“Then you’d better have drawn new English ones,” said Nancy, “no one will know what they mean.”
“Mother will know,” said Ambrose, “she’s not a silly little girl like you.”
“I hope she will,” replied Nancy, “for it’s just dinner-time, and you can’t do any more. I’ll help you to stick on the ivy leaves.”
Nancy was always good-natured, although she said such tiresome things.
The letters were not quite so plain to read as Ambrose had hoped, when they were put up over the museum door, but still they had an ornamental look, and gave a finishing touch to the decorations.
Nothing remained after dinner was over but to wait until four o’clock, by which time the carriage might be expected to arrive from Nearminster station. Long before that the children were ready in their places, standing two on each side of the “triumphant” arch, which nodded proudly over the white gate.
“They’ve lost the train, I expect,” said Ambrose, “and Andrew’s waiting for the next.”
“I sha’n’t give them up yet,” said Nancy, “because the church clock hasn’t struck four.”
“There it is!” exclaimed Ambrose as the first strokes of the hour sounded deeply from the tower near.
“Now they may be here any minute,” said David solemnly, “now, don’t let us forget about Andrew’s hat.”