"I don't want to do anything like that," I said. I had somehow a feeling that it would hardly have been keeping my promise to Uncle Geoff. "Sarah might get scolded for it," I said, and Tom seemed to understand.
We ate our dinner very quietly. Miss Goldy-hair's jelly was certainly very nice, and poor Tom, who didn't feel much inclined for meat and potatoes, and regular pudding, enjoyed it very much. And after dinner we each had an orange—we sat round the fire peeling them, and thinking what to do about tea.
"We haven't even any flowers," I said. "We can't even dress up the table and make it look pretty the way we used to on days mother came to have tea with us."
"We couldn't make bread and butter look pretty," said Tom, rather grumpily.
I was sorry to see him so disappointed, just when I thought that our having found Miss Goldy-hair was going to make everything nice.
"I'd run out myself to buy things if I didn't know it would vex Uncle Geoff," I said. And then suddenly an idea came into my head. The saying Uncle Geoff's name seemed to have brought it.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," I said, "I'll ask Uncle Geoff himself."
Tom looked amazed at my boldness.
"Won't he be vexed?" he said.
"No, I don't think he will. Any way I'll ask him. I dare say he's in, for he said something about seeing how your cold was at dinner-time. But I won't wait till he comes up. I'll go straight down and ask him."