CHAPTER VIII.
WANTED A STAMP.
"I am so old, so old, I can write a letter."
I had meant, you will remember, to write my letter to Pierson late atnight when everybody was in bed. I had been afraid of writing it till Iwas sure everybody was asleep, for if the light in the nursery had beenseen, there was no saying what Mrs. Partridge might not have done, shewould have been so angry. So I settled in my own mind to get up in themiddle of the night--quite in the middle--to write it. But nobody--nobig person at least--will be surprised to hear that for all my plans andresolutions I never woke! The beginning and the middle of the nightpassed, and the end came, and it was not till the faint winter dawn wastrying to make its way through the smoky London air that I woke up, tofind it was morning--for a few minutes later I heard the stair clockstrike seven.
At first I was dreadfully vexed with myself, then I began to thinkperhaps it was better. Even in the very middle of the night I might havebeen seen, and, after all, the letter would not have gone any sooner forhaving been written in the night instead of in the day-time. And in theday-time it was easy for me to write without minding any one seeing me,for Tom and I had our lessons to do for our tutor for the next day.
As soon as he had gone, therefore, I got my paper and set to work. I amnot going to tell you just yet what I wrote to Pierson. You will knowafterwards. You see I want to make my story as like a proper one as Ican, _in case_ aun---- oh, there I am again, like a goose, going tospoil it all! I meant to say, that I have noticed that in what I callproper stories, real book, printed ones, though it all seems to comequite smooth and straight, it is really arranged quite plannedly--youare told just a bit, and then you are quietly taken away to another bit,and though you never think of it at the time, you find it all outafterwards. Well, I wrote my letter to Pierson after Tom and I hadfinished our lessons for our tutor. I told Tom I had written it, andthen--the next thing was how to get it stamped and taken to the post.
"I wish I had thought of buying a stamp when we were out this morning,"I said. I have forgotten to tell you that in the morning, early, we hadbeen out a short walk with Sarah. Only a very short one however, forSarah had to hurry back, because of course Mrs. Partridge said sheneeded her, and our tutor was coming at eleven. Still we were very gladto go out at all.
"Sarah would have known; would you have minded?" said Tom.
Somehow it made me feel sorry and puzzled to hear him talk like that. Wehad always been used to being quite open about everything--we had neverthought about any one knowing or not knowing about anything we did,except of course surprises about birthday presents and those kind ofthings. And now in one short week Tom seemed to have got into littleunderhand ways--of not wanting people to know, and that kind of thing. Ihad too, but somehow it made me more sorry for Tom than for myself--itwas so unlike his bright open way.
"No," I said, "I wouldn't have minded. At least not for myself, onlyperhaps Mrs. Partridge would have scolded Sarah if she had found out wehad been to the post-office."
"How _shall_ we get it posted?" said Tom. "If we had a stamp I could runwith it. I saw a box for letters a very little way round the corner."
"Did you?" I said. "That's a good thing. Let's wait a little, andperhaps there'll come some chance of getting out. I should think wecould get a stamp at some shop--there were shops round the corner too."
It was a great satisfaction to have got the letter written. I looked atit with a good deal of pride--the address I was sure was right, I hadcopied it so exactly from the one at the end of Pierson's letter. Thoughthe boys did not know exactly what I had written to Pierson, they seemedto feel happier since knowing I had written something, and they had avague idea that somehow or other brighter days would come for us inconsequence.
Uncle Geoff had not been up to see us this morning--nor had he sent forus to go down. I was very glad, and yet I did not think it was at allkind. I did not know till a good while afterwards that he had not beenat home since the day before, as he had been sent for to a distance tosee somebody who was very ill.
At one o'clock we had had our dinner--it was not as nice a one as we hadhad the other days, and we said to each other it was because Mrs.Partridge was angry still about the toast. We said so to Sarah too, andthough she made no reply we could see she thought the same.
"And we shall have no strawberry jam for tea to-night," said Tom, sadly.
"No 'tawberry dam," said Racey, and the corners of his mouth went downas if he were going to cry. He had been thinking of the strawberry jam,I dare say, as a sort of make up for the dry rice pudding atdinner--quite dry and hard it was, not milky at all, and Mrs. Partridgeknew we liked milky puddings.
"Don't be so sure of that," said Sarah, who was taking away the things."If you are all very good this afternoon I dare say you will havestrawberry jam for tea. Mrs. Partridge is going out at three o'clock,and she won't be back till six, so the tea will be my business."
