They started however—Chrissie releasing Leila, who stood silent and motionless—when they heard their mother’s voice.
“Aunt Margaret’s first morning. And I trusted you both to help me,” she said, as she turned away.
She was so bitterly disappointed that I really think there were tears in her eyes as she hurried down the passage in search of Harriet and cloths to wipe up the pools and streams of water. But before she got to the top of the staircase leading down to the basement, she almost ran across a small figure, whose face was hardly to be seen amid the pile of things he was carrying.
“I’ve been to get cloths and sponges to dry it all up, Mummy,” he said breathlessly, “and a pail to squeeze it into, and Harriet’s comin’,” and sure enough the housemaid’s head just then emerged at the top of the kitchen staircase.
“Master Jasper, Master Jasper,” she gasped, “you can’t carry all that;” and certainly he did look very comical, with his intensely grave face peeping out above his load.
“My poor Brownie,” said his mother, “my good fairy—what would I do without you?” and somehow she could not help a little laugh.
Jasper gazed at her in surprise, but then feeling that he was the master of the situation, he hurried off again. “Come quick, Mumsey,” he said, “p’raps we can stop any more of the carpet getting wet, if we’re quick,” and, followed by Harriet, they hurried into the drawing-room.
Leila and Christabel, by this time sobered and ashamed, though feeling, I fear, very far from friendly to each other, were on their knees in different parts of the floor—Leila picking up the fragments of broken glass; Chrissie rescuing the poor scattered flowers. Neither spoke, and their mother said coldly—
“Go upstairs. You are only in the way here. Come down at once when you hear the breakfast gong.”
Then Chrissie burst out—