The Boys and I: A Child's Story for Children

"Tom," I said, "you are perfectly unbearable," and I tried to snatch from him my reel of sewing cotton which he had pulled away just as I was going to take a new thread. But he jumped up on a chair and stretched his hand out of my reach. I climbed up after him--I was crying with vexation--and had nearly succeeded in pulling his arm down to get at the reel tightly clasped in his hand, when unluckily--oh, how unlucky we were!--the chair toppled over, and Tom and I both fell on the ground in a heap. I screamed, and I think Tom screamed, and just at that moment Uncle Geoff put his head in at the door. Was it not unfortunate? Such a scene--Tom and I kicking and quarrelling on the floor, Racey crying because in our fall we had interfered with what he called his railway line round the room, a jug of water which Tom had fetched out of the bedroom--threatening, to tease me, to wash Florimel's face--and which he had forgotten to take back again, upset and broken and a stream all over the carpet-- oh dear, it was unlucky!

We jumped up as quickly as we could, and stood silent and ashamed. Had it been Uncle Geoff alone, I think we would have told him frankly how sorry we were, and perhaps he would have got to understand us better, but of course there was Mrs. Partridge stumping in behind him. Uncle Geoff did not speak to us, he turned round to Mrs. Partridge at once.

"Really," he said, "this is too bad. If these children cannot be trusted to be alone five minutes without risk of burning themselves or drowning themselves, can't you let some one stay with them, Partridge?"

He spoke very sharply, and Mrs. Partridge's face got very red.

"I'm sure I don't know what more I can do," she said in a very injured tone. "There's all the work of the house to do as usual, and indeed a great deal more _now_, of course. And how I can spare any one to be all day long with them I'm sure I can't see. I have to go away to Browngrove in half-an-hour, all about the nurse for them, sir. I do think they might try to be good and quiet for an hour or two, with every one doing their best for them."

Uncle Geoff looked as if he really did not know what to say.

"I certainly think so too," he said. "I had no idea you ever quarrelled with your brothers, Audrey," he added, glancing at me severely. "I thought at least I could depend on you for that."

Then he turned to go away, and this time, knowing we _had_ been naughty, we looked at each other in silence, too ashamed to speak.

"I do hope you will settle with this person and get her to come at once," we heard Uncle Geoff say to Mrs. Partridge at the door. "This sort of thing really cannot be allowed to go on."

"No indeed, sir," said Mrs. Partridge, quite in a good humour again, apparently, as she had got us scolded instead of herself; "it is very evident they need a firm hand."

"Horrible, _horrible_ old woman," burst out Tom, as soon as, or indeed almost before, they were out of hearing. "Oh, it's all her that's making me so naughty. I never was naughty to you at home, Audrey, was I? Oh dear, oh dear! I do wish mother would come back quick from China, or else we shall forget all about being good."

"And I did _so_ promise her to be good, and to teach you and Racey to be good too, and to make you happy, and I can't. I don't believe mother would want us to stay here if she knew how miserable we were," I sobbed, and when Tom saw me sobbing, he began crying too, and then when Racey saw us both he set off again, and so we all sat together on the floor crying bitterly. Only one good thing came out of our unhappiness--we all made friends again and kissed and hugged each other, and determined never to quarrel any more.

"It does no good to quarrel," I said, sadly, "and any way that's one thing we can do to please mother, whatever Uncle Geoff or any one says about our being naughty."

We were very quiet for the rest of the afternoon till tea-time. We heard Uncle Geoff's carriage come for him, and as by this time we had found out the way of seeing from the night-nursery window, we were able to watch him get in and drive away. And almost immediately after, a cab came to the door, into which got Mrs. Partridge, and she too drove away.

"She's gone about the new nurse," said Tom, but still we all looked at each other with relief to think that Mrs. Partridge was really out of the house, if only for an hour or two.

"We might make toast for tea to-day," I said, "without any one scolding us."

"I feel as if I'd like to jump on to the table and make a _fearful_ noise," said Tom.

"That would be very silly," I said. "We should be as quiet as we can be while she's out, so that every one can see it's not true we're naughty."

