"Never mind, Audrey," she said. "Some one must have said something before him that he has remembered. But it doesn't matter – there's no harm in any one saying it, because it's true, at least, true in a way. What made you ask me that, Racey?" she added, turning to him.

"I was sinking," said Racey, not at all put about. "I was just sinking that if you are really kite alone you'd better come and live with us. Or we'll go and live with you – which would be best?"

"I think a little of both would be best," said Miss Goldy-hair. "To-day, as Tom isn't well, you see I've come to see you. But afterwards, when he's all right again, you must all come to see me – often, very often."

"But that isn't living, that's just seeing us sometimes," said Tom, who seemed to have taken up Racey's idea.

"But you see, dear, people can't always do just as they would like," said Miss Goldy-hair. "Even if they love each other dearly they can't always live together, or even see each other as often as they would like."

"But you're alone in the world," repeated Racey.

"Well, but I have my house to take care of, and to keep it all nice for the friends who come to see me. And then I've my poor children to go to see often, and letters to write about them sometimes. I've plenty to do at home," said Miss Goldy-hair, shaking her head gently at Racey.

"You could do it all here," said Tom. "I don't see the good of people being as rich as rich – as rich as you are, Miss Goldy-hair – if they can't do what they like."

Miss Goldy-hairs face got a little red again, and she looked rather troubled.

"Who said I was 'as rich as rich,' my boy?" she said, putting her arm round Tom, and looking into his honest eyes.

"Sarah said so," answered Tom; "but you mustn't be vexed with her, Miss Goldy-hair," he went on eagerly. "She didn't say it any not nice way. She said it was a good thing when rich people thought about poor ones, and that you were very good to poor people. You won't scold Sarah, Miss Goldy-hair? Perhaps she didn't mean me to tell you. I'm so puzzled about not telling things, 'cause at home it didn't matter, we might tell everything."

He looked quite anxious and afraid, but Miss Goldy-hair soon made him happy again.

"No, of course I won't scold Sarah," she said. "And I like you much better to tell me anything like that, and then I can explain. I cannot see that it is anything to praise rich people for, that they should think of poor ones – the pleasure of thinking you have made somebody else a little happier is so great that I think it is being kind to oneself to be kind to others."

"I'd like to be vrezy rich," said Tom, "and then I'd be awfully kind to everybody. I'd have nobody poor at all."

"Nobody could be rich enough for that," I said.

"And being rich isn't the only way to being kind," said Miss Goldy-hair. "Don't wait for that, Tom, to begin."

"Of course not," I said. "Miss Goldy-hair's being kind to us has nothing to do with her being rich. You don't understand, Tom."

Tom never liked when I said he didn't understand, and now I see that I must have had rather a provoking way of saying it – like as if I wanted to put him down. I saw his face look vexed, and he answered rather crossly —

"It has to do with it. Miss Goldy-hair couldn't have brought us oranges, and jelly and things, if she hadn't been rich."

"And bikstwiks," added Racey.

"But you like me a little bit for myself, besides for the oranges and biscuits, don't you, Racey? – just a very little bit?" – said Miss Goldy-hair, laughing.

Racey, by way of answer, climbed up on her knee, and began hugging her. Miss Goldy-hair drew Tom to her and kissed him too, and then he looked quite happy.

"But I must go now," she said.

"And won't you come back again?" we asked.

Miss Goldy-hair stopped to consider a little.

"Let me see," she said. "Yes, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll come and have tea with you if you'll invite me."

We all clapped our hands at this.

"And after tea," said Tom, "will you tell us a story? I am sure you must know stories, Miss Goldy-hair, for all your poor little children. Don't you tell them stories?"

"There are so many of them," she said. "I generally read stories to them. And most likely you already know most of those I read. But sometimes I tell stories to any of them who happen to be ill and stay in bed. I'll see if I can remember one."

"About fairies, please," we all called out.

"I'll do my best," said Miss Goldy-hair, who by this time was opening the door to go away. She turned round and nodded to us as she said it, and then she shut the door and we three were alone again.

