me already, and more vexed still, I suppose, at my "answering
back" Mrs. Partridge, and so she wouldn't speak at all.

Then Mrs. Partridge, who all the time _meant_ to be very kind to us, you
see, took us up-stairs to our rooms--they were on the second
floor--above what is always the drawing-room floor in a London house, I
mean, and they looked to the front. But to-night of course-- I don't
know if it is right for me to say "to-night," when I mean _that_ night,
but it is easier--we did not notice whether they looked to the front or
not. All we did notice was that in the one which was to be the day
nursery the fire was burning cheerfully, and the table was neatly spread
with a white cloth for tea.

Tom, who was looking very sad, sat down on a chair by the fire and
pulled me close to stand by him.

"Audrey," he whispered, "I do feel so sad, and I don't like that Mrs.
Partridge. Audrey, I can't eat any tea. I didn't think it would have
been nearly so bad, mother's going away and us coming to London. I don't
like London. I think it would have been much better, Audrey, if we had
died--you and I when we had the measles."

And stooping down to kiss my poor little tired brother, I saw that two
big tears were forcing themselves out of his eyes; in spite of all his
trying to be manly, and not to let Mrs. Partridge see him crying, he
could not keep them in any longer. I threw my arms round him and kissed
his poor red eyes. "Horrid old woman," I said to myself, "to say he had
ugly eyes." And a feeling came over me that I can hardly say in words,
that I would put my arms round Tom and Racey and never let them go till
mother came back again, and that _nobody_ should dare to vex them or
make them cry. I felt, in that minute, as if I had grown quite big and
strong to take care of them--as if I were really their mother. I kissed
him and kissed him, and tried to think of something to comfort him.

"Tom, dear," I said, "do come and have your things off, and try to take
some tea. There are Bath buns, Tom," I added.

But Tom still shook his head.

"No thank you, Audrey," he said. "I can't eat anything--I can't indeed.
It would have been better, Audrey, it would really, if you and I had
died."

"But poor Racey," I said. "He would have been all alone--just fancy
that."

"Perhaps they would have taken him with them," said Tom dreamily. Then
he put his arms round me and leant his little round head on my shoulder.

"I'm glad I've go