Life is full of surprises.

Virginia has always maintained that the motto of my house ought to be “YOU NEVER KNOW,” simply because of the rapidity with which I change my mind, and the complications and unexpected developments that follow thereupon.

She begged me to have it carved in the wooden beams above the mantelpiece. But as I didn’t, she brought me a Chinese tablet (her brother is a persistent traveller, and I think she had unearthed it from some of his effects), bearing on a red background three imposing-looking Chinese symbols, in gold.

I asked her what they meant; though I have never embarked on any language of China, Virginia has studied most things under the sun, and I concluded she knew. She replied that it was the household motto: “You never know”; and she placed it in a conspicuous position above the fireplace in my London dining-room. And when guests asked its meaning, of course I translated it for them, with the air of one who had spoken Mandarin from her cradle; and they looked proportionately impressed.

One day, however, an Oriental scholar of unquestionable authority chanced to be dining with us, and he suddenly raised his glasses and studied the tablet with evident interest.

“May I ask why you have that above the mantelpiece?” he inquired politely.

“Oh, it’s merely the family motto,” I answered airily, “but we have it in Chinese to-night, in your honour.”

“Really! You do surprise me!! It seems so curious to be greeted with that in your house!!!” And he looked at me in undisguised amazement.

Then I grew anxious, and wondered to myself what it did mean; and since discretion is the better part of a good many things, I thought it would be wisest to explain that I hadn’t the faintest idea what it stood for.

He smiled when I confessed. “Well, I can tell you,” he said, as he proceeded to mumble a little in an unknown tongue to himself, reading each collection of strokes in turn. “It means—er—let me see—well—to translate it quite broadly, you understand, in the vernacular, the nearest equivalent in English is ‘Beware of Pickpockets.’”

Truly, you never know!

Work was extra heavy in my office that week. Like every other business house, we were understaffed, with the majority of our expert men at the front. Moreover, I was trying to get things a little ahead, as I was going away on the Friday.

I did not get home till nearly nine o’clock on the Tuesday following my adoption of Eileen, and by that time I was too tired to trouble about matters domestic. Nevertheless I noticed that the house seemed very draughty; but I put it down to a very high wind that had set in earlier in the day.

As I was going upstairs to bed about half-past ten, I noticed the powerful draught again. I like plenty of air in the house, but after all a line should be drawn somewhere when it is blowing a hurricane, and I said so.

“Well, and to think I forgot to tell you!” said Abigail cheerfully. “The skylight’s blown clean away, and rain’s been pouring in like anything on the top landing!” Judging by her pleased expression, you might have thought that the deluge was in gold.

If you have ever been fortunate enough to find yourself minus a fair-sized skylight on a stormy night, and the man of the house away on urgent business, and not expected back for a month, you will know what my feelings were when I heard the news. It is useless for me to try to describe them.

Virginia and Ursula, who live near me in London, were hastily summoned. By the time we had all done exclaiming, “Well, I never!” singly and in chorus, and had heard full details of the catastrophe repeated for the eighth time by Abigail, it was eleven o’clock. And as no self-respecting builder’s man can do any work after five o’clock (and few seem able to do any before that hour), it was obviously useless to hope for professional aid. So we took a step-ladder to the top landing and piled it on a table, with me on top of all, domestics clutching the step-ladder fervently as I balanced myself on its dizzy height, and exclaiming, “Oh, do be careful, madam!” at frequent intervals; with Virginia and Ursula offering unlimited advice in a running duet.

At last I was high enough to get my head out of the space where the skylight ought to have been, and there I saw it further down the roof. I fished for it with the crook of an umbrella-handle, and got it up at last, though it threatened to blow away again every moment. We managed to secure it by putting some screws in the framework of the roving skylight, and also in the woodwork to which that skylight was supposed to be attached, but wasn’t; and then winding copper wire round and round both sets of screws. In this way we kept the flighty creature anchored till the morning. I was rather proud of the neat and effectual job I had made of it, when I surveyed it from below.

