CHAPTER VII.
TOAST FOR TEA.
"Did you hear the children say. Life is rather out of tune?"
"Mine's very stupid," said Racey.
"Never mind, I dare say it'll be very nice," said Tom and Iencouragingly.
"It's about a fly," said Racey. "It was a fly that lived in a littlehouse down in the corner of a window, and when it was a fine day itcomed out and walked about the glass, and when it was a bad day itstayed in its bed. And one day when it was walking about the glass therewas a little boy standing there and he catched the fly, and he thoughthe'd pull off its wings, 'cause then it couldn't get away--that wasdedfully naughty, wasn't it?--and he was just going to pull off itswings when some one came behind him and lifted him up by his arms andsaid in a' awful _booing_ way--like a giant, you know--'If you pulloff flies' wings, I'll pull off your arms,' and then he felt his armstugged so, that he thought they'd come off, and he cried out--'Ohplease, please, I won't pull off flies' wings if you'll let me go.' Andthen he was let go; but when he turned round he couldn't seeanybody--wasn't it queer?--only the fly was very glad, and he nevertried to hurt flies any more."
"But who was it that pulled the boy's arms?" said Tom, whose interesthad increased as the story went on.
Racey looked rather at a loss. "I don't know," he said. "I should thinkit was a' ogre. It _might_ just have been the boy's papa, to teach himnot to hurt flies, you know."
"That would be very stupid," said Tom.
"Well, it _might_ have been a' ogre," said Racey. "I made the story soquick I didn't quite settle. But I'll tell you another if you like,_all_ about ogres, kite real ones and awful dedful."
"No, thank you," said Tom, "I don't care for your stories, Racey.They're all muddled."
Racey looked extremely hurt.
"Then I'll never tell you any more," he said. "I'll tell them all toAudrey, and you sha'n't listen."
"Indeed," said Tom, "I can listen if I choose. And when the new nursecomes she won't let you go on like that. She'll be vrezy cross, I know."
Racey turned to me, his eyes filled with tears.
"Audrey, _will_ the new nurse be like that?"
I turned to Tom.
"Tom," I said, "why do you say such unkind things to Racey?"
Tom nodded his head mysteriously.
"It's not unkinder to Racey than it is to us," he replied. "I'm sure thenew nurse will be cross, because I heard Mrs. Partridge say something toUncle Geoff on the stair to-day about that we should have somebody'vrezy strict.' And I know that means cross."
"When did you hear that?" I asked.
"'Twas this afternoon. Uncle Geoff hadn't time to come up. He justcalled out to Mrs. Partridge to ask how we were getting on. And she saidin that horrid smiley way she speaks sometimes--'Oh, _vrezy_ well, sir.Much better since their nurse is gone. They need somebody muchstricter.' Isn't she horrid, Audrey?"
"Never mind," I said. But that was all I would say. I would not tell theboys all I was feeling or thinking; they could hardly have understoodthe depth of my anger and wounded pride, though I really don't think itwas a very bad kind of pride. I had always been trusted at home. When Iwas cross or ill-tempered, mother spoke seriously to me, sometimes evensternly, but she seemed to believe that I wanted to be good, and that Ihad sense to understand things. And now to be spoken of behind my back,and before my face too, as if I was a regularly naughty child who didn'twant to be good, and who had to be kept down by strictness, and whowanted to make the boys naughty too--it was more than I could bear orthan I would bear.
"Mother told me to make the boys happy," I said to myself, "and I_will_. I'll write to Pierson--to-night, when nobody can see, I'll writeto her."
Tom and Racey saw that I was unhappy, though I only said "never mind,"and when they saw that, it made them leave off quarrelling, and theyboth came to me to kiss me and ask me not to look "so sorry."
Just then Sarah came up with our tea-tray. She spoke very kindly to us,and told us she had begged Mrs. Partridge to send us some strawberry jamfor our tea. And to the boys' great delight, there it was. As for me, Iwas too angry with Mrs. Partridge to like even her jam, but I did thinkit kind of Sarah.
"I'm sure you deserve it, you poor little things," she said. "And Idon't see what any one has to find fault with in any of you. You've beenas quiet as any three little mice to-day."
