The Two Mrs. Abbotts Read Free

Simon very easily. It was the story of how the Golden Boy came dancing into Silverstream, playing on his pipe and stirring up trouble, bringing life and movement into the sleepy place…so that even the buns on the baker’s counter began to hop about. Of course Simon would like it—Sarah had no doubt of that—but she felt she had no right to tell Simon Abbott this particular story. Only one person had that right.
    â€œI think it’s just a little too grown-up,” said Sarah firmly. “I’ll tell you about Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp.”

Chapter Two
Old Friends
    Sarah was enjoying her tea and forging ahead with Aladdin when the door opened again and her hostess appeared. She came into the room uttering apologies in a conventional manner and then, with her hand of welcome still extended, she suddenly stopped. “Sarah!” she exclaimed.
    The voice was so surprised, the expression was one of such utter amazement that Sarah could not help laughing.
    â€œSarah!” said Barbara Abbott again.
    â€œYes, it’s me,” nodded Sarah (who, although aware that one should say “it is I,” could never bring herself to utter the words because for some reason or other it sounded as if one were God).
    â€œOh, Sarah!” cried Barbara. “This is a lovely surprise! It’s ages since I saw you—simply ages. How nice of you to come! You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you? I mean supper, of course—we don’t have a proper dinner now, because—”
    â€œI think you are expecting me to stay the night,” said Sarah somewhat uncomfortably.
    â€œOf course,” agreed Barbara hospitably. “Of course you must stay the night…Oh dear, what a pity I’ve got that tiresome woman coming! We could have had such a nice chat about old times. It’s most unfortunate.”
    â€œI’m the woman,” said Sarah, her voice shaking with laughter. Somehow this misunderstanding was “so like Barbara.”
    â€œIsn’t it unfortunate,” repeated Barbara, wrinkling her brow. “I’m afraid I can only give you a very small room—just a dressing room with a bed in it—because of this Red Cross woman, you see. Or perhaps I could put the Red Cross woman in the dressing room…or perhaps the Marvells would have her. No, that won’t do because she’s arrived. There’s a frightful shabby old suitcase in the hall—I saw it when I came in—so I shall have to put her somewhere. I wonder where she can have gone,” added Barbara, gazing around as if she expected the Red Cross woman to be hiding behind the sofa.
    â€œBarbara…it’s me…” gasped Sarah, between her spasms of laughter.
    â€œIt’s you?” asked Barbara in bewilderment.
    â€œI am the Red Cross woman,” declared Sarah.
    â€œYou are? Do you mean you’re going to give the lecture?”
    â€œYes,” said Sarah, taking out her handkerchief and mopping her eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
    â€œGoodness!” exclaimed Barbara. “But of course you always were clever…”
    â€œThere’s nothing clever about giving a lecture on bandaging. It’s much more clever to write books.”
    Barbara made no reply to this. She turned to Simon and told him to go to the nursery and have his tea.
    â€œBut Mummy—”
    â€œIt’s tea time, darling,” said Barbara firmly.
    Sarah’s first impression of her old friend was that she had changed a good deal, but after a few minutes she had decided that “changed” was not the word. Barbara had developed, that was all. She was still the same natural creature, interested in other people and unconscious of herself. She was still humble-minded and sincere. She had filled out a little, of course, and she was better dressed and more assured in her manner—but these were merely surface changes. Sarah had