isn't so easy to write things down nicely as I
thought it was.

Well, Tom was asleep--he looked so nice; he always does when he's
asleep, he has such a white forehead, and such rosy cheeks, and pretty
dark hair. I remember, because of what came after, how pretty he looked
that evening. And dear Racey--he looked so pretty too, though generally
he isn't counted so nice-looking as Tom, for his hair is a _little_ red,
and he is rather too pale for a boy. Well, the boys were both asleep and
I was _nearly_ asleep, when I heard some one come into the room. I
thought it was the nurse come to undress Racey and put him to bed
properly, and as I was in that nice, only half-awake way when it's a
great trouble to speak, I thought I'd pretend to be quite asleep, and so
I did.

But it was not the nurse who came into the room--it was two people, not
one, and I very soon found out, even without opening my eyes, who the
two people were. They were papa and mother. They came in quite softly
and sat down near the fire. It was the month of October, and rather
cold.

"Are they all asleep, Marie?" said papa. I must tell you that though
mother is quite English, her name is "Marie." I think it was because she
had a French godmother, and I do think it is such a pretty name.

Mother glanced round at us.

"Yes," she said, in a low voice, "they are all asleep. Oh, Horace, my
darlings!"

At first when I heard mother say "yes," I laughed a little to myself. I
didn't mean to listen in any mean way, of course, and a comical idea
came into my head that it was just like the ogre and his wife in the
fairy tale.--"'Wife, are they all asleep?' said the ogre. 'All fast
asleep,' said the ogre's wife." Only poor papa wasn't at all like an
ogre, and _dear_ mother wasn't a bit like the ogre's wife, though she
_was_ much nicer than her husband. I was nearly laughing out loud when
this fancy came into my head, but before I had time to laugh mother's
next words quite changed my feeling, and all in a minute I got
frightened somehow. It is so queer--isn't it?--how quickly fancies run
through one's mind. The one about the ogre and his wife came into my
head and out again between mother's saying "asleep," and "Oh, Horace."
And then, all in a moment again, came a number of other fancies.
Something must be the matter for mother to speak like that. What could
it be? I thought of all sorts of things. Could papa have lost all his
money? I had heard of such things, b