Angela Brazil

A Fortunate Term Angela Brazil

There had never been a week of worse weather, even for Whinburn, and that wassaying something! Mavis, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket and two shawlsround her and three comfortable pillows tucked at her back, could just see out ofthe window if she craned her neck a little. The prospect which greeted her wasanything but pleasing-a wilderness of roofs covered with dirty snow, and a row offactory chimneys belching forth grimy smoke against a leaden sky. From the streetcame the noise of tram-cars and tramping feet; a motor-lorry, thundering by, shook the house like an earthquake. Mavis, in the blessed lull between two stormsof coughing, turned her eyes resolutely from the forlorn view of the outside worldto the cheery interior of the bedroom, with its glowing fire, its bookcase full ofattractive volumes, and its walls so covered with framed prints, photos, and picturepostcards that there hardly seemed a vacant inch of space left. Directly facing her, and in the place of honour, was a water-colour representing a landscape with apeep of the sea beyond. The trees in the painting were bare, but the undergrowthwas green, and a patch of gorse blazed in the foreground, a rift of light from the skygleamed on the waters of a stream, and the figure of a little girl was stooping togather ferns. Mavis gazed at the picture for some time in silent contemplati