Jane of Lantern Hill Read Free Page A

could not tolerate a speck of dust anywhere. She was always going about the house putting things in their places and she attended to everything. Even mother never did anything except arrange the flowers for the table when they had company and light the candles for dinner. Jane would have liked the fun of doing that. And Jane would have liked to polish the silver and cook. More than anything else Jane would have liked to cook. Now and then, when grandmother was out, she hung about the kitchen and watched good-natured Mary Price cook the meals. It all seemed so easy…Jane was sure she could do it perfectly if she were allowed. It must be such fun to cook a meal. The smell of it was almost as good as the eating of it.
    But Mary Price never let her. She knew the old lady didn’t approve of Miss Victoria talking to the servants.
    â€œVictoria fancies herself as domestic,” grandmother had once said at the midday Sunday dinner where, as usual, Uncle William Anderson and Aunt Minnie and Uncle David Coleman and Aunt Sylvia Coleman and their daughter Phyllis were present. Grandmother had such a knack of making you feel ridiculous and silly in company. All the same, Jane wondered what grandmother would say if she knew that Mary Price, being somewhat rushed that day, had let Jane wash and arrange the lettuce for the salad. Jane knew what grandmother would do. She would refuse to touch a leaf of it.
    â€œWell, shouldn’t a girl be domestic?” said Uncle William, not because he wanted to take Jane’s part but because he never lost an opportunity of announcing his belief that a woman’s place was in the home. “Every girl should know how to cook.”
    â€œI don’t think Victoria wants very much to learn how to cook,” said grandmother. “It is just that she likes to hang about kitchens and places like that.”
    Grandmother’s voice implied that Victoria had low tastes and that kitchens were barely respectable. Jane wondered why mother’s face flushed so suddenly and why a strange, rebellious look gleamed for a moment in her eyes. But only for a moment.
    â€œHow are you getting on at St. Agatha’s, Victoria?” asked Uncle William. “Going to get your grade?”
    Jane did not know whether she was going to get her grade or not. The fear haunted her night and day. She knew her monthly reports had not been very good…grandmother had been very angry over them and even mother had asked her piteously if she couldn’t do a little better. Jane had done the best she could, but history and geography were so dull and drab. Arithmetic and spelling were easier. Jane was really quite brilliant in arithmetic.
    â€œVictoria can write wonderful compositions, I hear,” said grandmother sarcastically. For some reason Jane couldn’t fathom at all, her ability to write good compositions had never pleased grandmother.
    â€œTut, tut,” said Uncle William. “Victoria could get her grade easily enough if she wanted to. The thing to do is study hard. She’s getting to be a big girl now and ought to realize that. What is the capital of Canada, Victoria?”
    Jane knew perfectly well what the capital of Canada was, but Uncle William fired the question at her so unexpectedly and all the guests stopped eating to listen…and for the moment she couldn’t remember for her life what the name was. She blushed…stammered…squirmed. If she had looked at mother she would have seen that mother was forming the word silently on her lips, but she could not look at anyone. She was ready to die of shame and mortification.
    â€œPhyllis,” said Uncle William, “tell Victoria what the capital of Canada is.”
    Phyllis promptly responded.
    â€œOttawa.”
    â€œO-t-t-a-w-a,” said Uncle William to Jane.
    Jane felt that they were all, except mother, watching her for something to find fault with, and now Aunt Sylvia Coleman put on a pair of