there was a scamper, and she returned to her nest to see that all was well. *