A milkman stopping to look at her (and small wonder that he
did) poured nearly a quart of cream on the ground, and two children
ran squabbling under the cart to see if they could catch the
drippings in their mouths. They were Atlantic and Pacific Simonson
with Marm Lisa, as usual, at their heels. She had found her way to
this corner twice of late, because things happened there marvellous
enough to stir even her heavy mind. There was a certain flight of
narrow, rickety steps leading to a rickety shanty, and an adjacent
piece of fence with a broad board on top. Flower-pots had once stood
there, but they were now lying on the ground below, broken into
fragments. Marm Lisa could push the twins up to this vantage-ground,
and crawl up after them. Once ensconced, if they had chosen the
right time of day, interesting events were sure to be forthcoming.
In a large playground within range of vision, there were small
children, as many in number as the sands of the seashore. At a given
moment, a lovely angel with black hair and a scarlet apron would ring
a large bell. Simultaneously, a lovely angel with brown hair and a
white apron would fly to the spot, and the children would go through
a mysterious process like the swarming of bees around a queen.
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