The Wilmington morning star., 1947-07-03

"a tQdL at last UlS lOnR-QTedQeQ
weekend with the Angkatells was
upon her. Staying at The Hollow
was always a nightmare to her.
She. always felt b~ewildered and
forlorn. Lucy Angkatell with her
sentences that we're never finish
ed, her swift inconsequences, and
her obvious attempt at kindness
was the figure she dreaded most.
But the others were nearly as
bad. For Gerda It was two days
of sheer martyrdon - to be endur-
ed for Johns sake.
For John, that morning, as he
stretched himself, had remarked
in tones of unmitigated pleasure:
"Splendid to think We'll be get
ting into the country this week
end. 1t will do you good, Gerda;
just what you need"
She had smiled mechanically
and had said with unseltish forti-
tude, ut will be delightful"
Her unhappy eyes had wander
ed around the bedroom. The wall
paper, cream striped with a black
mark just by the wardrobe, the
mahogany dressing table with the
glass that swung too far forward,
the cheerful, bright blue carpet,
the water colors of the Lake dis
trict. All dear familiar things and
she would not see them again un-
til Monday.
Instead, tomorrow a housemaid
who rustled would come into the
strange bedroom and put down a
little dainty tray of early tea by
the bed and pull up the blinds and
would then r%earrange and fold
Gerda's clothes a thing which
made Gerda feel hot and uncom-
Portable all over. She would lie
miserably, enduring these things
trying to comfort herself by think
ing, Only M morning more. . /.
Like being at school and counting
the days.
Gerda mad not been happy at
school. At school there had been
even less reinsurance than else
where. Home had been better. But
even home had not been very
good. For they had all, of course,
been quicker and more clever
than she was. Their comments,
quick, impatient, not quite unkind,
LoI ,,hie%1nI about hnr norc lilo
a hailstorm: "Oa, do be quick,
Gerda." 'Butterfingers, give it to
mel" ooh, don't let Gerda do it,
she'll be ages" "Gerda never
takes in anything. j.. :"
Hadn't they seen, all Of them,
that that was the way to make
her slower and more stupid still?
She'd got worse and worse, more
clumsy with her fingers, more
slow-witted, more inclined to stare
vacantly when something was said
to her.
Until, suddenly, she had reach
ed the point where she had found
a way out. . Almost accidentally,
really, she found her weapon of
defense.
She had grown slower still, her
puzzled stare had become even
more blank. But now, when they
said impatiently, "Oh, Gerda, how
stupid you are, don't you under
stand that?" she had ben able,
behind her blank expression, to
hug herself a little in her secret
knowledge. For she wasn't quite
as stupid as they thought.
Often, when she pretended not to
understand, she DID understand.
And often, deliberately, she SLOW
ed down in her task of whatever
it was, smiling to herself when
someone's impatient Tin gers
snatched it away from her.
For, warm and delightful, was
a secret knowledge Of superiority.
She began to be, quite often, a
little amused. Yes, it was anus
ing to know more than they
thought you knew. To be able to
do a thing, but not let anybody
know that you could do it.
And 1t had the advantage, sud
denly discovered, that people Oft
en- did things for you. That, of
course, saved you a lot of trouble.
And, in the end, if people got into
the habit of doing things for you,
you didn't have to do them at all,
and then people didn't know that
you did them badly. And SO, slow
ly, you came around again almost
to where you started. To feeling
that you could hole your own on
equal terms with the world at
large.
(But that wouldn't, Gerda fear
ed, hold good with the A~ngkatells;
the Angkatells were always so far
ahead that you didn't feel even in
the same street with them. How
she hated the Angkatells! 1t was
good for John-John liked it there.
He came home less tired-and
sometimes less irritable.)
Dear John! she thought. John
was wonderful. Everyone thought
SO! Such a clever doctor, so terri
bly, kind to his patients. Wearing
himself out-and the interest he
took in his hospital patients-al
that side of his work that didn't