But it didn't seem as if we were alone – it didn't seem the same dull nursery with nothing to amuse us or to look forward to – it didn't seem the same any way.

"Tom," I said, "doesn't everything seem different?"

Tom was sitting on the rug close to the fire – his cold made him feel shivery – he was staring in at the red-hot coals. "Doesn't everything seem different, Tom?" I repeated.

"Yes," said Tom, "but, Audrey, I'm wondering what we can get nice for tea."

My face fell – I had not thought of that.

"I have some money," I said, "I have three shillings, and two sixpences, and seven pennies, besides my gold pound."

"And I have some too, and so has Racey," said Tom.

"Yes, I have a s'illing, and a dear little fourpenny, and three halfpennies," said Racey, running to fetch his purse.

"I've more than that," said Tom in a melancholy tone of voice, "but it's no good. How can we buy anything? It's like being in a ship, starving, with lots of money and no shops to buy at."

We all looked at each other with great concern. It quite went against all our notions of hospitality to have any one, more especially Miss Goldy-hair, at tea without anything nice to offer her. And we all felt too, that it would be almost worse to make use of any of the things she had brought us, for such an occasion. Children have their own notions on these subjects, I can assure you.

Just then we heard distant sounds of Sarah's approach with the dinner-tray. The jelly and oranges were still standing on the table. Tom had eaten one orange and we had all three had some biscuits, so any way there wouldn't have been enough to make a nice tea with.

"Suppose we ask Sarah to buy us something?" said Tom eagerly. But I shook my head.

"I don't want to do anything like that," I said. I had somehow a feeling that it would hardly have been keeping my promise to Uncle Geoff. "Sarah might get scolded for it," I said, and Tom seemed to understand.

We ate our dinner very quietly. Miss Goldy-hair's jelly was certainly very nice, and poor Tom, who didn't feel much inclined for meat and potatoes, and regular pudding, enjoyed it very much. And after dinner we each had an orange – we sat round the fire peeling them, and thinking what to do about tea.

"We haven't even any flowers," I said. "We can't even dress up the table and make it look pretty the way we used to on days mother came to have tea with us."

"We couldn't make bread and butter look pretty," said Tom, rather grumpily.

I was sorry to see him so disappointed, just when I thought that our having found Miss Goldy-hair was going to make everything nice.

"I'd run out myself to buy things if I didn't know it would vex Uncle Geoff," I said. And then suddenly an idea came into my head. The saying Uncle Geoff's name seemed to have brought it.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," I said, "I'll ask Uncle Geoff himself."

Tom looked amazed at my boldness.

"Won't he be vexed?" he said.

"No, I don't think he will. Any way I'll ask him. I dare say he's in, for he said something about seeing how your cold was at dinner-time. But I won't wait till he comes up. I'll go straight down and ask him."

Tom and Racey looked at me with increased respect. I just waited to wash my hands and smooth my hair, and down I ran. I met nobody on the way, though when I got to the foot of the stair I heard Sarah and Benjamin talking in the pantry. But I did not feel inclined to ask them if Uncle Geoff was in – I liked better to go straight to his study myself. So I tapped at the door, not very loud, but distinctly. In spite of my boldness my heart was beating a little faster than usual, but instead of that making me tap faintly, it made me wish the more to know at once if Uncle Geoff was in, so that I shouldn't stand there waiting for nothing. Almost at once came the answer "Come in." Uncle Geoff had very quick ears.

I went in. He was sitting writing rather hurriedly it seemed, at his table, but he could not have been in long, for his hat and great coat were flung down carelessly, and unless he is in a great hurry, Uncle Geoff always hangs them up carefully in the hall. He looked up however.

"Well, Audrey," he said, "is that you? Wait a minute and then I'll speak to you."

I didn't mind waiting, and this time of myself I went near the fire. I was counting over our money in my mind, and wondering how much of it it would be right to spend on what we called our "tea-party." And in a minute or two Uncle Geoff left off writing, folded up his letter and addressed the envelope and rang for Benjamin.

