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

on my shoulder.

      "I'm glad I've got you, Audrey," he whispered, and in that there was some comfort. Still, altogether, I felt what he said was true; it was very sad for us.

      CHAPTER IV.

      THE AIR-GARDEN

      "But children, good though they may be,

      Must cry sometimes when they are sad."

      It was not quite so bad the next morning. That is one good thing of being a child, I suppose – at least mother says so – things never are quite so bad the next morning!

      We all slept very soundly; we had three nice little beds in one rather big room, which we thought a very good plan; and the first thing that woke me was feeling something bump down on the top of me all of a sudden. It was Racey. He looked quite bright and rosy, all his tiredness gone away; and then you know he was really such a very little boy – only five – that he could not be expected to remember very long about poor mother going away and all our trouble.

      "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 glass 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 ship 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 ship goes from, and that Uncle Geoff was the man on the engine, and he kept calling to us to be quick or the ship 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.