The Boys And I Part 6

"But that won't be till after papa and mother come home," I said hastily. "Mother never said anything about that--and of course they'll be home long before next year," I continued, a misgiving darting through me which I refused to listen to.

Uncle Geoff looked a little troubled, but he just nodded his head.

"Oh, of course, there's lots of time to think of Tom's going to school,"

he said, as he rose from his chair. "I must be off, I fear," he went on. "You know I am a dreadfully busy person, children, and I shall not be able to see as much of you as I should like. But with Partridge, and your tutor, and your nurse--by the by, I must not forget about her having to leave before long. You know about that--your mother told me you did?"

"Yes," I replied. "Pierson is to be married on the tenth of next month.

But--" I hesitated.

"But what?" said Uncle Geoff.

"I wish we needn't have a nurse. I'm _sure_ I could dress and bath the boys, and we'd be so happy without a nurse."

Uncle Geoff laughed heartily at this, and I felt very vexed with him again. And just then unfortunately a knock came at the door, and in answer to Uncle Geoff's "Come in," Mrs. Partridge made her appearance smiling and curtesying in a way that made me feel very angry.

"Good morning, Partridge," said Uncle Geoff; "here I am surrounded with my new family, you see."

"Yes, sir, to be sure, and I hope they are very good young ladies and gentlemen, and won't trouble their kind uncle more than they can help,"

said Mrs. Partridge. Uncle Geoff was used, I suppose, to her prim way of speaking, for he seemed to take no notice of it. He began b.u.t.toning his great-coat before the fire.

"You'll look after them, and make them happy, Partridge," said he as he turned to the door.

"Of _course_, sir," she replied. And then in a lower voice she added as she followed him out of the room, "I sha'n't be sorry, sir, when Pierson, the nurse, goes. She's so very interfering like."

"Ah well, well, it's only for a very short time, and then we must look out for some suitable person. My little niece, by the by, has been begging me not to get a nurse at all; she says she's sure she could wash and dress the boys herself--what do you think of that, Partridge?"

"It's all that Pierson, sir," said Partridge; "it's all jealousy of another coming after her, you may be sure. Not but that,"--by this time Uncle Geoff and the old servant were out in the hall, but my ears are very sharp, and one can always catch one's own name more quickly than anything else--"not but that Miss Audrey's far too up-spoken for her age. She has been spoilt by her mother very likely--the only girl."

"Perhaps," said Uncle Geoff. "Her father did tell me she was rather an odd little girl--a queer temper if taken the wrong way. But we must do our best with them, poor little things. Miss Audrey seems very fond of her brothers, any way."

Partridge said nothing more aloud, but it seemed to me I caught a murmured "far too fond of managing and ordering them about for her age,"

and I boiled with indignation, all the deeper that I was determined not to show it. I was angry with Mrs. Partridge most of all, of course, and angry with Uncle Geoff. I was not angry with papa-- I did not mind his having told Uncle Geoff that I had a queer temper, for I knew it was true, and I did not mind Uncle Geoff knowing it; but I was horribly angry at his talking me over with Partridge, and making fun of what I had said, and most determined that she should not interfere with either me or the boys. So when we went up to the nursery again I called my little brothers to me.

"Tom and Racey," I said, "Mrs. Partridge is a cross, unkind old woman.

You mustn't mind what she says--you must only do what I tell you. Mother told me I was to take care of you, and she would like you to do what I say--you will, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," said both the boys. "Of course we love you, Audrey, and we don't love that cross old thing one bit." "But," pursued Tom, looking rather puzzled, "aren't we to do what Uncle Geoff says?"

"And Pierson?" said Racey.

"Pierson's soon going away. It doesn't matter for her," I said.

"But Uncle Geoff?" repeated Tom, returning to the charge. "Don't you like him, Audrey?" he continued half timidly, as if afraid of having a different opinion from mine. "I think he's nice."

"Oh, I dare say he's nice," said I. "Besides, any way, he's our uncle, whether he's nice or not. But we sha'n't see him often--he's so busy, you know. It doesn't matter for him. It's only that I want you always to count me first--like as if I was instead of mother, you know. That's what mother wants."

"Yes, dear Audrey, _dear_ Audrey," cried both boys at once. And then they put their arms round my neck, and hugged me so that we all three rolled on the floor, and Pierson, coming in just then, would no doubt have scolded us, but that her mind was too full of Mrs. Partridge and her offences to take in anything else.

