“Yes, Hugh is home,” she said, “but do not let us have one more Tom Tiddler’s Ground. Aunt Edith is still one home, and the tea-table is the other.”
Hugh still lay on the steep grass bank up from the lawn to the path by the flower-bed, touching Edith’s shoe.
“Very well, I’ve won then,” he said, “if Aunt Edith is home.”
Then the flush and effervescent tide of his youth came over Edith. She wanted to play, too, to be a child again, like Peggy with all these children.
“But I am not going to be ‘home’ in Tom Tiddler’s Ground,” she said. “I’m going to play, too. You and I, Hughie, on one side, and Peggy and Daisy on the other, and Jim shall be Tiddler.”
“Hurrah, I’m Tiddler!” shouted Jim.
The sides arranged themselves, and in a moment the chant began:
Here we come picking up silver and gold,
Silver and gold, silver and gold,
Here we come picking up silver and gold,
All on Tom Tiddler’s ground.
For a little while caution was shown on both sides, while Jim darted to left and right, trying to catch the cautious figures that did not venture far out. Then Edith started to run in earnest, and Jim flew after her. She ran up the bank trying to dodge him, and just as she felt him touch her she felt a sudden warm, choking sensation in her throat that made her cough.
“Hurrah!” screamed Jim. “I touched you, Aunt Edith!”