"Sarah," I said, encouraged by her way of speaking, "have you heardanything about the new nurse that is coming?"
Sarah shook her head.
"I don't think there's any one decided on," she said. "Mrs. Partridgehas written to somewhere in the country, and I think she's expecting aletter. She said to-day that if to-morrow's fine, I must take you allout a walk."
Then she arranged our tea on the table and we drew in our chairs.
"I wish we had a tea-pot," I said. "I know quite well how to pour itout. It's horrid this way."
"This way," was an idea of Mrs. Partridge's. Since we had had no nurse,she had been unwilling to trust me with the tea-making, so she made itdown-stairs and poured the whole--tea, milk, and sugar--into a jug, outof which I poured it into our cups. It wasn't nearly so nice, it had notthe hot freshness of tea straight out of a tea-pot, and besides it didnot suit our tastes, which were all a little different, to be treatedprecisely alike. Racey liked his tea so weak that it was hardly tea atall, Tom liked his sweet, and I liked hardly any sugar, so the jugarrangement suited none of us; Racey the best, perhaps, for it wascertainly not strong, and sweeter than _I_ liked, any way. But thisevening the unexpected treat of the strawberry jam made the boys lessdifficult to please about the tea.
"It was rather kind of Mrs. Partridge to send us the jam," said Tom. Hespoke timidly; he didn't quite like to say she was kind till he had, asit were, got my leave to do so.
"It isn't _her_ jam," I said. "It's Uncle Geoff's, and indeed Ishouldn't wonder if the strawberries were from our garden. I remembermother always used to say 'We must send some fruit to Geoff.'"
"Yes," said Tom, "I remember that too." He was just about biting into alarge slice of bread and butter _without_ jam--I had kept to old rulesand told the boys they must eat one big piece "plain," first--when a newidea struck him.
"Audrey," he said, "do you know what would be lovely? Supposing we madetoast. I don't think there's _anything_ so nice as toast with strawberryjam."
Tom looked at me with so touching an expression in his dark eyes--hemight have been making some most pathetic request--that I really couldnot resist him. Besides which, to confess the truth, the proposal foundgreat favour in my own eyes. I looked consideringly at the ready-cutslices of bread and butter.
"They're very thick for toast," I said, "and the worst of it is they'reall buttered already."
"_That_ wouldn't matter," said Tom, "it'd be buttered toast. That's thenicest of all."
"It _wouldn't_, you stupid boy," I said, forgetting my dignity; "thebutter would all melt before the bread was toasted, and there'd be nobutter at all when it was done. But I'll tell you what we might do;let's scrape off all the butter we can, and then spread it on the toastagain when it's ready, before the fire. That's how I've seen Pierson do.I mean that she spread it on before the fire--of course she didn't haveto scrape it off first."
"I should think not," said Tom; "it's only that horrid Mrs. Partridgemakes us have to do such things."
We set to work eagerly enough however, notwithstanding our indignation.With the help of our tea-spoons we scraped off a good deal of butter andput it carefully aside ready to be spread on again.
"The worst of it is it'll be such awfully thick toast," I said, lookingat the sturdy slices with regret. "I wish we could split them."
"But we can't," said Tom, "we've no knife. What a shame it is not to letus have a knife, not even _you_, Audrey, and I'm sure you are bigenough."
"I've a great mind to keep one back from dinner to-morrow," I said, "Idon't believe they'd notice. Tom, it's rather fun having to plan so,isn't it? It's som
ething like being prisoners, and Mrs. Partridge beingthe--the-- I don't know what they call the man that shuts up theprisoners."
"Pleeceman?" said Racey.
"No, I don't mean that. The policeman only takes them to prison, hedoesn't keep them when they are once there. But let's get on with thetoast, or our tea'll be all cold before we're ready for it."
We made holes at the crusty side of the slices, and tiedthem with string.]
