aid. "I've seen those--once I was in London before with mother, in a
cab, when we were coming from Tonbridge Wells."

"_Were_ you?" said Racey, greatly impressed. "Was Tom?"

"No, not Tom--only me. When we're dressed, Racey, I'd like to look out
of the window at the air garden."

"Come _now_," said Racey. But I firmly refused to get out of bed till
Pierson came, as it was one of the things mother had particularly told
me not to do--we had so often caught cold with running about like that.
And it was a good thing we didn't, for just then Pierson came into the
room looking rather cross, and if she had found us running about without
our slippers on she'd have been crosser still.

"It's time to get up, Miss Audrey," she said in a melancholy tone,
"past half-past-eight; though I'm sure no one would think so by the
light. I hope you've had a good night--but--" as she suddenly caught
sight of my little visitor, "whatever's Master Racey doing in your bed?"

Racey ducked down under the clothes to avoid being caught, and Pierson
was getting still crosser, when fortunately a diversion of her thoughts
was caused by Tom, who just then awoke.

"Oh dear!" he said with a great sigh, "oh dear! Will the ship have gone
yet?"

He was hardly awake, but he sat up in bed, and his big sad eyes seemed
to be looking about for something they could not find. Then with another
sigh he lay down again. "I was dreaming," he said, "that we got a letter
to say we were to go in the train again to South--South--that place
where the ship goes from, and that Uncle Geoff was the man on the
engine, and he kept calling to us to be quick or the ship would be gone.
Oh dear, I wish it had been true!"

Poor Tom! Pierson forgot her crossness in trying to comfort him. Of us
all I'm sure he was her favourite, even though he was very mischievous
sometimes. We all went on talking about Tom's dream till Pierson had
got back into quite a good temper--a good temper to _us_, that is to
say, for she at last confided to us what had made her so cross. She
"couldn't abide that Mrs. Partridge," that was the burden of her song.
"Stupid, fussy old thing," she called her, "going on about Master Tom's
eyes last night. I dare say I shouldn't say so to you, Miss Audrey, but
I can't help owning I _was_ glad you spoke up to her as you did. She's
that tiresome and interfering,--as if I didn't know my own work! I'll be
sorry to leave you, my dears, when the time comes, which it w