"

"What if they do? They must learn," Anthony said, "to realize facts."

They realized them rather sooner than he had expected. Nobody but Louie
had allowed for the possibility of Morrie's sailing by the same steamer
as his letter; and Louie had argued that, if he had done so, he was
bound either to have arrived before the letter or to have sent a wire.
Therefore they had at least a clear five days of peace before them.
Anthony thought he had shown wisdom when, the next morning which was a
Wednesday, he sent Grannie and the Aunties to Eastbourne for a week, so
that they shouldn't worry Frances, and when on Thursday he made her go
with him for a long day in the country, to take her mind off Morrie.

They came back at nine in the evening and found Dorothy, Michael and
Nicholas sitting up for them. Michael and Nicky were excited, but
Dorothy looked grown-up and important.

"Uncle Morrie's come," they said.

"Dorothy saw him first--"

"Nicky let him in--"

"He hadn't got a hat on."

"We kept him in the schoolroom till Nanna could come and put him to
bed."

"He was crying because he'd been to Grannie's house and there wasn't
anybody there--"

"And because he'd lost the love-birds he'd brought for Auntie Emmy--"

"And because he couldn't remember which of us was dead."

"No, Mummy, nobody's seen him but us and Nanna."

"Nanna's with him now."

Uncle Morrie never accounted, even to himself, for the time he had spent
between the arrival of his ship at Tilbury on Sunday morning and that
Saturday afternoon. Neither could he remember what had become of his
luggage or whether he had ever had any. Only the County Council man,
going his last rounds in the farthest places of the Heath, came upon a
small bundle tied in a blue handkerchief, a cap belonging to E.D.
Boulger, of the S.S. _Arizona_, a cage of love-birds, and a distinct
impression of a recumbent human form, on the grass together, under a
young birch tree.

In the stuffy little house behind the Judge's Walk the four women lived
now under male protection. When they crossed the Heath they had no
longer any need to borrow Anthony from Frances; they had a man of their
own. To make room for him Auntie Louie and her type-writer were turned
out of their own place, and Auntie Louie had to sleep in Grannie's bed,
a thing she hated. To make room for the type-writer the grey parrot was
turned out of the dining-room into the drawing-room. And as Maurice
couldn't stan