Artie and Mary looked puzzled. They had to think about it. But Leigh was quicker.
“Why, nurse,” he said, “a doll like that would be a living—oh nurse, I do believe—” but just as he was going to say more there came a tap at the door, and Robert, the footman, came in.
“If you please, Mrs Barley,” he began. “Barley” was nurse’s own name, and, of course, the other servants were all very respectful, and always called her “Mrs Barley.”
“Master wants the young gentlemen and Miss Mary now at once, if so be as they’ve finished their breakfast.”
“I think you should say ‘Miss Mary and the young gentlemen,’ Robert,” said Leigh.
“Specially as it’s Mary’s birthday,” said Artie.
“Oh rubbish,” said Leigh; “birthday or no birthday, it’s proper.”
“I beg the young lady’s pardon,” said Robert, who was a very well brought up footman. “I’m sure I meant no offence,” and he looked towards Mary, but just then he could not see anything of her. For while her brothers were correcting Robert, Mary had been employing herself in getting down from her chair, which took a good while, as it was high and she was very short. Nothing but a sort of fluff of blue skirts and sash and white muslin pinafore and shaggy hair, with here and there a shoe or a little pink hand sticking out, was to be seen. Robert sprang forwards, meaning to be extra polite and set Miss Mary right side uppermost again, but in some mysterious way she managed to get on her feet by herself.
“No, zank you, Robert,” she said with dignity, as she stood there with a rather red face, smoothing down her pinafore. “I can get down alone.”