When Sarah brought up our tea she proved to be as good or even better than her word. She had brought us not only the strawberry jam as she had promised, but a beautiful big plateful of toast all ready buttered, and as hot as anything. We were so pleased we all jumped up to kiss her, which was a great honour, as the boys were very particular whom they kissed. She looked very pleased too, but seemed rather hurried.

"Miss Audrey," she said, "I've been thinking after you've had your tea, you might all come down to the big dining-room for a change. Your uncle won't be in till late, and any way I'm sure he wouldn't mind your being there, for it's all nonsense of Mrs. Partridge saying you're so mischievous. There's lots of papers with pictures lying there for the ladies and gentlemen to look at while they're waiting. I've got some work I want dreadfully to get finished, for Mrs. Partridge never will give me the least bit of time to myself, and if you can amuse yourselves good in the dining-room I could be quite easy-like in my mind, for if you wanted me you'd only have to come to the top of the kitchen stairs and call me."

A sudden idea darted through my mind while she was speaking. Here was the moment for posting my letter!

"Oh, yes, Sarah," I said, "we'd like very much to go to the dining-room, and we'll do no mischief you may be sure. And you can get your work done without troubling about us one bit."

"Thank you, Miss Audrey, and I hope you'll enjoy your tea," said Sarah, as she left the room.

We did enjoy our tea exceedingly--the boys perhaps more than I, for I was excited with the idea of what I meant to do, and I thought it better not to tell Tom till the last moment. So we finished our tea, and Sarah came up and took the things away and told us to follow her down-stairs to the dining-room.

There was a nice fire in the dining-room and the gas was already lighted. It was a pleasant change from the nursery where we seemed to have been "such a lot of days," as Racey said. Sarah came up again from the kitchen to see that we were all right before settling down to her work, she said. She told us which of the papers we might look at, and put a great heap of _Illustrated London News_ and _Graphics_ on the rug in front of the fire for us, and we all sat down on the floor to look at them. Then she went away saying she would come back in an hour to take us up-stairs--the man-servant was out with Uncle Geoff, and the cook was busy with the dinner, Sarah said, so there'd be a nice quiet time if only nobody would come ringing at the door.

As soon as Sarah had left us, I pulled Tom close to me and whispered in his ear.

"Tom," I said, "this is just the time for posting the letter."

Tom jumped up on to his feet.

"Of course," he said. "Give it me, Audrey. I can find my way to the post-box _pairfitly_" ("pairfitly" for "perfectly" was another of Tom's funny words, like "lubbish"). "I'll just fetch my cap, and tie my comforter round my throat, and I'll be back in a moment."

He spoke in a very big-man way, as if all his life he had been accustomed to run about London streets in the dark--for by this time it really was dark--and I could not help admiring his courage and feeling rather proud of him. Still I was startled, for I had never thought of Tom's going all by himself.

"But you can't go _alone_, Tom," I said, "you're far too little. _I_ meant to go, if you would tell me quite exactly where you saw the letter-box, and if you would promise me to stay here quite quiet with Racey till I come back."

"Oh no, Audrey," said Tom, in a tone of great distress, "that would never do. I couldn't tell you ezacktly where the letter-box is, though I'm sure I could find it myself. And you're a girl, Audrey, and not so _vrezy_ much bigger than me. And besides, I'm a boy. And oh, Audrey, I do _so_ want to go!"

The last reason was the strongest I dare say, and it was honest of Tom to tell it. I stood uncertain what to do. In his eagerness Tom had spoken out quite loud, and Racey had stopped looking at the pictures to listen. He sat on the floor--his little bare legs stretched out, his mouth wide open, staring up at Tom and me. Then another thought came into my mind.

"Tom," I said, "there's the stamp to get. You'd have to go into a shop and ask for one."

Tom's countenance fell. This difficulty had more weight with him than if I had gone on saying he was too little, though even without the getting of the stamp I _could_ not have let him go alone. "He might be run over or stolen or something dreadful," I thought, "and it would be my fault. Oh no, he _mustn't_ go alone." But I felt as if he would be quite safe if I went with him, though I dare say this must seem rather absurd, for I was really not very much older or bigger than Tom, and of course I knew no more about London.

"I wouldn't like that," he said. Then his face brightened up again. "Let's _both_ go, Audrey," he exclaimed; "that would be far the best."