"It isn't _her_ house," she said, "and I'm sure to hear how she goes on any one might think it was."

"What does she say, Pierson?" I asked, coming close to Pierson, and looking up in her face.

"Oh, nonsense--grumbling about what an upset it's been in the house, children coming; having to take down the bed in this room, and get new little ones, and all that sort of talk. And worry-worrying at me to see that you don't scratch the walls, or go up and down-stairs with dirty boots on, and all such nonsense. And after all, what could be more natural than your coming here? Dr. Gower is own brother to your papa, and no one else belonging to him. But I'm sure if it wasn't for what Harding would say," Harding was Pierson's going-to-be husband, "and that I really _durstn't_ put him off again, I'd--I'd--I really don't know what I'd do."

"What would you do? Do tell me, Pierson," I entreated.

"I don't know, Miss Audrey. I'm silly, I suppose; but it seems to me if your mamma could have left you with me in some little house in a nice country place, we might have been ever so happy."

"Only our lessons, Pierson?" I said regretfully. "And Harding wouldn't wait, would he?--so there's no use thinking about it."

"None whatever, and of course it's true about lessons. No doubt Master Tom--and you too, Miss Audrey--will need good teachers. I must just hope that whoever comes after me will be good to you and not let that old woman put upon you."

"She sha'n't put upon _the boys_ any way," I said, with so determined a look in my face that Pierson was quite startled. "You may be sure of that; for whatever I'd bear for myself, I'd bear nothing for them."

"But it wouldn't be as bad as that, Miss Audrey," said Pierson, rather startled at the effect of her words. "Of course they all _mean_ to be kind to you--there's no doubt about that; and then your papa and mamma wished you to stay here. I shouldn't talk so out to you as I do, but I was just that vexed at Mrs. Partridge interfering so."

I turned upon Pierson impatiently.

"I wish you wouldn't be so changeable," I said. "I can't bear people that say a thing and then try to unsay it. I don't believe they _do_ mean to be kind to us."

"Hush, hush, Miss Audrey, don't let your brothers hear what you are saying, any way. We must try and find something to amuse them with, this dull day."

I went into the day nursery to see what the boys were doing, for my conversation with Pierson had been in the bedroom. Poor little boys, they did not look very merry. Racey, who was cleverer at amusing himself than Tom, was creeping about the floor drawing an imaginary cart, in reality the lid of Pierson's bonnet-box, to which with some difficulty he had ingeniously fastened his own two boots as horses, for the toys we had brought with us were not yet unpacked. Racey was quite cracked about horses--he turned everything into horses.

"Look, Audrey, look," he said. "See my calliage and pair. But Tom won't play."

"How could I play with that rubbish?" said Tom. "Indeed, I don't care to play at all. I don't want Pierson to unpack our toys."

"Why not?" I asked, rather puzzled.

Tom was sitting on the window-sill, which was wide--for the house was rather an old one I think--swinging his feet about and staring gloomily at the dull rows of houses opposite.

"Why don't you want Pierson to unpack our toys?" I repeated.

"Oh because--because-- I can't quite say what I mean. If our toys were all unpacked and put out nicely like they used to be at--at home," said poor Tom with a tremble in his voice, "it would seem as if we were to stay here _always_--as if it was to be a sort of a home to us, and you know it would only be a pertence one. I'd rather just have it like it is, and then we can keep thinking that it's only for a little--just till they come back again."

I did not answer at once. What he said made me think so much of that day when poor mother couldn't bear to pack up any pretty things for her house in China, because she said she didn't want to make a home of it.

It was queer that Tom should say just the same--it must be true that he was like mother.

"Audrey," he went on again in a minute, still staring out of the window, in the same dull way, "Audrey, how many _days_ will it be till they come back again?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"If we could find out exactly," he said, "I was thinking we might make a paper--a great big paper, with marks for every day, and then every night we might scratch one out. Papa told me he did that when he was a little boy at school, to watch for the holidays coming, and I'm sure we want them to come back more than any holidays."

"It might be a good plan," I said, for I didn't like to discourage Tom in anything he took a fancy to just now. But a sick, miserable feeling came over me when I thought that we were actually speaking of counting the days to their return, when they had not yet _gone_. Only this afternoon would they reach Southampton, the first stage on the terrible long journey.

Tom still sat swinging his legs.