Part 53 (1/2)
Margery gave a little sob of happiness. ”Go on telling me,” she said under her breath.
”Well, the third daughter was called Beauty. And she thought to herself, 'Poor Father won't have any money left at all, if we all go on like this!' So she didn't ask for anything very expensive, like her selfish sisters, she only asked for a rose. A simple red rose.”
Margery moved uneasily.
”I hope,” she said wistfully, ”this bit isn't going to be about--YOU know. It never did before.”
”About what?”
”Good little girls and bad little girls, and fings like that.”
”My darling, no, of course not. I told it wrong. Beauty asked for a rose because she loved roses so. And it was a very particular kind of red rose that she wanted--a sort that they simply COULDN'T get to grow in their own garden because of the soil.”
”Go on telling me,” said Margery, with a deep sigh of content.
”Well, he started off to Weymouth.”
”What day did he start?”
”It was Monday. And when--”
”Oh, well, anyhow, I told daddy it was Tuesday.”
”Tuesday--now let me think. Yes, I believe you're right. Because on Monday he went to a meeting of the Vegetable Gardeners, and proposed the health of the Chairman. Yes, well he started off on Tuesday, and when he got there he found that there was no money for him at all!”
”I spex somebody had taken it,” said Margery breathlessly.
”Well, it had all gone SOMEHOW.”
”Perhaps somebody had swallowed it,” said Margery, a little carried away by the subject. ”By mistake.”
”Anyhow, it was gone. And he had to come home again without any money. He hadn't gone far--”
”How far?” asked Margery. ”As far as THAT?” and she measured nine inches in the air.
”About forty-four miles--when he came to a beautiful garden.”
”Was it a really lovely big garden? Bigger than ours?”
”Oh, much bigger.”
”Bigger than yours?”
”I haven't got a garden.”