The builder smiled politely but pitifully when he gazed at my efforts next day. He then proceeded to explain to me that though, of course, he was quite competent to refix that skylight as it ought to be fixed (and as, indeed, it never had been fixed since the day the house was built), nevertheless it would be an exceedingly awkward job. From what I could gather from his technical conversation, and diagrams made with a stubby bit of pencil on old envelopes from his pocket, that skylight had been placed in absolutely the most inaccessible part of the whole roof; it would take all sorts of ladders, to say nothing of scaffolding, to get anywhere near it, etc. It would be a dangerous job, too, and of course he must take every precaution and run no risks. All of which I knew from past experience was by way of letting me know that (being the unfortunate owner of the property) I should have the privilege of settling a nice long bill presently.

I did feebly suggest that rather than imperil the lives of his most valuable-looking assistants, he should simplify matters by dealing with the skylight from the inside. But he only looked at me witheringly and said, “Madam, the hinges are outside.”

Naturally, I was humiliated and effectually silenced.

When, finally, they had accomplished the well-nigh impossible, and reached that skylight, the builder returned to report that never, in all his life, had he seen a roof in worse condition than mine was. It appeared to be simply a special providence that the whole covering to the house had not blown clean away—or else tumbled in on top of us! He said he just wished I would come up and see it; he didn’t ask anyone merely to take his word for it; there it was for me to see; and I might believe him when he said that if the roof needed three new slates it needed three hundred.

Once again I got in a gentle word to the effect that it was strange we had never had any trouble with the roof, nor a drop of rain come through; but the look of injured, virtuous dignity he put on at the mere hint of doubt on my part, made me hastily beg him to proceed with the necessary work—otherwise I saw myself sitting up another night sick-nursing a skylight!

The builder told me I needn’t worry about the gentleman being away; lots of gentlemen he was in the habit of working for were away just now; he would superintend the work his own self, and he went off assuring me that he meant to make a good job of it.

Then I sent a note to Eileen, asking her kindly to postpone packing for a few days, as I was unavoidably detained in town.

The men got on the top of the roof most mornings at about half-past six, and apparently started to play golf up there—judging by the sounds overhead. But they always found it too windy, or too wet, or too something, to stay up there, once they had awakened the whole household. So they invariably went away again till about three-thirty in the afternoon—by which time I suppose the roof was thoroughly well aired, and it was safe for them to sit on it and smoke a pipe or two.

It was a fortnight before that roof was finished. Finally they left. And the kitchen staff grew pensive.

But the very day after they had cleared their ladders away, I saw a tiny stream oozing out of the sodden grass in the front garden. I knew, even before the builder returned and looked wise, that it was a leak in the pipe leading from the water-main.

The pipe-mending squad that arrived next morning was not the same as the roof-mending squad; but the kitchen, being quite impartial, recovered its spirits immediately.

These men, evidently most competent, started work in a business-like manner, by removing the two sets of gates, that terminate the semi-circular carriage drive, and blocking up the stable door with them. Next they dug what looked like a network of trenches for giants. They piled up the edging tiles from the beds, and the gravel from the paths, on the front door step; they banked up turf and more gravel under the windows; they uprooted laurels and privet, and the usual array of evergreens that are the only things that will keep alive in a London front garden, and laid them one on top of the other, effectually barricading the tradesmen’s entrance. And when they had made it delightfully impossible for anyone to get either in or out of the house, they one and all came to a halt, and leant wearily on their picks.

Just then a brilliant idea seemed to strike one of them whereby he might make himself a still greater nuisance, and he hurriedly turned off the water.

They spent the remainder of the day resting on their tools—save when they were gallantly passing in cans and jugs of water (borrowed from my neighbour) to smiling Cook or Abigail at the side door.

It rained hard all night, and by next morning we had quite a spacious lake in the front garden. The squad returned to the post of duty, and once more disposed themselves like guardian angels on its banks. When, in sheer exasperation, I asked them how long they were going to leave things like that, and the house without a drop of water, the foreman replied, politely but non-committally, that he couldn’t exactly say, but the Boss was coming round to see me shortly.