The boys were quite pleased to have something to look forward to, and I,for my own reasons, was glad to hear Mrs. Partridge was going out.
It was, for November, a bright afternoon, much brighter than we had hadyet. Tom, who was standing at the window looking out, gave a greatsigh.
"What's the matter, Master Tom?" said Sarah.
"I would so like to go out and play in the garden," said poor Tom. "Whata horrid house this is, to have no garden! Sarah, aren't you going totake us a walk this afternoon?"
Sarah shook her head. "I can't, Master Tom," she said; "Mrs. Partridgeis in such a fuss about going out herself as never was, and I've got agreat deal to do. But if you'll try to amuse yourselves till tea-time,I'll see if I can't think of something to please you after that."
"It's _so_ long to tea-time," said Tom, discontentedly; "one, two, threehours--at least two and a half."
"Couldn't we have tea sooner, Sarah," I said; "as soon as ever Mrs.Partridge goes? We've not had a very good dinner, and I'm sure we shallbe hungry."
Sarah considered.
"Well, I'll see if I can't get it for you by half-past three," she said.
Two hours even to half-past three! And the more tempting look of the dayoutside made it more tiresome to have to stay in. We really didn't know_what_ to do to pass the time. I couldn't propose telling stories again,for we had had so much of them the day before. Racey, as usual, seemedcontent enough with his everlasting horses, but Tom got very tiresome. Iwas trying to make a new lining to Lady Florimel's opera cloak with apiece of silk I had found among my treasures. It was rather difficult todo it neatly, and I had no one to help me, and as it was Tom's faultthat the other one had been spoilt, I really did think he might havebeen nice and not teasing. But he was really _very_ tiresome--he keptpulling it out of my hands, and if ever I turned round for a moment,some of my things--my scissors or thimble or something--were sure tohave disappeared. At last I got so angry that I could be patient nolonger.
"Tom," I said, "you are perfectly unbearable," and I tried to snatchfrom him my reel of sewing cotton which he had pulled away just as I wasgoing to take a new thread. But he jumped up on a chair and stretchedhis hand out of my reach. I climbed up after him--I was crying withvexation--and had nearly succeeded in pulling his arm down to get at thereel tightly clasped in his hand, when unluckily--oh, how unlucky wewere!--the chair toppled over, and Tom and I both fell on the ground ina heap. I screamed, and I think Tom screamed, and just at that momentUncle Geoff put his head in at the door. Was it not unfortunate? Such ascene--Tom and I kicking and quarrelling on the floor, Racey cryingbecause in our fall we had interfered with what he called his railwayline round the room, a jug of water which Tom had fetched out of thebedroom--threatening, to tease me, to wash Florimel's face--and which hehad forgotten to take back again, upset and broken and a stream all overthe carpet-- oh dear, it was unlucky!
We jumped up as quickly as we could, and stood silent and ashamed. Hadit been Uncle Geoff alone, I think we would have told him frankly howsorry we were, and p
erhaps he would have got to understand us better,but of course there was Mrs. Partridge stumping in behind him. UncleGeoff 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 trustedto be alone five minutes without risk of burning themselves or drowningthemselves, 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 injuredtone. "There's all the work of the house to do as usual, and indeed agreat deal more _now_, of course. And how I can spare any one to be allday long with them I'm sure I can't see. I have to go away to Browngrovein half-an-hour, all about the nurse for them, sir. I do think theymight try to be good and quiet for an hour or two, with every one doingtheir 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 quarrelledwith your brothers, Audrey," he added, glancing at me severely. "Ithought 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 atonce," we heard Uncle Geoff say to Mrs. Partridge at the door. "Thissort 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 veryevident they need a firm hand."
"Horrible, _horrible_ old woman," burst out Tom, as soon as, or indeedalmost before, they were out of hearing. "Oh, it's all her that'smaking 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, orelse we shall forget all about being good."
"And I did _so_ promise her to be good, and to teach you and Racey to begood too, and to make you happy, and I can't. I don't believe motherwould 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 Raceysaw us both he set off again, and so we all sat together on the floorcrying bitterly. Only one good thing came out of our unhappiness--we allmade friends again and kissed and hugged each other, and determinednever to quarrel any more.
"It does no good to quarrel," I said, sadly, "and any way that's onething we can do to please mother, whatever Uncle Geoff or any one saysabout our being naughty."