It was no good thinking of splitting the slices, we had to make the bestof them, thick as they were. And it took all our planningness to dowithout a toasting-fork. The tea-spoons were so short that it burnt ourhands to hold them so near the fire, and for a minute or two we werequite in despair. At last we managed it. We made holes at the crustyside of the slices, and _tied_ them with string--of which, of course,there were always plenty of bits in Tom's pockets; I believe if he'dbeen in a desert island for a year he still would have found bits ofstring to put in his pockets--to the end of the poker and to the twoends of the tongs. They dangled away beautifully; two succeededadmirably, the third unfortunately was hopelessly burnt. We repeated theoperation for another set of slices, which all succeeded, then we spreadthem with the scraped butter in front of the fire by means of the flatends of our tea-spoons, and at last, very hot, very buttery, veryhungry, but triumphant, we sat round the table again to regale ourselveswith our tepid tea, but beautifully hot toast, whose perfection wascompleted by a good thick layer of strawberry jam.
We had eaten three slices, and were just about considering how we couldquite fairly divide the remaining two among the three of us,--rather apuzzle, for Tom's proposal that he and I should each take a slice andgive Racey half, didn't do.
"That would give Racey a half more than us--at least a quarter more. No,it wouldn't be a quarter either. Any way, that wouldn't do," I said."Let's cut each slice into three bits and each take two."
"And how can we cut without a knife?" said Tom.
"'How can he marry without a wife?'" I quoted out of the nursery rhyme,which set us all off laughing, so that we didn't hear a terrible soundsteadily approaching the door. Stump, stump, it came, but we heardnothing till the door actually opened, and even then we didn't stoplaughing all at once. We were excited by our toast-making; it was thefirst time since we were in London that our spirits had begun to recoverthemselves, and it wasn't easy to put them down again in a hurry. Eventhe sight of Mrs. Partridge's _very_ cross face at the door didn't do soall at once.
I dare say we looked very wild, we were very buttery and jammy, and ourfaces were still broiling, our hair in confusion and our pinaforescrumpled and smeared. Then the fender was pulled away from the fire, andthe poker, tongs, and shovel strewed the ground, and somehow or other wehad managed to burn a little hole in the rug. There was a decidedlyburny smell in the room, which we ourselves had not noticed, but which,it appeared, had reached Mrs. Partridge's nose in Uncle Geoff's bedroomon the drawing-room floor, where, unfortunately, she had come to layaway some linen. And she had really been seriously frightened, poor oldwoman.
Being frightened makes some people cross, and finding out they have beenfrightened for no reason makes some people _very_ cross. Mrs. Partridgehad arrived at being cross on her way up-stairs; when she opened thenursery door and saw the confusion we had made, and heard our shouts oflaughter, she naturally became _very_ cross.
She came into the room and stood for a minute or two looking at uswithout speaking. And in our wonder--for myself I can't say "fear," Iwas too ready to be angry to be afraid, but poor Tom and Racey must havebeen afraid, for they got down from their chairs and stood close besideme, each holding me tightly--in our wonder as to what was going tohappen next, our merriment quickly died away. We waited withoutspeaking, looking up at the angry old woman with open-mouthedastonishment. And at last she broke out.
"Oh, you naughty children, you naughty, naughty children," she said. "Tothink of your daring to behave so after my kindness in sending you jamfor your tea, and the whole house upset to take you in. How dare youbehave so? Your poor uncle's nice furniture ruined, the carpet burnt topieces as any one can smell, and the house all but set on fire. Oh, younaughty, _naughty_ children! Come away with me, sir," she said, making adive at Tom, who happened to be the nearest to her, "come away with methat I may take you to your uncle and tell him what that naughty sisterof yours has put into your head--for that it's all her, I'm certainsure."
Tom dodged behind me and avoided Mrs. Partridge's hand. When he foundhimself at what he considered a safe distance he faced round upon her.
"Audrey isn't naughty, and you sha'n't say she is. None of us isnaughty--not just now any way. But if it was naughty to make toast, itwas me, and not Audrey, that thought of it first."
"You _impertinent_ boy," was all Mrs. Partridge could find breath tosay. But she did not try to catch Tom again, and indeed it would havebeen little use, for he began a sort of dancing jig from side to side,which would have made it very difficult for any one but a very quick,active person to get hold of him. "You rude, impertinent boy," sherepeated, and then, without saying anything more, she turned and stumpedout of the room.
Tom immediately stopped his jig.
"I wonder what she's going to do, Audrey," he said.
