s. She says we oughtn't to attract too much
attention and do anything ostentatious. She often says so."

"Oh, my dear, that's all right. These are _private_ fireworks! No one
will know about it."

"But you'll have to tell Wenham," said Cissy.

Wenham was a confidential butler who helped Pickering out of many
scrapes.

"Of course I shall tell Wenham; at least, I shall as soon as they have
started. Now shut up about it. Here's mummy."

Pretty Mrs. Pickering joined them at tea, played games with them--they
did some delightful charades--and amused them and herself until it was
time for her to go and dress for dinner, leaving Clifford more enchanted
with her than ever.

* * * * *

About a quarter to eight the children had the house more or less to
themselves. Cissy's governess had a holiday and the aged nurse (who had
no sort of control over Pickering) was the only person there who had
even a shadow of authority. She was to see that Cissy didn't play wild
games, and went to bed at half-past eight, but as a matter of fact the
aged nurse did neither. Cissy stayed with the boys as long as they
would allow her. At last the joyous moment arrived, they went on the
balcony and Pickering started his first rocket. Cissy, a little
frightened, clung to Clifford.

"Suppose we have a crowd round the house," she murmured.

"You see how easy it is," Pickering said. "Anyone with a little sense
can do it. Now! Now, Cissy! get out of the way!"

They waited and waited. But, alas! nothing happened. He tried again and
yet again, but it turned out a failure, the sort of tragedy that is more
disappointing than any danger or even any accident. ... It fell
completely flat.

* * * * *

There must have been something the matter with the infernal fireworks.
It couldn't have been Pickering not knowing how to do them.

That was impossible, simply because Pickering always knew how to do
everything.

The wretched man who sold them to him must have cheated.

It was a terrible _fiasco_. Not a single one of the rotten things went
off. The most awful thing happened that could happen in life. After
great fear, hope, suspense, excitement and joy, _the squibs were damp_!

Nothing went off. Nothing happened. As to the Bengal fire, nothing was
ever seen of it but some damp paper and a very horrible scent.

Certainly there was no vulgarity about it, no ostentation, except the
perfume