The Boys And I Part 5

"Audrey," he said, in what he meant to be a whisper, but it was a very loud one, "Audrey, I don't want to wake Tom. Poor Tom's so tired.

Audrey, let me get in 'aside you."

He had clambered out of his bed and into mine somehow; and though it was against rules to get into each other's beds--mother had had to make the rule because Tom and I got in the way of waking each other so dreadfully early to tell stories--I could not this first morning refuse to let the poor little thing get in under the nice warm clothes to be cuddled.

"Oh dear, Racey, what cold little toes you've got," I said. "You haven't been running about without your slippers on, surely?"

"Just for a minute; don't tell Pierson," said Racey. "I wanted to look out of the window. Audrey, this is such a funny place--there's no trees and no garden--and lots and lots of windows. Is all the windows Uncle Geoff's?"

"Oh, no--there are lots of other people's houses here," I said. Poor little Racey had never been in a town before. "In London all the houses are put close together. You see, Racey, there are such a lot of people in London there wouldn't be room for all the houses they need if each had a garden."

"But some peoples has little gardens--_air_ gardens," said Racey eagerly. "There's one I sawed out of the window."

"_Air_ gardens! What do you mean, Racey?" I said.

"High up--up in the air," he explained. "Sticking up all of theirselves in the air."

"Oh, I know what you mean--you mean a little gla.s.s place for flowers," I said. "I've seen those--once I was in London before with mother, in a cab, when we were coming from Tonbridge Wells."

"_Were_ you?" said Racey, greatly impressed. "Was Tom?"

"No, not Tom--only me. When we're dressed, Racey, I'd like to look out of the window at the air garden."

"Come _now_," said Racey. But I firmly refused to get out of bed till Pierson came, as it was one of the things mother had particularly told me not to do--we had so often caught cold with running about like that.

And it was a good thing we didn't, for just then Pierson came into the room looking rather cross, and if she had found us running about without our slippers on she'd have been crosser still.

"It's time to get up, Miss Audrey," she said in a melancholy tone, "past half-past-eight; though I'm sure no one would think so by the light. I hope you've had a good night--but--" as she suddenly caught sight of my little visitor, "whatever's Master Racey doing in your bed?"

Racey ducked down under the clothes to avoid being caught, and Pierson was getting still crosser, when fortunately a diversion of her thoughts was caused by Tom, who just then awoke.

"Oh dear!" he said with a great sigh, "oh dear! Will the s.h.i.+p have gone yet?"

He was hardly awake, but he sat up in bed, and his big sad eyes seemed to be looking about for something they could not find. Then with another sigh he lay down again. "I was dreaming," he said, "that we got a letter to say we were to go in the train again to South--South--that place where the s.h.i.+p goes from, and that Uncle Geoff was the man on the engine, and he kept calling to us to be quick or the s.h.i.+p would be gone.

Oh dear, I wish it had been true!"

Poor Tom! Pierson forgot her crossness in trying to comfort him. Of us all I'm sure he was her favourite, even though he was very mischievous sometimes. We all went on talking about Tom's dream till Pierson had got back into quite a good temper--a good temper to _us_, that is to say, for she at last confided to us what had made her so cross. She "couldn't abide that Mrs. Partridge," that was the burden of her song.

"Stupid, fussy old thing," she called her, "going on about Master Tom's eyes last night. I dare say I shouldn't say so to you, Miss Audrey, but I can't help owning I _was_ glad you spoke up to her as you did. She's that tiresome and interfering,--as if I didn't know my own work! I'll be sorry to leave you, my dears, when the time comes, which it will only too soon; but I can't say that there'd be peace for long if that stupid old woman was to keep on meddling."

We were all full of sympathy for Pierson, and indignant with Mrs.

Partridge.

"Never mind, Pierson," we said, "we won't take any notice of her. We'll just do what _you_ tell us."

So breakfast was eaten in the most friendly spirit, and after breakfast, our hands and faces being again washed, and our hair receiving a second smooth, we were taken down-stairs to be inspected by Uncle Geoff.

