"Yes," she said, "I will tell them."

She was half rising from her seat, whispering to the lady beside her (the lady who did know all about it), "I don't know how I shall get through dinner," when—what was it?—no bell had rung, there was no sound that any one else heard, what could it have been that mother heard? I don't know what it was, and I daresay mother herself could not have told, but something she did hear. For she stopped short, and a sort of eager look came into her eyes and a flush into her cheeks. And then the other people in the room seemed to catch the infection, and everybody else looked up to see what was coming, and in the silence a sort of fumbling was heard at the door. It only lasted a second or two, then somehow the handle turned, much more quickly than was usually the case when it was Baby's small hands that were stretching up to reach it—I rather think some one must have been behind to help him—the door opened and—oh such a funny little figure came in! You know who it was of course, but it would be very difficult to tell you exactly what he looked like. He was dressed just as he had been for playing in the garden—a little short thick jacket over his holland blouse, which was no longer very clean; his short scarlet socks and oldest boots on his legs, the bare part of which looked very red and cold, and what had been his best straw hat with part of the brim dangling down, on his curly head. But he seemed quite pleased with himself—that was another of Herr Baby's "ways"; he always did seem quite pleased with himself, best of all, I think, when he had his oldest clothes on—he trotted into the room just as he would have trotted into the garden, even though there were a good many rather finely-dressed ladies and gentlemen sitting round—for his whole mind was filled with the thoughts of two big paper parcels which he carried in his arms. They could not have been as heavy as they were big, or else he could not possibly have carried them! And close at his heels, making him look still funnier, came Minet, very pleased, I am sure, to find herself again in sight of a fire.

Herr Baby looked round him for a moment, only for a moment, for though the lights in the room and the number of people dazzled and puzzled him a little, he did not need to look round for which was mother. Forgetting all about everything, except that her baby was found, up jumped mother, a rosy flush coming over her face which had looked so white and sad, pretty mother with her silvery silky dress and her sweet eyes filled with tears, and rushing over to Baby caught him up in her arms, poor little cold, tired, red-legged Herr Baby, and for a minute or so, greatly to grandfather's surprise, she hid her face somehow among the wee man's curls without speaking.

Forgetting all about everything, except that her baby was found, up jumped mother.—P. 170.
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Grandfather was surprised but not alarmed, for just behind in the open doorway stood auntie, who came quietly forward and explained to him that Baby had gone out on his own account and they had been afraid of his losing his way, that was what had kept her out so late, and she was so sorry. Auntie had such a nice clear simple way of speaking, grandfather's vexation seemed to melt away as he listened. He glanced at the little figure still clasped in mother's arms, and a queer look came into his eyes.

"Poor children!" he said, "poor children! May, you should have told me."

But he knew why they hadn't told him. The ladies and gentlemen came round auntie to hear what she was saying. They were all very kind and very sorry and very glad. But it was difficult not to smile when a little voice was heard saying,

"Mother, p'ease put him down. Him's got somesing so pitty, but him's afraid of breaking them."

And sliding down to the ground, he managed somehow to set the two parcels safely on the floor, and began undoing them. They all watched him, but he didn't care, and he would let nobody help him. He got one out at last, and held it up with a beautiful happiness in his little face.