"Take this at once," he said; and I couldn't help wondering a little that Benjamin didn't feel frightened when Uncle Geoff spoke so shortly and sharply. But Benjamin didn't seem to mind a bit. "Yes, sir," he said quite cheerfully, and somehow it made me think that after all Uncle Geoff couldn't be really sharp or stern, for Benjamin must know him very well, and when Benjamin had gone out of the room and Uncle Geoff turned to me I didn't feel as if I minded speaking to him the least.

"So, Audrey," he said, "you haven't forgotten our agreement, I see. And what are you troubled about now, my little lady? – Tom is no worse, by the by?" he added hastily.

"Oh no, Uncle Geoff, I think he's rather better. He didn't eat much at dinner, but he liked Miss Goldy-hair's jelly very much."

Uncle Geoff smiled again at our funny name for the young lady, which I had got so used to that I said it without thinking.

"It was very kind of Miss – perhaps you don't want to know her by her real name?" he said smiling. "It was very kind of her to bring Tom some jelly. No doubt it tasted much better than if Partridge had made it."

"Yes," I said, quite gravely. "I think it did," and I thought it was rather funny of Uncle Geoff to smile at me for saying that. But yet I didn't mind. I didn't even mind when he called me "my little lady." I was beginning to think he was really rather nice.

"And what is the trouble then, Audrey?" said Uncle Geoff.

"It isn't exactly a trouble," I said. "It's only that we haven't anything nice for tea. We've plenty of money– it isn't that, but we don't know how to buy anything, for of course we can't go out," – I felt myself get a little red when I said that, – "and we didn't like to ask Sarah without telling you."

"Quite right," said Uncle Geoff, patting my head. "But what sort of things do you want? Is it to tempt Tom to eat, or what has put it into your heads to want something particularly nice to-day?"

"Oh because – why I thought I had told you at the beginning," I said, "how stupid of me! Why it's because Miss Goldy-hair's coming to have tea with us, to make up for us not going to her, you know."

Uncle Geoff raised his eyebrows.

"Oh ho," he said, "I see! And what is it you want then?"

"We were thinking," I said gravely, "that six sponge cakes, and six bath-buns, and some of those nice crispy biscuits mother used to have – I think they're German biscuits, they're awfully nice, with a chocolatey taste, mother always sent to London for them – we were thinking that would make a lovely tea. And we've quite enough to pay for that. And oh, Uncle Geoff, if you would tell Mrs. Partridge to toast and butter them, two muffins would be exquisite."

I clasped my hands in entreaty, and Uncle Geoff had such a funny look in his eyes that I quite stared at him.

"You're not vexed?" I said. "I'd promise only to let Tom and Racey eat two bits each, for I know muffins are rather 'digestible."

At this Uncle Geoff really burst out laughing – he quite roared.

"Audrey, you'll kill me," he said, and I began to be a little offended. "Don't you be vexed," he said, as soon as he could speak. "I really beg your pardon, and I promise you to tell Mrs. Partridge myself. Yes, you shall have the muffins. But how are all these delicacies to be procured? Will you come out with me now – my brougham will be at the door directly – and I'll take you to a confectioner and let you choose for yourself?"

"Oh yes," I said eagerly, "that would be nice – " but suddenly I stopped. "No," I said, "I don't think it would be very kind to the boys to go without them. For it's their money you know, Uncle Geoff, as well as mine."

"All right," said Uncle Geoff, and I could see he was pleased with me; "all right. You shall have all you want in half an hour at latest," and he was turning to go, for while we were talking he had been putting on his great coat, when I stopped him.

"The money, Uncle Geoff," I cried, "you are forgetting the money. It's all ready – see – this is one of my shillings, and a sixpence and three pennies of Tom's, and Racey's fourpenny and two of his halfpennies. The way we planned it was a shilling for the sponge cakes and buns, and a shilling for biscuits, and two pennies for two muffins. It makes two shillings and two pennies just – doesn't it? I know mother used to say the chocolatey biscuits were dear, but I should think a shilling would get enough – a shilling's a good deal."

