"I fink it was like stepping out of a high window into the dark night," explained the little maid. "I didn't like it, an' I pulled the wire to shut my dolly's eyes, case she saw and it f'itened her, y' know!" The first thought of mother Clary had been for her waxen baby.
"Well, let's play at the funicular," suggested Oliver, when the gingerbread plate was cleared.
"Hooray! Down the banisters?" Mark was on fire in a moment. So were the other boys, and there was a stampede for the staircase.
"You can come, too, Clary!" shouted her brothers, and, bustling out of the rocking-chair, the little mother carefully carried her baby treasure, wrapped in a tiny shawl, for the perilous journey down the mountain-side.
The Tile House was of considerable size: it and the White House where Doctor George Carew lived were the only two large dwellings in the village of Allonby Edge. But of the two the Tile House was the higher, having an extra storey. The staircase was, consequently, a pretty long one, with only one landing at the upper floor, which led up to the play attic and servants' rooms.
"Couldn't have a better railway than this!" said Oliver, his head on one side as he regarded the length of banister.
Presently, the boys were tasting the fearful joy of precipitating themselves down the slippery route, which they grandly called the funicular.
The journeys were accompanied by a good deal of uproar, but the green baize swing-door shut off the sound from the ears of Euphemia and Mary Jane in the kitchen.
So the noisy crew had it all their own way.
Oliver was the driver of the train, and Mark the guard, the rest being passengers, and the traffic up and down to the hotel on the high Alps was something extraordinary.