“What’s vulgar?”
“Why, to have fireworks. She says we oughtn’t to attract too much attention and do anything ostentatious. She often says so.”
“Oh, my dear, that’s all right. These are private fireworks! No one will know about it.”
“But you’ll have to tell Wenham,” said Cissy.
Wenham was a confidential butler who helped Pickering out of many scrapes.
“Of course I shall tell Wenham; at least, I shall as soon as they have started. Now shut up about it. Here’s mummy.”
Pretty Mrs. Pickering joined them at tea, played games with them—they did some delightful charades—and amused them and herself until it was time for her to go and dress for dinner, leaving Clifford more enchanted with her than ever.
About a quarter to eight the children had the house more or less to themselves. Cissy’s governess had a holiday and the aged nurse (who had no sort of control over Pickering) was the only person there who had even a shadow of authority. She was to see that Cissy didn’t play wild games, and went to bed at half-past eight, but as a matter of fact the aged nurse did neither. Cissy stayed with the boys as long as they would allow her. At last the joyous moment arrived, they went on the balcony and Pickering started his first rocket. Cissy, a little frightened, clung to Clifford.
“Suppose we have a crowd round the house,” she murmured.