and I
helped her to plant seeds. But it is no use wishing. She would have
liked that garden, though.

The girls and the white mice did not do anything boldly wicked--though
of course they used to borrow Mrs. Pettigrew's needles, which made her
very nasty. Needles that are borrowed might just as well be stolen. But
I say no more.

I have only told you these things to show the kind of events which
occurred on the days I don't tell you about. On the whole, we had an
excellent time.

It was on the day we had the pillow-fight that we went for the long
walk. Not the Pilgrimage--that is another story. We did not mean to have
a pillow-fight. It is not usual to have them after breakfast, but Oswald
had come up to get his knife out of the pocket of his Etons, to cut some
wire we were making rabbit snares of. It is a very good knife, with a
file in it, as well as a corkscrew and other things--and he did not come
down at once, because he was detained by having to make an apple-pie bed
for Dicky. Dicky came up after him to see what we was up to, and when he
did see he buzzed a pillow at Oswald, and the fight began. The others,
hearing the noise of battle from afar, hastened to the field of action,
all except Dora, who couldn't, because of being laid up with her foot,
and Daisy, because she is a little afraid of us still, when we are all
together. She thinks we are rough. This comes of having only one
brother.

Well, the fight was a very fine one. Alice backed me up, and Noel and H.
O. backed Dicky, and Denny heaved a pillow or two; but he cannot shy
straight, so I don't know which side he was on.

And just as the battle raged most fiercely, Mrs. Pettigrew came in and
snatched the pillows away, and shook those of the warriors who were
small enough for it. _She_ was rough if you like. She also used
language I should have thought she would be above. She said, "Drat you!"
and "Drabbit you!" The last is a thing I have never heard said before.
She said:

"There's no peace of your life with you children. Drat your antics! And
that poor, dear, patient gentleman right underneath, with his headache
and his handwriting: and you rampaging about over his head like young
bull-calves. I wonder you haven't more sense, a great girl like you."

She said this to Alice, and Alice answered gently, as we are told to do:

"I really am awfully sorry; we forgot about the headache. Don't be
cross, Mrs. Pettigrew; we didn't mean to; we didn't think