But before I had time to reply, a cry from Racey startled us.

"You must take me too," he said. "I won't stay here all alone. P'raps the new nurse'll come and whip me."

He really seemed as if he were going to set off on a regular crying fit, which would have spoilt all. And the precious time was fast slipping away.

"Tom, you're sure it's very near," I said, "the post-box I mean?"

"Vrezy near--just round the corner," said Tom.

"Well then we'd better all go," I said. "I'll run up-stairs and bring down your hats and comforters, and I'll get my hat and old jacket and we'll all go. Now you two be quite quiet while I go up-stairs."

I knew I could go with less noise and far more quickly than Tom, and in less than two minutes I was back again. I tied on Racey's comforter and hat, and Tom put on his own. Then we were all ready--but, oh dear, how could we get the big front door open without noise? I quite trembled as I stood up on tip-toe to turn the lock handle. But after all it was a very well-behaved door. It opened at once without the least creak or squeak, and in another moment the boys and I stood on the steps outside. Tom was going to shut the door, but I stopped him. "It would make such a noise," I said, "and besides we'd much better leave it open to get in again."

I pulled it gently to, so that from the street no one, unless they looked very close, could have seen it was open, and then with Racey's hand in mine, and Tom trotting alongside, we went down the steps and turned the way which Tom said he was sure led to the post-box he had seen.

There were not many people in the street in which our house was. It was a quiet street at all times, and just now was, I suppose, a quiet time of day. The pavements too--fortunately for our house shoes, which we had quite forgotten about--were perfectly dry. We walked along pretty quickly till we came to a corner which Tom felt sure was the corner near which was the letter-box. We turned down the street, and to Tom's delight, a little further on, there, sure enough, was the pillar-post.

"Now, Audrey, you see--wasn't I right?" exclaimed Tom. "Where's the letter?"

It was already in my hand, but, alas! "Oh, Tom, the stamp!" I said. "There must be shops somewhere near where they would give us one."

"Oh yes, sure to be," said Tom, whose success had made him quite valiant, "come along, Audrey. We'll turn this next corner--I hear a hum of carriages and carts going along. There's sure to be a big street there."

So there was, what seemed to us a very big street indeed--brilliantly lighted, with quantities of horses and cabs and carriages and carts of all kinds in the middle, and numbers of people on the pavement. Tom fell back a little and took hold of my other hand, Racey squeezed the one he held more tightly.

"We'll just go a very little way," said Tom. "Audrey, what sort of shops is it that they sell stamps in?"

"I don't know," I said. "We'd better ask somewhere, for if we go much further we'll lose our way."

The shop, just opposite which we were then passing, was a chemist's. I pulled the boys forward, though Tom was rather unwilling, and wanted to stay outside; but I was too terribly afraid of losing them to let go of either of their hands for a moment. And so we all three went in. There were several grave, rather dignified-looking gentlemen standing behind the counters--one seated at a little desk writing, one or two others putting up bottles and jars on the shelves. As we came in, one stepped forward.

"What do you want, little--" "little girl," no doubt he was going to say, for seeing three such young children coming in alone, of course he thought at first that we must be what Racey called "poor children." But when he looked at us again he hesitated. I was too anxious to get what I wanted to feel shy.

"If you please," I said, "is there a shop near here where they sell stamps?"

The grave young gentleman smiled.

"Postage stamps, do you mean?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, "I only want one. I have a penny."

"They are to be got at the post-office in ---- Street--a very little way from this, on the right-hand side," said the young man. He turned away as he spoke as much as to say "That is all I can do for you. Now you had better go away."

I stood for a moment uncertain what to do--the boys looked up at me in perplexity and trouble. It was terrible to think of having to go still further along that crowded street, and having to ask again for the post-office. I was neither shy nor frightened for myself, but I felt the responsibility of the boys painfully. Supposing some harm happened to them, supposing they got run over or lost--supposing even that it was so late when we got home that we had been missed and that Uncle Geoff and Mrs. Partridge were to scold us fearfully--I should feel, I knew I should--that it had been all my fault. I was half thinking of asking the grave young man if the boys might stay in the shop while I ran on to the post-office alone (only I felt sure Tom would greatly object to such an arrangement), when another person--a grave-looking gentleman too, but a good deal older and less hurried, it seemed to me, than the other--stopped, as he was crossing from one counter to another, and spoke to us. His voice was very kind, and somehow I felt sure he had little boys and girls of his own at home.