We were very quiet for the rest of the afternoon till tea-time. We heardUncle Geoff's carriage come for him, and as by this time we had foundout the way of seeing from the night-nursery window, we were able towatch him get in and drive away. And almost immediately after, a cabcame to the door, into which got Mrs. Partridge, and she too droveaway.
"She's gone about the new nurse," said Tom, but still we all looked ateach other with relief to think that Mrs. Partridge was really out ofthe house, if only for an hour or two.
"We might make toast for tea to-day," I said, "without any one scoldingus."
"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 bewhile 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 betterthan her word. She had brought us not only the strawberry jam as she hadpromised, but a beautiful big plateful of toast all ready buttered, andas 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 theykissed. 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 unclewon't be in till late, and any way I'm sure he wouldn't mind your beingthere, for it's all nonsense of Mrs. Partridge saying you're somischievous. There's lots of papers with pictures lying there for theladies and gentlemen to look at while they're waiting. I've got somework I want dreadfully to get finished, for Mrs. Partridge never willgive me the least bit of time to myself, and if you can amuse yourselvesgood in the dining-room I could be quite easy-like in my mind, for ifyou wanted me you'd only have to come to the top of the kitchen stairsand call me."
A sudden idea darted through my mind while she was speaking. Here wasthe 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 donewithout 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 Iwas excited with the idea of what I meant to do, and I thought it betternot to tell Tom till the last moment. So we finished our tea, and Sarahcame up and took the things away and told us to follow her down-stairsto the dining-room.
There was a nice fire in the dining-room and the gas was alreadylighted. It was a pleasant change from the nursery where we seemed tohave been "such a lot of days," as Racey said. Sarah came up again fromthe kitchen to see that we were all right before settling down to herwork, she said. She told us which of the papers we might look at, andput a great heap of _Illustrated London News_ and _Graphics_ on the rugin front of the fire for us, and we all sat down on the floor to look atthem. Then she went away saying she would come back in an hour to takeus up-stairs--the man-servant was out with Uncle Geoff, and the cook wasbusy with the dinner, Sarah said, so there'd be a nice quiet time ifonly nobody would come ringing at the door.
As soon as Sarah had left us, I pulled Tom close to me and whispered inhis 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 thepost-box _pairfitly_" ("pairfitly" for "perfectly" was another of Tom'sfunny words, like "lubbish"). "I'll just fetch my cap, and tie mycomforter 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 beenaccustomed to run about London streets in the dark--for by this time itreally was dark--and I could not help admiring his courage and feelingrather proud of him. Still I was startled, for I had never thought ofTom'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 theletter-box, and if you would promise me to stay here quite quiet withRacey till I come back."
"Oh no, Audrey," said Tom, in a tone of great distress, "that wouldnever do. I couldn't tell you ezacktly where the letter-box is, thoughI'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, Ido _so_ want to go!"
The last reason was the strongest I dare say, and it was honest of Tomto tell it. I stood uncertain what to do. In his eagerness Tom hadspoken out quite loud, and Racey had stopped looking at the pictures tolisten. He sat on the floor--his little bare legs stretched out, hismouth wide open, staring up at Tom and me. Then another thought cameinto my mind.
"Tom," I said, "there's the stamp to get. You'd have to go into a shopand ask for one."
Tom's countenance fell. This difficulty had more weight with him than ifI had gone on saying he was too little, though even without the gettingof the stamp I _could_ not have let him go alone. "He might be run overor 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 safeif I went with him, though I dare say this must seem rather absurd, forI was really not very much older or bigger than Tom, and of course Iknew 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 th
e 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'rapsthe 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 slippingaway.
"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 bringdown your hats and comforters, and I'll get my hat and old jacket andwe'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 inless than two minutes I was back again. I tied on Racey's comforter andhat, and Tom put on his own. Then we were all ready--but, oh dear, howcould we get the big front door open without noise? I quite trembled asI stood up on tip-toe to turn the lock handle. But after all it was avery well-behaved door. It opened at once without the least creak orsqueak, 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 anoise," I said, "and besides we'd much better leave it open to get inagain."
I pulled it gently to, so that from the street no one, unless theylooked very close, could have seen it was open, and then with Racey'shand in mine, and Tom trotting alongside, we went down the steps andturned the way which Tom said he was sure led to the post-box he hadseen.
