the last jumble into her mouth and disposed of it with the utmost rapidity. The birthday of her life had come, as Miss Rossetti said.
“Dear Elizabeth!” she exclaimed. “What a disaster! All your little stores in case of the coal strike. Let me help to pick them up. I do not think anything is broken. Isn’t that lucky?”
Evie hurried to the spot.
“Such a quantity of good things,” she said rapidly under her breath. “Tinned meats and bovril and prunes, and ever so many apricots. Let me pick them all up, and with a little dusting.… Why, what a big cupboard, and such a quantity of good things.”
Miss Mapp had certainly struck a streak of embarrassments. What with naked Mr. Hopkins, and Janet’s frock and this unveiling of her hoard, life seemed at the moment really to consist of nothing else than beastly situations. How on earth that catch of the door had come undone, she had no idea, but much as she would have liked to suspect foul play from somebody, she was bound to conclude that Mrs. Poppit with her prying hands had accidentally pressed it. It was like Diva, of course, to break the silence with odious allusions to hoarding, and bitterly she wished that she had not started the topic the other day, but had been content to lay in her stores without so pointedly affirming that she was doing nothing of the kind. But this was no time for vain laments, and restraining a natural impulse to scratch and beat Mrs. Poppit, she exhibited an admirable inventiveness and composure. Though she knew it would deceive nobody, everybody had to pretend he was deceived.
“Oh, my poor little Christmas presents for your needy parishioners, Padre,” she said. “You’ve seen them
