“If she must pretend to give orders like drill, she might at least learn to say ‘’Bout turn!’” he reflected, struggling with his collar stud in the steaming bathroom. “Never mind. I’ll get up early and see if I can’t see it again.”
And so he did—but early as he was, Aunt Enid and the servants were earlier. The aquarium was empty—clear, clean, shining and quite empty.
Aunt Enid could not understand why Francis ate so little breakfast.
“What has she done with them?” he wondered later.
“I know,” said Bernard solemnly. “She told Esther to put them on the kitchen fire—I only just saved my fish.”
“And what about my shells?” asked Mavis in sudden fear.
“Oh, she took those to take care of. Said you weren’t old enough to take care of them yourself.”
You will wonder why the children did not ask their Aunt Enid right out what had become of the contents of the aquarium. Well, you don’t know their Aunt Enid. And besides, even on that first morning, before anything that really was anything could be said to have happened—for, after all, what Francis said he had seen might have been just fancy—there was a sort of misty, curious, trembling feeling at the hearts of Mavis and her brother which made them feel that they did not want to talk about the aquarium and what had been in it to any grown-up—and least of all to their Aunt Enid.
And leaving the aquarium, that was the hardest thing of all. They thought of telegraphing to Mother, to ask whether, after all, they mightn’t bring it—but there was first the difficulty of wording a telegram so that their mother would understand and not deem it insanity or a practical joke—secondly, the fact that ten-pence half-penny, which was all they had between them, would not cover the baldest statement of the facts.
MRS DESMOND,