There were not many people in the street in which our house was. It wasa quiet street at all times, and just now was, I suppose, a quiet timeof day. The pavements too--fortunately for our house shoes, which wehad quite forgotten about--were perfectly dry. We walked along prettyquickly till we came to a corner which Tom felt sure was the corner nearwhich was the letter-box. We turned down the street, and to Tom'sdelight, a little further on, there, sure enough, was the pillar-post.
"Now, Audrey, you see--wasn't I right?" exclaimed Tom. "Where's theletter?"
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 quitevaliant, "come along, Audrey. We'll turn this next corner--I hear a humof carriages and carts going along. There's sure to be a big streetthere."
So there was, what seemed to us a very big street indeed--brilliantlylighted, with quantities of horses and cabs and carriages and carts ofall kinds in the middle, and numbers of people on the pavement. Tom fellback a little and took hold of my other hand, Racey squeezed the one heheld more tightly.
"We'll just go a very little way," said Tom. "Audrey, what sort of shopsis it that they sell stamps in?"
"I don't know," I said. "We'd better ask somewhere, for if we go muchfurther we'll lose our way."
The shop, just opposite which we were then passing, was a chemist's. Ipulled the boys forward, though Tom was rather unwilling, and wanted tostay outside; but I was too terribly afraid of losing them to let go ofeither of their hands for a moment. And so we all three went in. Therewere several grave, rather dignified-looking gentlemen standing behindthe counters--one seated at a little desk writing, one or two othersputting up bottles and jars on the shelves. As we came in, one steppedforward.
"What do you want, little--" "little girl," no doubt he was going tosay, for seeing three such young children coming in alone, of course hethought at first that we must be what Racey called "poor children." Butwhen he looked at us again he hesitated. I was too anxious to get what Iwanted to feel shy.
"If you please," I said, "is there a shop near here where they sellstamps?"
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 littleway from this, on the right-hand side," said the young man. He turnedaway as he spoke as much as to say "That is all I can do for you. Nowyou had better go away."
I stood for a moment uncertain what to do--the boys looked up at me inperplexity and trouble. It was terrible to think of having to go stillfurther along that crowded street, and having to ask again for thepost-office. I was neither shy nor frightened for myself, but I felt theresponsibility of the boys painfully. Supposing some harm happened tothem, supposing they got run over or lost--supposing even that it was solate when we got home that we had been missed and that Uncle Geoff andMrs. Partridge were to scold us fearfully--I should feel, I knew Ishould--that it had been all my fault. I was half thinking of asking thegrave young man if the boys might stay in the shop while I ran on to thepost-office alone (only I felt sure Tom would greatly object to such anarrangement), when another person--a grave-looking gentleman too, but agood deal older and less hurried, it seemed to me, than theother--stopped, as he was crossing from one counter to another, andspoke to us. His voice was very kind, and somehow I felt sure he hadlittle boys and girls of his own at home.
"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 onlyfor a stamp, and I don't like taking the boys any farther along thestreet for fear they should get lost. It's so dreadfully crowdedto-night."
The gentleman smiled at this, but his smile was nicer than the otherone'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 avery little girl to be out without a nurse."
I got really alarmed at that. Supposing he were to call a policeman andsend us home with him, as I had heard was sometimes done in London withlost 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 topost a letter, but I have no stamp. Please I think we'd better go andtry 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, Ican easily give you one."
He turned towards the man who was writing at the desk place and saidsomething quickly, and the man held out a stamp which the gentlemanhanded 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 hadactually the precious stamp in my possession. "I can put it on quitewell. 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 thebetter 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 havestill 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-doorfor us. "What is the name of the street where you live?"
I hesitated. Curiously enough I had never heard the name of the streetwhere Uncle Geoff lived--I looked at Tom and Tom looked at me. He didnot know it either.
"I don't know the name of the street," I said, "but I am _sure_ we canfind the way. Can't we, Tom?"
"Oh yes, I am _sure_ we can. We live at our uncle's, Dr. Gower's," addedTom, for which I frowned at him.
"At Dr. Gower's," repeated the chemist with surprise. "Dear me-- I don'tthink 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 themscolded, poor little things," he added to himself. "I can tell you thename of the street--it is ---- Street--remember that, and now run homeas fast as you can. First turn to the right."
We thanked him again and ran off.
Boys and I: A Child's Story for Children Page 8
