ABSTRACT
O u r Indian Collector came round this morning. “Have you that statement ready about the Girls’ High School for Anda-pur? The Director of Public Instruction will be here for the College function to-morrow. You will be there?”“ I will try and send over the statement to-day,” I promised. “But about to-morrow-I am sorry, I fear I cannot. . . .”“Your presence is particularly desired,” he said firmly. I understood he wanted another woman to support his wife, who would feel awkward alone. (For just now, our officials in Andapur are all Indians-except one English bachelor.) Also he had his eye on my crotons for the festive occasion. “ I will send over a cart for some pots.”I left other things and set to on the statement; afterwards glanced dismally at my wardrobe, very much the country cousin’s, and started overhauling a frock. The post was brought in. A fellow-missionary arriving to-day! Laws of hospitality demand cakes. They are not the cook’s forte^ so I set to and made some. The cook burnt one and left the other in the back verandah where a squirrel ate half. So now hastily to make more! The last butter-tin in the storeroom was opened and turned out to be rancid. What a life.My real mind nowadays is on building; for the new bungalow is going up. I pore over building-books at night, frantically striving to increase my knowledge. The subject pursues me into my dreams. I had been reading that walls should be sized. What exactly was size? Didn’t we have it in bathrooms at home? Last night I dreamed I entered a bungalow; a woman there had a barrel full of whitewash and brought a white lump of sorts to drop in. “Stop, stop!”I shrieked. “What is that? Is it size? Let me look at it!”
But she only gave me a supercilious glance and turned away. By the time I had reached the barrel the lump had plopped hopelessly to the bottom. My rage at the lost opportunity was so great that I woke up.A new puzzle, besides ever fresh revelations of my ignorance, is confronting me now. For the moment I can see no solution. The bungalow where I am now will be wanted in two months for other tenants. This is an old and fixed arrangement. The new and permanent house cannot be finished for another eight or ten months. To tide me over the interval I had secured a small bungalow. Or I thought I had. But the contract was only a verbal one; and now the faithless owner had suddenly a better offer and has let the place as a Government office. There is not another house to be had in Andapur. Does “our daily bread” include “our daily roof” ?I am not the only female in creation with housing and building troubles. In the pomegranate-bush by the verandah of the present house a pair of bulbuls are building. Their goings-on are instructive. The little cock never does a stroke of work, not one. But he sees that his wife does! She flies about looking for grass and straw, comes back with some and dives into the bush. He comes back with nothing, but sits empty-clawed on the rain-tree near by. I f she is rather long inside the bush he gets impatient and twitters crossly: “Make haste, oh feminine slowcoach!” When at length she flies out and dashes for more straw, he is after her with a loud shout that says plainly, “ I ’ll see you don’t flirt with other birds!” She comes back with another straw; he, as usual, with none, only sits over her in the rain-tree and lectures her. But once she had the laugh of him. Lecturing is no doubt exhausting work; he must have got drowsy; anyhow I saw her fly out of the bush without being observed by him. Presently he came to from his nap and screamed, “Are you not coming yet}” But no humble little chirp from the bush answered.