"To call Uncle Geoff, I expect," I said quietly. "He must be in, becauseshe said something about taking you down to him."
Tom looked rather awestruck.
"Shall you mind, Audrey?" he asked.
"No, not a bit. I hope she has gone to call him," I said. "We've _not_done anything naughty, so I don't care."
"But if she makes him think we have, and if he writes to papa and motherthat we're naughty, when they did so tell us to be good," said Tom, verymuch distressed. "Oh, Audrey, wouldn't that be dreadful?"
"Papa and mother wouldn't believe it," I persisted. "We've _not_ beennaughty, except that we quarrelled a little this afternoon. I'll write aletter myself, and I know they'll believe me, and I'll get Pierson towrite a letter too."
"But Pierson's away," said Tom.
"Well, I can write to her too."
This seemed to strike Tom as a good idea.
"How lucky it is you've got your desk and paper, and embelopes andeverything all ready," he said. "You can write without anybody knowing.If I could make letters as nice as you, Audrey, I'd write too."
"Never mind. I can say it all quite well," I said, "but I won't do itjust yet for fear Mrs. Partridge comes back again."
I had hardly said the words when we heard a quick, firm step comingup-stairs. We looked at each other; we knew who it must be.
Uncle Geoff threw open the door and walked in.
"Children," he said, "what is all this I hear? I am very sorry that allof you--you Audrey, especially, who are old enough to know better, andto set the boys a good example--should be so troublesome anddisobedient. I cannot understand you. I had no idea I should have hadanything like this."
He looked really puzzled and worried, and I would have liked to saysomething gentle and nice to comfort him. But I said to myself, "What'sthe use? He won't believe anything but what Mrs. Partridge says," and soI got hard again and said nothing.
"Where is the burnt carpet?" then said Uncle Geoff, looking about him asif he expected to see some terrible destruction.
I stooped down on the floor and poked about till I found the littleround hole where the spark had fallen.
"There," I said, "that's the burnt place."
Uncle Geoff stooped too and examined the hole. The look on his facechanged. I could almost have fancied he was going to smile. He begansniffing as if he did not understand what he smelt.
"_That_ can't have made such a smell of burning," he said.
"No, it was the slice of toast that fell into the fire that made mostof the smell," I said. "It had some butter on. We were toasting ourbread--that was what made Mrs. Partridge so angry."
"How did you toast it?"
Tom, who was nearest the fireplace, held up the poker and t
ongs, onwhich still hung some bits of string.
"We made holes in the bread and tied it on," he said.
At this Uncle Geoff's face really did break into a smile. All might haveended well, had it not unfortunately happened that just at this momentMrs. Partridge--who had taken till now to arrive at the top of thestairs--came stumping into the room. Her face was very red, and shelooked, as she would have said herself, very much "put about."
"Oh dear, sir," she exclaimed, when she saw Uncle Geoff on his knees onthe floor, "oh dear, sir, you shouldn't trouble yourself so."
"I wanted to see the damage for myself," he said, getting up as hespoke, "it isn't very bad after all. Your fears have exaggerated it,Partridge."
Mrs. Partridge did not seem at all pleased.
"Well, sir," she said, "it's natural for me to have felt upset. And eventhough not much harm may have been done to the carpet, think what mightbe, once children make free with the fire. And it isn't even that, Ifeel the most, sir--children will be children and need constant lookingafter--but it's their rudeness, sir--the naughty way they've spoken tome ever since they came. From the very first moment I saw that MissAudrey had made up her mind to take her own way, and no one else's, andit's for their own sake I speak, sir. It's a terrible pity when childrenare allowed to be rude and disobedient to those who have the care ofthem, and it's a thing at my age, sir, I can't stand."
Uncle Geoff's face clouded over again. Mrs. Partridge had spoken quitequietly and seemingly without temper. And now that I look back to it, Ibelieve she did believe what she said. She had worked herself up tothink us the naughtiest children there ever were, and really did notknow how much was her own prejudice. No doubt it had been very"upsetting" to her to have all of a sudden three children brought intothe quiet orderly house she had got to think almost her own, even thoughof course it was really Uncle Geoff's, and no doubt too, from the first,which was partly Pierson's fault, though she hadn't meant it, the boysand I had taken a dislike to her and had not shown ourselves toadvantage. I can see all how it was quite plainly now--now that I haveso often talked over this time of troubles with mother and withaunt--(but I am forgetting, I mustn't tell you that yet). But at thetime, I could see no excuse for Mrs. Partridge. I thought she wastelling stories against us on purpose, and I hated her for telling themin the quiet sort of way she did, which I could see made Uncle Geoffbelieve her.