[Illustration: "Has any one attended to you, my dear?"]

"Has any one attended to you, my dear?" he said.

"Yes, no, at least, I don't want to buy anything," I said. "It's only for a stamp, and I don't like taking the boys any farther along the street for fear they should get lost. It's so dreadfully crowded to-night."

The gentleman smiled at this, but his smile was nicer than the other one's smile, for it didn't seem as if he was laughing at me.

"And are you not afraid of getting lost yourself?" he said. "You are a very little girl to be out without a nurse."

I got really alarmed at that. Supposing he were to call a policeman and send us home with him, as I had heard was sometimes done in London with lost or strayed children! What a terrible fuss it would make.

"Oh, no," I said eagerly. "We've come such a little way. It was only to post a letter, but I have no stamp. Please I think we'd better go and try to find the post-office."

I took tight hold of the boys' hand again, and we were turning to go, when our new friend stopped us.

"Stay," he said, "if it is only a stamp for a letter that you want, I can easily give you one."

He turned towards the man who was writing at the desk place and said something quickly, and the man held out a stamp which the gentleman handed to me.

"Shall I put it on the letter for you?" he asked.

"Oh no, thank you," I said, in a great hurry to get away now that I had actually the precious stamp in my possession. "I can put it on quite well. Here is the penny, and thank you very much for the stamp."

He took the penny quite seriously. I was glad of that, and liked him the better for it. Had he refused it I should have been really offended.

"And what will you do with the letter now?" he said. "Shall you not have still to go to the post-office to put it in?"

"Oh no," I said, "there is a pillar-post quite near our house."

"And you are sure you know your way?" he said as he opened the shop-door for us. "What is the name of the street where you live?"

I hesitated. Curiously enough I had never heard the name of the street where Uncle Geoff lived--I looked at Tom and Tom looked at me. He did not know it either.

"I don't know the name of the street," I said, "but I am _sure_ we can find the way. Can't we, Tom?"

"Oh yes, I am _sure_ we can. We live at our uncle's, Dr. Gower's," added Tom, for which I frowned at him.

"At Dr. Gower's," repeated the chemist with surprise. "Dear me-- I don't think your uncle would be pleased if he knew you were out alone. However, as you say, it is very near--and I shouldn't like to get them scolded, poor little things," he added to himself. "I can tell you the name of the street--it is ---- Street--remember that, and now run home as fast as you can. First turn to the right."

We thanked him again and ran off.

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CHAPTER IX.

MISS GOLDY-HAIR.

"I thought at first sight that she must be a fairy."

No, I can hardly say we "_ran_" off. There were so many persons on the pavement, that three, even very small people, could not walk along all abreast, without some difficulty. Particularly three small people like us who were accustomed to country lanes without any footpath at all, or high roads where the only fellow-passengers whose way we had to get out of were droves of nice silly sheep, or flocks of geese driven home from the market. We knew nothing of keeping to the right hand, and thought the passers-by were very rude and unkind when they jostled us, as indeed they could hardly help doing. For as for letting go of each other's hands _that_ we never for an instant thought of.

We were glad to get out of the great crowded, brightly-lighted street, though had we been less in a hurry to get home, we should have greatly enjoyed standing and looking in at the shop-windows, more even than by daylight, and as it was, I was obliged two or three times to tug pretty hard at Tom and Racey to get them away from some very tempting one. At last however--it _did_ seem as if we had been in the big street rather longer turning back from the chemist's than going there--afterwards I remembered this--at last we found ourselves in what we believed to be the same, rather narrow, darkish street where we had passed the pillar-post.

"Which side is the pillar?" I said to Tom. "I'm sure it was on this side and now I don't see it."

Tom stared about him.

"It must be a little further on," he said.

But further on it was not to be seen, and we began to feel perfectly puzzled. The street was quite a short one--we soon came to the end, where, right and left, it ran into a wider one, quiet and rather dark too--that is to say, compared with the great street of shops where we had just been. We stood at the corner looking about us--