They are in a drawer, with the scarf covering them, and
on the scarf a piece of lavender. First, the black frock, which she
carries in her arms like a baby. Then her War Savings Certificates,
Kenneth's bonnet, a thin packet of real letters, and the famous
champagne cork. She kisses the letters, but she does not blub over them.
She strokes the dress, and waggles her head over the certificates and
presses the bonnet to her cheeks, and rubs the tinsel of the cork
carefully with her apron. She is a tremulous old 'un; yet she exults,
for she owns all these things, and also the penny flag on her breast.
She puts them away in the drawer, the scarf over them, the lavender on
the scarf. Her air of triumph well becomes her. She lifts the pail and
the mop, and slouches off gamely to the day's toil.
THE NEW WORD
Any room nowadays must be the scene, for any father and any son are the
_dramatis personae_. We could pick them up in Mayfair, in Tooting,
on the Veldt, in rectories or in grocers' back parlours, dump them down
on our toy stage and tell them to begin. It is a great gathering to
choose from, but our needs are small.
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