The builder arrived later, to inform me that this was a most serious leak; he didn’t know when he had seen one precisely like it before. Of course, it was partly due to the pipe; how any man could have called himself a plumber, and put in such a pipe as that!—well, words failed him! He himself was not a man to boast of his own doings, but he didn’t mind telling me that I could take up any piece of ground I liked, where he had laid a pipe, and see the sort he put underground.

Then it transpired that the leakage was of such a character that he dare not proceed an inch farther with it without calling in the water company’s officials. Did I authorise him to do so? Of course they would charge special fees for “opening up the ground.” I wondered where else they would find any to “open up” on my premises, seeing that by this time the whole estate was a gaping void! As I saw the turncock and a variety of other gentlemen with gold letters embroidered on their collars, propping themselves up against my holly hedge, I just said, “Oh, yes; do anything you please.”

And they did.

Some of the embroidered ones then proceeded to dig up the whole pavement, and right out into the middle of the road (the leak being inside the garden, close beside my front door!). It does not take long to write about it, but I don’t want to mislead you into thinking there was any feverish haste about their methods. Oh, no! theirs was the calm un-hurrying work of the true artist; and the builder’s squad stood round admiringly, most careful not to interfere.

Once again the whole lot came to a standstill, and rested on any available implement; and they now made a goodly crowd (I had no idea there were so many non-khaki men still loose), which was further supplemented by a policeman, one or two aged men who had discarded the workhouse for the more leisurely life that modern business offers, and a variety of languid young ladies who had been sent out on urgent errands from sundry local shops.

In the lull, the chief official from the water company sought an interview with me, when he broke the news that never, in all his life, had he seen a more antiquated stop-cock (which, by the way, had been made in Germany) than the one I had had placed (apparently out of sheer perversity or malice) in the front of my premises. It seems that there was no key in the whole of London that would turn that stop-cock; and when finally it had turned it, that key could not be got out again. However, or whenever, I had managed to evade the Eye of Authority so far as to drop that stop-cock into the ground, he could not think; but, at any rate, out it would have to come again.

Here I managed to get in a word sideways, and told him that the much maligned article had been placed there by another squad of men from the same water company (after a similar harangue), and then duly “passed” by an inspector only two years ago.

Two years ago! he exclaimed, why, that inspector had been called up in the spring, and he was no loss to the company! Not that he (the speaker) was one to say anything against another man’s work, but if I would just come out and examine it for myself (it was raining torrents, and the stop-cock was an island in a watery waste) I would see that the whole affair was scandalous. He was the last to utter an ill-word about any man, more especially behind his back, but conscientiousness compelled him to state that the late inspector was about as fit to be in the employ of a water company as—“as you are, ma’am.” Evidently he could think of no more hopelessly incapable specimen of humanity.

Then it transpired that the real object of his call on me was to ask whether I authorised him to put in a new stop-cock (more special fees, of course).

As I didn’t seem to be left much choice in the matter, and I wasn’t sure whether, if I left it in, after being told to take it out, the Defence of the Realm couldn’t come and have me shot at dawn, I told him he had my full permission to put in twenty new stop-cocks if he liked; he was at liberty to place them as a trimming outside my garden wall, or as an edging at the kerb, or in a fancy zigzag design around the drive—anything—everything—whatsoever and howsoever he pleased, so long as it enabled him, conscientiously, to turn on my water again.

(The lady next door had already said that while she was delighted to give me the water, and would even throw in all the jugs and cans she possessed, she really couldn’t spare her coachman (aged 73) for more than half-an-hour at each delivery, as he was the one ewe-lamb left them, since war claimed the rest, and would I kindly see that my kitchen limited their conversation to that extent, and returned him, carriage forward, within that time.)

The Chief Official looked at me thoughtfully for half a moment, and then retired in silence—to have the door-mat he had just vacated immediately monopolised by the builder, who had been waiting respectfully in the background. (I say background, because I can’t think of any other comprehensive term that signifies a couple of narrow, wobbly, muddy planks, laid across a well-filled moat; ground there was none.)

