‘What there is of it,’ said the Phoenix, from the cornice-pole.
CHAPTER 11. THE BEGINNING OF THE END
‘Well, I MUST say,’ mother said, looking at the wishing carpet as it lay, all darned and mended and backed with shiny American cloth, on the floor of the nursery—‘I MUST say I’ve never in my life bought such a bad bargain as that carpet.’
A soft ‘Oh!’ of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, Jane, and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said—
‘Well, of course, I see you’ve mended it very nicely, and that was sweet of you, dears.’
‘The boys helped too,’ said the dears, honourably.
‘But, still—twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for years. It’s simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, you’ve done your best. I think we’ll have coconut matting next time. A carpet doesn’t have an easy life of it in this room, does it?’
‘It’s not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really reliable kind?’ Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in anger.
‘No, dear, we can’t help our boots,’ said mother, cheerfully, ‘but we might change them when we come in, perhaps. It’s just an idea of mine. I wouldn’t dream of scolding on the very first morning after I’ve come home. Oh, my Lamb, how could you?’