“Oh, do Miss Marple. Just look at David! He gets so angry because he can only crawl in reverse. He wants to get to something, and the more he tries the more he goes backward into the coal box.”
“He’s looking very bonny, Griselda.”
“He’s not bad, is he?” said the young mother, endeavoring to assume an indifferent manner. “Of course I don’t bother with him much. All the books say a child should be left alone as much as possible.”
“Very wise, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Ahem I came to ask if there was anything special you are collecting for at the moment?”
The vicar’s wife turned somewhat astonished eyes upon her. “Oh, heaps of things,” she said cheerfully. “There always are.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “There’s the Nave Restoration Fund, and St. Giles’ Mission, and our Sale of Work next Wednesday, and the Unmarried Mothers, and a Boy Scouts Outing, and the Needlework Guild, and the Bishop’s Appeal for Deep-Sea Fishermen.”
“Any of them will do,” said Miss Marple. “I thought I might make a little round with a book, you know if you would authorize me to do so.”
“Are you up to something? I believe you are. Of course I authorize you. Make it the Sale of Work; it would be lovely to get some real money instead of those awful sachets and comic pen wipers and depressing children frocks and dusters all done up to look like dolls…. I suppose,” continued Griselda, accompanying her guest to the window, “that you wouldn’t like to tell me what it’s all about?”
“Later, my dear,” said Miss Marple, hurrying off.
With a sigh the young mother returned to the hearth rug and, by way of carrying out her principles of stern neglect, butted her son three times in the stomach, so that he caught hold of her hair and pulled it with gleeful yells. They then rolled over and over in a grand rough and tumble until the door opened and the vicarage maid announced to the most influential parishioner, who didn’t like children, “Missus is in here.”
Whereupon Griselda sat up and tried to look dignified and more what a vicar’s wife should be.
Miss Marple, clasping a small black book with penciled entries in it, walked briskly along the village street until she came to the crossroads. Here she turned to the left and walked past the Blue Boar until she came to Chatsworth, alias “Mr. Booker’s new house.” She turned in at the gate, walked up to the front door and knocked on it briskly. The door was opened by the blond young woman named Dinah Lee. She was less carefully made up than usual and, in fact, looked slightly dirty. She was wearing gray slacks and an emerald jumper.
“Good morning,” said Miss Marple briskly and cheerfully. “May I just come in for a minute?” She pressed forward as she spoke, so that Dinah Lee, who was somewhat taken aback at the call, had no time to make up her mind. “Thank you so much,” said Miss Marple, beaming amiably at her and sitting down rather gingerly on a period bamboo chair. “Quite warm for the time of year, is it not?” went on Miss Marple, still exuding geniality.
“Yes, rather. Oh, quite,” said Miss Lee. At a loss how to deal with the situation, she opened a box and offered it to her guest. “Er… have a cigarette?”
“Thank you so much, but I don’t smoke. I just called, you know, to see if I could enlist your help for our Sale of Work next week.”
“Sale of Work?” said Dinah Lee, as one who repeats a phrase in a foreign language.
“At the vicarage,” said Miss Marple. “Next Wednesday.”
“Oh!” Miss Lee’s mouth fell open. “I’m afraid I couldn’t-”
“Not even a small subscription, half a crown perhaps?” Miss Marple exhibited her little book.
“Oh er… well, yes. I dare say I could manage that.” The girl looked relieved and turned to hunt in her handbag.
Miss Marple’s sharp eyes were looking round the room. She said, “I see you’ve no hearth rug in front of the fire.” Dinah Lee turned round and stared at her. She could not but be aware of the very keen scrutiny the old lady was giving her, but it aroused in her no other emotion than slight annoyance. Miss Marple recognized that. She said, “It’s rather dangerous, you know. Sparks fly out and mark the carpet.”