"Yes, it's twelve whole pence," said Uncle Geoff very seriously, as he took the money.

"But if the biscuits cost more, you'll tell me, won't you, Uncle Geoff?" I said, and he nodded "yes" back to me as he went out, and I ran up-stairs to the nursery as happy as I could be.

The boys were delighted with my news – Tom, who I must say had from the beginning been inclined to like Uncle Geoff, was quite glad to find I too was beginning to think him nice, for Tom wouldn't have thought it quite fair to me to like him if I didn't. We got out some of the prettiest of my doll's dinner-service plates, for we thought it might look nice to put a few of them up and down the table with just two or three biscuits on each; and we were very busy and happy, and it didn't seem nearly half an hour when we heard some one coming up-stairs, and in another moment Uncle Geoff called to us to open the door, as his hands were so full he couldn't.

He came in with several tempting-looking parcels in his arms, and oh, best of all, the dearest and prettiest little flowery plant growing in a pot! It was a heath – like some we had in the hothouse at home – and it was so pretty. I nearly jumped for joy.

"See here, Audrey," he said, "see what I have brought you for the centre of your table. You are very fond of flowers, I know."

"Oh, Uncle Geoff!" I said. "Oh, I am so pleased. We were so wishing for some flowers to make the table look pretty."

Uncle Geoff looked as pleased as we did.

"Now here are your commissions," he went on. "You'll like to unpack them yourselves I dare say. And I must be off."

"And the money," I asked. "Was there enough?"

Uncle Geoff put on a very counting face. "Let me see," he said; "you gave me in all two shillings and twopence. Well what did it all come to – sponge-cakes so much, buns so much, biscuits," he went on murmuring to himself and touching his fingers to remind him – "yes, it is very curious," he said, "it comes to just two shillings and three half-pence. I have one halfpenny change to give you, Audrey, and I hope you think I have done your marketing well."

"Oh, Uncle Geoff," we said, "it's lovely. And," I added, "about the muffins. Did you tell Mrs. Partridge?"

"Poor Mrs. Partridge is ill to-day," said Uncle Geoff. "But you shall have your muffins. Now good-bye," and he went away.

We opened the parcels with the greatest interest. They were just what we had asked for – six sponge-cakes, beautifully fresh and fluffy-looking; six bath-buns also fresh and crisp, and sugary at the top; and biscuits more charming than we had ever seen – white and pink and every shade of tempting brown.

"They are German biscuits, I am sure," I said. "Mother has often told me what nice kinds there are in Germany;" and we set to work to arrange them on the plates which I ran down to ask Sarah for, with the greatest pleasure. We were so happy that we felt able to be a little sorry for Mrs. Partridge.

"I wonder if she's got a sore t'roat," said Tom.

"P'raps she's doin' to die," suggested Racey. "She's so vrezy hold."

"H-old," said I. "Racey, how dreadfully vulgar you are."

"You're vrezy vulgar to be so c'oss," said Racey.

"I don't believe you know what 'vulgar' means," I said.

"No," said Racey, calmly, "I doesn't," and in laughing at him I forgot my c'ossness, though afterwards when I remembered it, I felt really ashamed of having been so sharp upon poor Racey just when we had so many things to be happy about.

Almost immediately after we had got the table really arranged for the last time – we had done it and undone it so often that it was nearly four o'clock before it was quite ready – we heard a carriage stop at the door and then the bell rang, and peeping over the bannisters we heard Benjamin open the front door. Then came a soft rustle of some one coming up-stairs.

"It's her," I cried, rushing back into the nursery. And then we all flew out to the top of the staircase to welcome her. I should have liked to run down to the first landing but I daren't, for as sure as anything Tom and Racey would have been after me, and I was frightened as it was of Tom's catching cold by even coming to the landing.

But she saw our eager faces between the rails before she was half way up. "Have you been waiting long for me, dears?" she said. "I came as quickly as I could."

