indeed it would have
been little use, for he began a sort of dancing jig from side to side,
which would have made it very difficult for any one but a very quick,
active person to get hold of him. "You rude, impertinent boy," she
repeated, and then, without saying anything more, she turned and stumped
out of the room.

Tom immediately stopped his jig.

"I wonder what she's going to do, Audrey," he said.

"To call Uncle Geoff, I expect," I said quietly. "He must be in, because
she said something about taking you down to him."

Tom looked rather awestruck.

"Shall you mind, Audrey?" he asked.

"No, not a bit. I hope she has gone to call him," I said. "We've _not_
done anything naughty, so I don't care."

"But if she makes him think we have, and if he writes to papa and mother
that we're naughty, when they did so tell us to be good," said Tom, very
much distressed. "Oh, Audrey, wouldn't that be dreadful?"

"Papa and mother wouldn't believe it," I persisted. "We've _not_ been
naughty, except that we quarrelled a little this afternoon. I'll write a
letter myself, and I know they'll believe me, and I'll get Pierson to
write a letter too."

"But Pierson's away," said Tom.

"Well, I can write to her too."

This seemed to strike Tom as a good idea.

"How lucky it is you've got your desk and paper, and embelopes and
everything all ready," he said. "You can write without anybody knowing.
If I could make letters as nice as you, Audrey, I'd write too."

"Never mind. I can say it all quite well," I said, "but I won't do it
just yet for fear Mrs. Partridge comes back again."

I had hardly said the words when we heard a quick, firm step coming
up-stairs. We looked at each other; we knew who it must be.

Uncle Geoff threw open the door and walked in.

"Children," he said, "what is all this I hear? I am very sorry that all
of you--you Audrey, especially, who are old enough to know better, and
to set the boys a good example--should be so troublesome and
disobedient. I cannot understand you. I had no idea I should have had
anything like this."

He looked really puzzled and worried, and I would have liked to say
something gentle and nice to comfort him. But I said to myself, "What's
the use? He won't believe anything but what Mrs. Partridge says," and so
I got hard again and said nothing.

"Where is the burnt carpet?" then said Uncle Geoff, looking about him as
if he expected to see some terrible destruction.

I sto