ABSTRACT

Lily Paggett walked swiftly down the drive, past the creaking cedar, sniffing the still summer air, thinking about dinner. She would call in at the post office on her way home — it wouldn’t take a minute. It was just as well that she liked walking; that house took so much legwork. Not that the old lady made much of a stir, but she was a stickler. ‘Lily, you haven’t done the top of the picture — give that carpet a shake — have you polished the door handle?’ And why, today, had there been such a carry-on about the silver? She had made her get the tea-service down from the cupboard. Oh, that was another thing — she must get more Silvo. Lily detested polishing that teapot. It was such a fiddle, with its knobs and bobbles. If she left so much as a f ly-speck on one of the legs it was sure to be noticed. You haven’t made much of a job of this teapot, you know, Lily. But why did she want it out today? Sometimes Lily worried about her.