"Oh! no, Miss Goldy-hair," we cried, "we have been so happy."

Then we led her triumphantly into the nursery.

"Look," said the little boys, "did you ever see such a lovely tea?"

"Muffins is coming," said Tom.

"I gave my fourpenny-bit and two halfpennies, but Audrey gived me one halfpenny back. Uncle Geoff buyed the things, but Audrey and Tom gaved him lotses of money," said Racey.

"Hush, Racey, it's very rude to tell people what things cost like that," I said reprovingly. But Miss Goldy-hair didn't seem to mind; she looked as pleased as she possibly could; we felt quite sure that she meant what she said when she kissed us her nice way – not a silly way as if we were just babies, you know – and thanked us for taking so much trouble to please her.

What a happy tea we had! Tom's sore throat seemed to be getting much better, for Miss Goldy-hair and I had really to stop his eating as much as he wanted. We wouldn't have minded if he had been quite well, for he wasn't a greedy boy, but when people are even a little ill it's better for them not to eat much, though I must confess the muffins and the chocolatey biscuits were dreadfully tempting. And after tea, before beginning to tell us the story, Miss Goldy-hair and I had a nice little talk. She had such a nice way of talking – she made you sorry without making you feel cross, if you know how I mean. She made me quite see how wrong it would have been of me to try to run away to Pierson with the boys; that it would really have been disobeying papa and mother, and that happiness never comes to people who go out of the right path to look for it in.

"But it does sometimes, Miss Goldy-hair," I said. "We found you out of the right path, because it was naughty to have gone out to post the letter without any one knowing."

And Miss Goldy-hair smiled at that, and said no, when we found her we were on the right path of trying to run home again as fast as we could. And then she read to me a little letter she had written to Pierson, telling her all about us, and that Uncle Geoff was getting us a very nice kind nurse and that we were going to be quite happy, and Pierson must not be anxious about us, and that some day perhaps in the summer we should go to see her in her pretty cottage. And at the end of the letter I wrote down that I sent my love, so that Pierson would see the letter was like from me. Miss Goldy-hair asked very kindly for Pierson's poor mother in the letter. It was really a very nice one. She had written it for fear Pierson should be thinking we would really be coming to her; but, after all for that it needn't have been written, as – wasn't it queer? – we found out afterwards that Pierson never got the letter that had cost us such trouble! It couldn't have been plainly directed I suppose; and just fancy if I had run away with the boys, we should have got to that Copple-something station, perhaps late at night, five miles from Pierson's cottage, with nobody to meet us! – even supposing we had got the right trains and all in London, and not had any accidents, all of which, as Miss Goldy-hair explained, was very doubtful. Oh dear! it makes me shiver even now to think of what troubles we might have got into, and Tom with a sore throat too! Miss Goldy-hair's letter was of course all nicely addressed – and Pierson got it quite rightly, for in a few days we got a nice one from her, saying she was so glad of good news of us and so glad we had found a kind friend, for though her poor mother was dead she couldn't very well have come back to us, as Harding was most anxious to get married and settled at once.

Now I will get back to the afternoon that Miss Goldy-hair came to have tea with us.

When Sarah had taken away the tea-things and made the room look quite neat, the boys began to think it was time that they got a little of Miss Goldy-hair's attention.

"Miss 'Doldy-hair," said Racey, clambering up on her knee, "zou promised us a story."

"Yes, please," said Tom, "and let me sit on a buffet and put my head against your knee. It makes my sore t'roat feel better."

"What a little coaxer you are, Tom," said Miss Goldy-hair; but though Tom peeped up for a moment to see if she was vexed, it was plain she wasn't, for she made a nice place for his little round head on her knee, managing somehow to find room for Racey too, and not forgetting either to draw close to her a chair for me.

"Now," she said, "we're very comfortable. Shall I tell you my little story? It's not a long one, and I'm afraid it's not very interesting, but it's the only one I could think of to-day."

"Oh! do tell it," we said, "do, do, dear Miss Goldy-hair."

And so she began.