The Argosy — page 268: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

252 Edina. week after another, in the same routine of thrift, aid struggle, and privation. Charles was at Prestleigh and Preen’s, working to their satisfaction, and bringing home a sovereign a week as wages: Alice was teaching still in the school at Richmond. Alfred went to a day school. Edina had sought an interview with its principal, and by dint of some magic of her own, when she told him confidentially of their misfortunes, had got him to admit the lad at almost a nominal charge. It was a weary life for them altogether no doubt, requiring constant patience and resignation ; but, as Edina would cheerfully tell them, it might have been worse, and they had many things to be thankful for even yet. October was passing, and the falling leaves strewed the ground. The afternoon was not sunny, but warm and dull: so sultry, in fact, as to suggest the idea of tempest in the air. In the patch of square garden at the back of the house they had gathered: Frank, his wife, Edina, Mrs. Raynor, and the children : some of them stood about, looking at the bed of herbs that Edina’s care had planted ; Mrs. Raynor was sitting on the narrow bench underneath the high window. For this garden had to be descended to by several steps; and as you stood in it the back parlour window (Mrs. Raynor's bedroom) looked perched up aloft. ‘Herbs are so useful,” remarked Edina, in answer to their praise of the bed. “When a stew is poor in itself, thyme or mint will give a flavour to it. Do you, remember, Frank ?—poor papa liked thyme in the Irish stews.” “And very good the Irish stews used to be,” said Frank. “Eve calls them ragouts. I ofven tell her they are not as tasty as those I had at Trennach, Remember, Daisy, it is thyme Eve’s ragouts want.” Daisy, playing with little Robert, turned round with dancing eyes. She was as pretty as ever, in spite of the distasteful existence in Lambeth. And she had dressed herself for this occasion in one of her old grand silks. “Tl try aud remember, Frank,” she said with a laugh. “I hopel shall not say rue instead. Whatever did you plant this great bush of tue for, Edina ?” “That bush is the landlady's; it was here when we came,” replied Edina. ‘Mrs. Fox hangs some of it at the foot of her bed, to keep the insects off.” When Mr. Max Brown departed for the West Indies, he had thought the very utmost extent of his term of absence would be less than six months, But nearly three sixes had elapsed, and he had not returned. Apparently he liked the life there; apparently he was quite satisfied with Frank’s management of his practice at home. In writing to Frank, he put the delay down to-his mother. She was dying, but very slowly : that is, her complaint was one for which there is no cure;and comicbooks.com