"I'd like to keep you," she said, "but think how frightened poor Sarah will be--and your uncle when he comes in."

Tom and I looked at each other. We were so glad she didn't say, "Think how frightened poor Mrs. Partridge will be."

"I think the best thing will be for me to take you home," she went on.

"Though it isn't in this street it's very near. Not three minutes' walk.

Yes," she said, more as if speaking to herself than to us, "that will be best--for me to take them alone."

She rang the bell, and James appeared.

"James," she said, "I am going out for a few minutes. When Miss Arbour comes in tell her I shall not be long. I am sure to be back by dinner-time."

Then Miss Goldy-hair went away for a minute or two and returned wrapped up in a big cloak, and with a couple of little jackets which she put on Tom and Racey.

"These are some of my children's jackets," she said. Tom and Racey looked at them curiously. It was queer that Miss Goldy-hair's children's cloaks should just fit them.

"They're just right for us," said Tom.

"Yes," she said, "I have several sizes of them. I've been getting them ready for my children for this cold weather."

"Are they here?" said Tom.

"Who?" said Miss Goldy-hair.

"Your childrens," said Tom.

Miss Goldy-hair shook her head.

"No," she replied. "They're in a much bigger house than this. There wouldn't be room for them here."

Then seeing that Tom, and I too, I dare say--not Racey, he wouldn't have been surprised if Miss Goldy-hair had said she had a hundred children; he never was surprised at anything when he was a little boy. If he had heard his toy-horses talking in their stables some day, I don't believe he'd have been startled--but seeing that Tom and I looked puzzled she explained what she meant to us.

"It is poor children I mean," she said. "Some kind ladies have made a nice home for poor orphan children who have no homes of their own, and as I have not any one of my own to take care of I have a great deal of time. So I go to see these poor children very often to help to teach them and make them happy, and sometimes when they are ill to help to nurse them. I like going to see them very much."

Tom looked rather pleased when he heard that Miss Goldy-hair meant poor children. I think he was a little inclined to be jealous before he heard that.

"But it isn't as nice as if you had children of your own in your own house--like mother has us. It isn't as nice as if _we_ were your children," said Tom.

Miss Goldy-hair smiled.

"No," she said, "I don't think it is."

We were in the street by this time, walking along pretty quickly, for it was still raining a little and very cold. But we didn't mind it. Miss Goldy-hair knew the way so well. She turned down one or two small side streets, and then in a minute we found ourselves at Uncle Geoff's.

Walking along with her we had felt so well taken care of that we had almost forgotten our fears of what might meet us at home. But now, actually on the door-steps, they returned.

"Don't ring, Miss Goldy-hair, please," I said. "Let's see first if the door is still open."

Strange to say it was! After all, though it has taken so long to tell, not more than three-quarters of an hour had pa.s.sed since we went out, and it was a quiet time of evening. No one had happened to ring at the bell. But as we pushed open the door, the first thing we saw was Sarah--flying down-stairs in a terrible fright, as white as a sheet and looking nearly out of her mind. She had missed us out of the dining-room and had rushed up to the nursery to look for us, and not finding us there did not know what to think.

She gave a sort of scream when she saw us.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" she cried. "Where _have_ you been? Oh, Miss Audrey, how could you! Oh dear! you have frightened me so."

But before we said anything Tom and I ran forward with the same question.

"Has Mrs. Partridge come in?" and oh! how thankful we were when Sarah shook her head.

"Thank goodness, no!" she said.

Then Miss Goldy-hair came forward. She had been writing a few words in pencil on a card, and in her excitement, Sarah had hardly noticed her.

"Will you give this to Dr. Gower when he comes in?" said Miss Goldy-hair, and Sarah made a little curtsey and begged her pardon for not having seen her.

"Dr. Gower knows me," she said to Sarah; "but please do not say anything to him about my having brought the children home, as I would rather explain it myself."

Then she turned to go, but we all clung about her. "Oh, Miss Goldy-hair, Miss Goldy-hair," we cried, "you're not going away."

"I must, dears," she said, "but I shall be sure to see you to-morrow. I am going to ask your uncle to let you come and have dinner and tea with me."

"But p'raps the new nurse'll come to-morrow, and she'll whip us," sobbed Racey.

Miss Goldy-hair looked quite distressed.

"No, dear," she said. "I'm sure your uncle wouldn't let her."

"Will you turn early, _kite_ early?" Racey begged.

"Yes, that I can promise you," she answered.

But I too had some last words.

"Miss Goldy-hair," I said, "you told me you wouldn't tell Uncle Geoff?"

"Not without your leave, dear, I said," she replied. "But don't you think it would be better to tell him? Won't you trust me to tell him?"

"But not Mrs. Partridge," I pleaded.

"No, I don't think we need tell Mrs. Partridge."

"Well, then I'll let you tell Uncle Geoff, and if he writes to mother that we're naughty you'll write too, won't you?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Can't you trust me, Audrey?"]

"Wait till to-morrow and we'll talk it all over. Can't you trust me, Audrey?"

She bent down and looked in my face. I looked at her for a minute without speaking. I liked to be _sure_ before I said a thing, always. So I looked right into her face, but I won't tell you what I thought, because _somebody_ that's going to read this over might be vexed. And all I _said_ was, "Yes, Miss Goldy-hair."

[Ill.u.s.tration]