"Yes, mother," I said, "I know you did, but—"
Tom interrupted me—
"Don't be vexed with Audrey, mother," he said, jumping up and throwing his arms round her neck, "it was most my fault. Audrey wanted to whisper to me. Oh mother," he went on, hugging mother closer and burying his round dark head on her shoulder, "oh mother, Audrey's told me."
Then without another word Tom burst into tears—not loud crying like when he was hurt or angry, but deep shaking sobbing as if his poor little heart was really breaking. And for a moment or two mother could not speak. She could only press him more tightly to her, trying to choke back the tears that she was afraid of yielding to.
Poor Racey stood staring in fear and bewilderment—his blue eyes quite ready to cry too, once he understood what it was all about. He gave a little tug to mother's dress at last.
"Muzzie, what's the matter?" he said.
Mother let go her hold of Tom and turned to Racey.
"Poor little boy," she said, "he is quite frightened. Audrey, I thought you would have understood I would tell the boys myself."
"Oh, I am so sorry," I exclaimed. "I wish I hadn't. But I did so want to speak to somebody about it, and Tom was awake—weren't you, Tom?"
"Yes, I was awake," said Tom. "Don't be vexed with Audrey, mother."