All the smile had gone out of his face when he turned to us again.
"Rudeness and disobedience," he repeated slowly, looking at us--at Tomand me especially, "what an account to send to your parents! I do notthink there is any use my saying any more. I said all I could to you,Audrey, this morning, and you are the eldest. I _trusted_ you to do yourutmost to show the boys a good example. Partridge, we must do our bestto get a firm, strict nurse for them at once. I cannot have my houseupset in this way."
He turned and went away without saying a word--without even wishing usgood night. It was very, very hard upon us, and I must say hard on meparticularly, for I _know_ I had been trying my best--trying to bepatient and cheerful and to make the little boys the same. And now tohave Uncle Geoff so entirely turned against us, and worst of all tothink of him writing to papa and mother about our being naughty! What_would_ they think?--that we had not even been able to be good for oneweek after they had left us would seem so dreadful. I did not seem as ifI wanted to write to papa and mother _myself_--it would have been likecomplaining of Uncle Geoff, and besides, saying of myself that I hadbeen trying to be good wouldn't have seemed much good. But I felt moreand more that some one must write and tell them the truth, and the onlyperson I could think of to do so was Pierson. So I settled in my ownmind to write to her as soon as I could; that was the only thing I couldsettle.
In punishment, I suppose, for our having been--as she called it--"sonaughty," Mrs. Partridge sent Sarah to put us to bed extra early thatevening. Sarah was very kind and sympathising, but I now can see thatshe was not very sensible. She was angry with Mrs. Partridge herself,and everything she said made us feel more angry.
"I hope it will be fine to-morrow, so that I can take you out a walk,"she said, when she had put us all to bed and was turning away. "By theday after I suppose the new nurse will be coming."
We all three started up at that.
"_Will_ she, Sarah?" we said. "What have you heard about her?"
"Oh, I don't know anything settled," Sarah replied, "but I believe Mrs.Partridge is going into the country to-morrow to see some one, and tohear her talk you'd think her only thought was to get some one as hardand strict as can be. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child,' and such likethings she's been saying in the kitchen this evening. A nice charactershe'll give of you to the new nurse. My word, but I should feel angry ifI saw her dare to lay a hand on Master Tom or Master Racey."
I beckoned to Sarah to come nearer, and spoke to her in a whisper forthe boys not to hear.
"Sarah," I said, "do tell me, do you really think Mrs. Partridge willtell the new nurse to whip Tom and Racey? They have never been whippedin their lives, and I think it would kill them, Sarah."
"Oh no, Miss Audrey, not so bad as that," said Sarah. "But still, fromwhat I've seen of them, I shouldn't say they were boys to be whipped. Itwould break Master Tom's spirit, and frighten poor Master Racey out ofall his pretty ways. And if you take my advice, Miss Audrey, you'll makea regular complaint to your uncle if such a thing ever happens."
"It would be no use," I said aloud, but to myself I said in a whisper,"I shouldn't wait for that."
It was quite evident to me from what Sarah had said that she did thinkthe new nurse would not only be allowed, but would be ordered to whipus--the boys at least--if they were what Mrs. Partridge chose to callnaughty. And it was quite evident to me that any nurse who agreed totreat children so could not be a nice person. There was no use speakingto Uncle Geoff, he could only see things as Mrs. Partridge put them, andof course I could not say she told actual stories. She did worse, forshe told things _her_ way. There was only one thing I was sure of.Mother certainly did not want her dear little boys to be whipped by_any_ nurse, and she had left them in my charge and trusted me to makethem happy.
All sorts of plans ran through my head as I lay trying not to go tosleep, and yet feeling sleep coming steadily on me in spite of mytroubles.
Boys and I: A Child's Story for Children Page 7
