Our Liverpool trip for Christmas shopping

"Well," she said, "I do want to say that it is thrilling to be allowed into this room, in which I am never otherwise permitted. I will be most careful not to look at anything, or take anything."

The oldest girl is completely out of hand. I thought she would be happy that I was going to take her with me, but instead she comes up with a sarcasm that has nothing to do with the matter in front of us. Mind you, I decide to go softly. "I would like you to assist me in choosing a nice gift for your mother," I tell her. "As a special treat, I will take you to a dinner at the Mersey House, where I am told they are serving lobster."

The oldest girl loves lobster. When she was younger, I brought home lobsters and showed them to the children, emphasizing their ugliness and explaining how they had to be plunged cruelly into a pot of boiling water. I am very sorry to say that her mother gave her a taste, whereupon she decided that it was one of the best things she had ever eaten, and I was required to share my third lobster.

I know that it is possible to obtain the meal at the Mersey House quite reasonably these days, as the lobster fishermen are up in arms over the price charged by the Dominion Atlantic Railroad to ship lobsters from Yarmouth to Boston. It used to be that the Yarmouth Steamship Company would ship the lobsters for fifty cents a crate, but after the DAR bought the company, it raised the price so that it is now more than ninety cents a crate. To protest, the fishermen are selling them locally at a reduced cost.

The oldest girl's eyes were wide when I made the luncheon offer. "Since you are getting a gift for Mother," she said, "I will come with you. Lobster would be nice, too," she added. Then she thought of a rider. "I will only come if you purchase tickets to Boston to replace the ones you lost this spring," she said.

The temerity of the girl, to think she could negotiate with her father. I explained that the crossing could be dangerous, pointing out that an American barge had gone down in heavy seas off Seal Island just last week, and that two ships running between Yarmouth and Boston had gotten into serious trouble several days ago. There was a fire aboard the S.S. Boston, and the Lady Sybil got so heavy with ice that she almost went under. "I am not suggesting you go in winter, for pity's sake," she said. In the event, I agreed.

So, we planned the journey. My friend Amos Cushing is taking a load of pulpwood to the McLeod Pulp Company in Milton next week, but the girl refused to travel that way. Using the railway involves going from here to New Germany, changing trains for Bridgewater, and thence changing trains for Liverpool, a trip that would take us at least two days. We settled on harnessing the mare and taking our own little buggy, hopeful that the weather would hold.

At five in the morning on Wednesday we set off, the oldest girl forced to explain to the wife that she was going to help me buy her a Christmas present. I must say that I was surprised at what a pleasant companion she was, chattering away about school and her friends, and before we knew it we were in the town. Our first stop was at L.C. Daniel's, where she chose some undergarments for the wife. I even let her choose something for herself. I didn't want to see what she bought; I just gave her the coins and stowed the package under the seat of the buggy.

I thought the work was done, but the oldest girl said we were not finished, she had me drive her to the Acadia Book Store, where A.S. Hutchins stocks the latest books, looking for a copy of a new book the wife had told her she wanted to read. It was called A Room With a View, by a writer named E.M. Forster. I have no idea where, with the housework she has to get done, she will find time to read books like that.

She also selected two other books just published this year. One was for the youngest girl and was called The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck. I was told that the youngest girl has always loved Beatrix Potter. For the boy, she chose The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame. "Go on," I said, filled with the Christmas spirit. "You might as well get one of this year's books for yourself." She ran over to the shelves and picked out a book by one of our own authors, a woman named Lucy Maud Montgomery, called Anne of Green Gables. It is said to be popular among both children and adults, and I can't see how it could harm her. I am the only one likely to be harmed, as I doubt I will get any work out of these three over Christmas.

In any case, Merry Christmas, and I will get back to you about the Mersey House meal next week

Thomas W. L. Sheppard, Esq., can be contacted at the old Benjamin Annis place, Hibernia.