He congratulated me on having been let off by the Official so easily, and cited instances of owners of property he knew who had been compelled to lay miles of fresh pipes (or it seemed to be miles, judging by the time he took to describe it) as the result of inattention to Official Rules and Regulations regarding Stop-cocks. But he intimated that he had put in a good word for me, and besought them to deal leniently with me, “Knowing, ma’am, how generous you and the gentleman always are.”

I didn’t respond to the hint.

Just at this point he made an opportunity to suggest that in view of the shocking workmanship revealed in the pipes outside, it would certainly be wise of me to have the pipes overhauled all through the house, because one could never tell when one might burst without a moment’s notice, and a flood of water ruin everything. It would only necessitate his taking up the floors in the dining-room and the study and the hall and the kitchens and the greenhouse next the house, and possibly a landing and bath-room and dressing-room upstairs. As it was, the pipes might be leaking terribly under the ground-floors already, disseminating damp and disease throughout the house (though the servants and I were particularly healthy at the time). There was a terrible amount of illness about, he continued; next door to him a little boy had whooping-cough, and the local undertaker, a friend of his, had just told him trade had never been better; although they were working day and night they could hardly manage to execute all the orders. Of course, all this was primarily due to damp.

Even as he spoke he pressed his ample foot so heavily on the hall floor, that but for a stout linoleum I feel sure he would have gone through; then he said it looked to him very much as though dry rot had set in there already, and it would probably be necessary to re-floor the hall.

In vain I reminded him that it had rained without cessation—so far as my distraught memory served me—for the past eighteen months, hence dry rot would seem little short of a miracle. But he only looked at me in that pitying way builders do when any feminine owner of property ventures a remark; and he next asked if I had noticed signs of damp anywhere in the upstairs room? After all, the upstairs pipes might be leaking too.

Then I remembered, and I told him there undoubtedly was damp upstairs, now he mentioned it, one patch about two feet square, and another smaller one. He was instantly alert, said it would certainly be one of the pipes leading from the cistern; most dangerous, too, for you never knew when the whole cistern might be flowing down over everything. So I took him up and showed him the big wet patches on a ceiling, one dripping with a melancholy hollow sound into a zinc bath Abigail had placed below; they were on the ceiling directly under that portion of the roof where his men had played golf each morning, the cistern being in another part of the house, and no pipes were anywhere near.

He became silent, and I left him meditating, while I went down to see Virginia, who had come in.

“Ursula and I have been making plans for you,” she began, “as you seem too distracted to make any for yourself.”

“Distracted! I should think I am; so would you be if you had the cheerful prospect of a cistern emptying itself on top of you at any moment—that is to say, if it ever gets full again—and the whole of the downstairs floor to come up, and dry-rot in the hall, and the Law down on you because you’ve been harbouring an alien stop-cock, and exactly a pint of water in the house (apart from that which is coming in through the roof, of course), and whooping-cough and a watery grave just ahead of you, and the undertaker too busy to bury you!”

“Just listen to me,” she said soothingly. “You are probably not aware that you have got the back of your skirt fastened somewhere about your left hip, and the braiding that ought to be down the centre in front, is just at your right hand. Now when a woman puts on her clothes like that, it’s a sure sign she needs a little rest. Therefore I’m going to take you right off to the cottage first thing to-morrow morning; I’ve told Eileen to be ready; and Ursula is coming in here to assume charge of affairs till such time as those amiable British workmen see fit to remove themselves.”

I protested that I was far too necessary to the well-being of London to be spared at the moment, and widespread havoc would result if I left town at this juncture. By way of reply, she asked if I would take some linen blouses with me, as well as my thicker things, in case the weather turned warmer? And then she summoned Abigail to help her do my packing.

Next morning, as I was being tenderly placed in the one and only cab our suburb now possesses, the whole battalion of workmen, embroidered and otherwise, paused respectfully in the midst of further excavations and a vastly extended scheme of earthworks they had started upon; and I saw a look on the face of the Chief Official that plainly said he considered they were removing me to an asylum none too soon!