What Happened To Alanna, Part One Of Three

In this latest delightful story from American journalist Kathleen Norris, eight year old Alanna is desperate to be allowed to help out at the annual concert and fair. She loves the idea of being allowed to sell raffle tickets.

Music by William King

Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks for deciding to listen to this story tonight.

It's by Kathleen Norris,

Who is an amazingly prolific American writer,

Writing mainly in the early part of the 20th century.

She was the highest paid female journalist of her time,

For nearly 50 years,

And she wrote an enormous amount of books and short stories too.

And tonight,

We're going to be listening to What Happened to a Llama?

But before I begin,

Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable.

What Happened to a Llama?

A capped and aproned maid with a martyred expression had twice sounded the dinner bell in the stately halls of Costello before any member of the family saw fit to respond to it.

Then they all came at once,

With a sudden pounding of young feet on the stairs,

An uproar of young voices,

And much banging of doors.

Jim and Danny,

Twins of fourteen,

To whom their mother was wont proudly to allude to as the top of the line,

Violently left their own sanctum on the fourth floor,

And coasted down such banisters as lay between that and the dining room.

Teresa,

An angel-faced twelve-year-old in a blue frock,

Shut the wide,

Wide world with a sigh and climbed down from the window seat in the hall.

Teresa's pious mother,

In moments of exaltation,

Loved to compare and commend her offspring to such of the saints and martyrs as their youthful virtues suggested.

And Teresa,

At twelve,

Had,

As it were,

Graduated from the little saints,

Agnes and Rose and Cecilia,

And was now compared,

In her mother's secret heart,

To the gracious Queen of all the saints,

As she was when a little girl,

Mrs Costello would add to herself,

To excuse any undue boldness in the thought.

And indeed,

Teresa,

As she was tonight,

Her blue eyes still clouded with Ellen Montgomery's sorrows,

Her curls tumbled about her hot cheeks,

Would have made a pretty foil in the picture of old St Anne.

But this story is about Alanna of the black eyes,

The eight years,

The large irregular mouth,

The large irregular freckles.

Alanna was out running lazy little Leo,

Her senior,

But not her match at anything,

On their way to the dining room.

She was rendering desperate the two smaller boys,

Frank X Junior and John Henry Newman Costello,

Who stuttered hopelessly in her wake.

They were all hungry,

Clean and good-natured,

And Alanna's voice led the other voices,

Even as her feet,

In twinkling patent leather,

Led their feet.

Following the children came their mother,

Fastening the rich silk and lace at her wrists as she came.

Her handsome,

Kindly face and her big shapely hands were still moist and glowing from soap and warm water,

And the shining rings of black hair at her temples were moist too.

This is all my doing,

Dad,

Said she comfortably,

As she and her flock entered the dining room.

Put the soup on,

Alma.

I'm the one that was going to be prompt at dinner too,

She added,

With a superintending glance for all the children,

As she tied on little John's napkin.

F.

X.

Costello,

Senior,

Undertaker by profession,

And Mayor by an immense majority,

Was already at the head of the table.

Later,

Mummy,

Said he good-naturedly.

He threw his newspaper on the floor,

Cast the householder's critical glance at the lights and the fire,

And pushed his neatly placed knives and forks to right and left,

Carelessly,

With both his fat hands.

The room was brilliantly lighted and warm.

A great fire roared in the old-fashioned black marble grate,

And electric lights blazed everywhere.

Everything in the room,

And in the house,

Was costly,

Comfortable,

Incongruous,

And hideous.

The Costellos were very rich,

And had been very poor,

And certain people were fond of telling of the queer,

Ridiculous things they did in trying to spend their money.

But they were very happy,

And thought their immense,

Ugly house was the finest in the city,

Or even in the world.

Well,

And what's the news on the Rialto,

Said the head of the house now,

Busy with his soup.

You'll have to laugh on me,

Dad,

His wife assured him,

Placidly,

After all my saying that nothing would take me to Father Crowley's meeting.

Oh,

That was it,

Said the Mayor.

What's he going to have,

A concert?

And a fair too,

Supplemented Mrs Costello.

There was an interval devoted on her part,

To various bibs and trays,

And a low aside to the waitress.

Then she went on.

As you know,

I went,

Meaning to beg off,

On account of Baby being so little,

And Leo's cough,

And the paperers being upstairs,

And everything.

I thought I'd just make a donation and let it go at that.

But the ladies all kind of hugged back,

There was very few there,

And I got talking.

Well,

Tis but our duty after all,

Said the Mayor,

Nodding approval.