He was busy writing in a small room behind the dining-room--a rather gloomy, but not uncomfortable little room. A fire was of course burning brightly in the grate, but for a minute or two we all three stood near the door, not venturing further in, for though Uncle Geoff had replied "come in" to Pierson's tap, he did not at once look up when we made our appearance, but went on finis.h.i.+ng his letter. Some mornings he had to go out very early, but this was not one of them; but instead of going out, he had a great many very particular letters to write, and it was difficult for him to take his mind off them even for a minute. I understand that now, but I did not then; and I was rather offended that the boys and I should be left standing there without his taking any notice. Racey kept tight hold of my hand, and Tom looked up at me with a surprised, puzzled expression in his eyes. I didn't so much mind for myself, but I felt very sorry for the boys. I was not at all a shy child, as I have told you, and I had rather a sharp temper in some ways; so after fidgeting for a moment or two I said suddenly--

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'May we come near the fire, if you please?']

"May we come near the fire, if you please; or if you don't want us may we go back to the nursery?"

For an instant still Uncle Geoff took no notice. Then he laid down his pen and looked at us--at me in particular.

"What did you say, my little lady?"

I got more angry. It seemed to me that he was making fun of me, and that was a thing I never could endure. But I did not show that I was angry. I think my face got red, but that was all, and I said again quietly, but not in a very nice tone, I dare say--

"I wanted to know if we might go back to the nursery if you don't want us, or at least if we might come near the fire. It isn't for me, it is for the boys. Mother doesn't like them to stand in a draught, and there's a great draught here."

"Dear me, dear me, I beg your pardon," said Uncle Geoff, with a comical smile. "Come near the fire by all means. My niece and nephews are not accustomed to be kept waiting, I see."

He pulled forward a big arm-chair to the fire as he spoke, and lifting Racey up in his arms, popped him down in one corner of it. He was turning back for Tom, but Tom glanced up at me again from under his eyelids in the funny half-shy way he did when he was not sure of any one. I took his hand and led him forward to the fire.

"Tom is quite big," I said. "He's never counted like a baby."

Again Uncle Geoff looked at me with his comical smile. I felt my face get red again. I am ashamed to say that I was beginning to take quite a dislike to Uncle Geoff.

"He's just as horrid as Mrs. Partridge," I said to myself. "I'm sure mother wouldn't have left us here if she had known how they were going to go on."

But aloud I said nothing.

Uncle Geoff himself sat down on the big arm-chair, and took Racey on his knee.

"So you're to be the boys' little mother--eh, Audrey?" he began. "It's a great responsibility, isn't it? You'll have a good deal to do to teach _me_ my duty too, won't you?"

I did not answer, but I'm afraid I did not look very amiable. Uncle Geoff, however, took no notice. He drew Tom gently forward, and as Tom did not pull back at all, I let go his hand. Uncle Geoff made him stand between his knees, and, placing a hand on each of his shoulders, looked rather earnestly into his eyes. Tom fidgeted a little--he stood first on one leg, and then on the other, and glanced round at me shyly; but still he did not seem to mind it.

"He's his mother's boy," said Uncle Geoff, after a minute or two's silence. "He has her pretty eyes."

That was a lucky remark. After all, Uncle Geoff must be much nicer than Mrs. Partridge, I decided, and I drew a little nearer. Uncle Geoff looked up at me.

"And you, Audrey?" he went on. "No, you're not like your mother."

"I'm not nearly as pretty," I said.

"You're more like your father," he continued, without noticing my remark. "And Racey--who is he like? Where did you get that white skin, and that golden--not to say red--hair, sir?" he said, laughing. "Whom _is_ he like?"

"Like hisself," said Tom, smiling.

"Yes, that is quite certain," said Uncle Geoff. "And now, my friends, having looked you all over, so that for the future I shall know which is which, tell me how you are going to amuse yourselves to-day?"

We looked at each other--that is to say, the boys looked at me and I at them, but we did not know what to say.

"It is too bad a day for you to go out, I fear," continued Uncle Geoff, glancing up at the window from which only other houses' windows and a very dull bit of gray sky were to be seen. "It's not often we have bright days at this time of year in London. But we must try to make you happy in the house. Partridge will get you anything you want. Did your mother tell you about the tutor?"

"Yes, Uncle Geoff," I said, meekly enough, but feeling rather depressed.

I did not at all like being referred to _Partridge_ for anything we wanted. "Mother told us we were to have lessons every day from a gentleman. She said it would be better than a lady, because Tom is getting so big."

"Of course; and by next year he'll be going to school, perhaps."