Well,

So finally Mrs Kiljohn took the coffee,

And the Lemondales took the grab bag.

The Guild will look out for the concert,

And I took one fancy work booth,

And of course the Children of Mary will have the other,

Just like they always do.

Oh,

Was Grace there?

Teresa was eager to know.

Grace was,

Darling.

I'm here to have the fancy work.

You'll help us,

Won't you Mother?

Goody,

I'm in that,

Exulted Teresa.

I'm in that too,

Occurred Alanna,

Quickly.

A lot you are,

You baby,

Said Leo,

Unkindly.

You're not a Child of Mary,

Alanna,

Teresa said,

Promptly and uneasily.

Well,

Well,

I can help,

Protested Alanna,

Putting up her lip.

Can't I,

Mother?

Can't I,

Mother?

You can help me,

Duffy,

Said her Mother,

Absently.

I'm not going to work as I did for St.

Patrick's Bazaar.

Dad and I said so.

Mrs O'Connell and Mrs King said they'd do all the work,

If I'd just be the nominal head.

Mary Murray will do us some pillows,

Leather,

And I'll have Lizzie Bain up here for a month,

Making me aprons and little wrappers and so on.

She paused over the cutlets and the chicken pie,

Which she'd been helping,

With an amazing attention to personal preference.

The young Costellos chafed at the delay,

But their Mother's fine eyes saw them not.

Kelly and Moffat ought to let me have materials at half price,

She reflected aloud.

My bill's two or three hundred a month.

You always say that you're not going to do a thing,

And then get in and make more than any other booth,

Said Dan,

Proudly.

Oh,

Not this year I won't,

His Mother assured him.

But in her heart she knew she would.

Aren't you glad it's fancy work,

Said Teresa?

It doesn't get all sloppy and mossy like ice cream,

Does it Mother?

Gee,

Don't you love fairs,

Burst out Leo,

Rapturously.

Sliding up and down the floor before the dance begins,

Dan,

To work in the wax,

Suggested Jimmy,

In pleasant anticipation.

We go every day and every night,

Don't we Mother?

Ask your father,

Said Mrs Costello discreetly.

But the Mayor's attention just then was taken by Alanna,

Who had left her chow to go and whisper in his ear.

Why,

Here's Alanna's heart,

Broken,

Said he cheerfully,

Encircling her little figure with a big arm.

Alanna shrank back suddenly against him,

And put her wet cheek on his shoulder.

Now whatever is it,

Darling,

Wondered her Mother sympathetically,

But without concern.

You've not got a pain,

Have you dear?

She wants to help the children of Mary,

Said her father tenderly.

She wants to do as much as Tessie does.

Oh,

But Dad,

She can't,

Pratted Teresa.

She's not a child of Mary.

She oughtn't to want to tag that way.

Now all the other girls' sisters will tag.

They haven't got sisters,

Said Alanna,

Red-cheeked of a sudden.

Why,

Mary,

Alanna,

Costello,

They have too.

Jean has,

And Stella has,

And Grace has her little cousins,

Protested Teresa triumphantly.

Never mind,

Baby,

Said Mrs Costello,

Horridly.

Mother will find you something to do.

There now,

How do you like to have a raffle book on something?

A chair,

Or a pillar?

And you could get all the names yourself,

And keep the money in a little bag.

Oh my,

I wish I could,

Said Jean,

Artfully.

Think of the last night when the drawing comes.

You'll have the fun of looking up the winning number in your book,

And calling it out in the hall.

Would I,

Dad,

Said Alanna,

Softly,

But with dawning interest.

And then from the pulpit,

When the materns are all in,

Contributed Dan warmly,

Father Crowley will read out your name.

With Mrs Frank Costello's booth,

Raffle of sofa cushion by Miss Alanna Costello,

Twenty-six dollars and thirty-five cents.

Oh,

Would he,

Dad,

Said Alanna,

Won to smiles and dimples by this charming prospect.

Of course he would,

Said her father.

Now go back to your seat,

Macree,

And eat your dinner.

When Mama takes you and Tess to the matinee tomorrow,

Ask her to bring you in to me first,

And you and I will step over to Paul's,

And pick out a table,

Or a couch,

Or something.

Eh,

Mommy?

And what do you say,

Said that lady to Alanna,

As the radiant little girl went back to her chair,

Whereupon Alanna breathed a bashful,

Thank you,

Dad,

Into the ruffled yoke of her frock,

And the matter was settled to be continued.

Reviews

Thanks, Mandy! Cindy here… Some how I missed part one of this story - I saw you present part two yesterday - very sweet.