"Just for a minute; don't tell Pierson," said Racey. "I wanted to look out of the window. Audrey, this is such a funny place—there's no trees and no garden—and lots and lots of windows. Is all the windows Uncle Geoff's?"
"Oh, no—there are lots of other people's houses here," I said. Poor little Racey had never been in a town before. "In London all the houses are put close together. You see, Racey, there are such a lot of people in London there wouldn't be room for all the houses they need if each had a garden."
"But some peoples has little gardens—air gardens," said Racey eagerly. "There's one I sawed out of the window."
"Air gardens! What do you mean, Racey?" I said.
"High up—up in the air," he explained. "Sticking up all of theirselves in the air."
"Oh, I know what you mean—you mean a little glass place for flowers," I said. "I've seen those—once I was in London before with mother, in a cab, when we were coming from Tonbridge Wells."
"Were you?" said Racey, greatly impressed. "Was Tom?"
"No, not Tom—only me. When we're dressed, Racey, I'd like to look out of the window at the air garden."
"Come now," said Racey. But I firmly refused to get out of bed till Pierson came, as it was one of the things mother had particularly told me not to do—we had so often caught cold with running about like that. And it was a good thing we didn't, for just then Pierson came into the room looking rather cross, and if she had found us running about without our slippers on she'd have been crosser still.
"It's time to get up, Miss Audrey," she said in a melancholy tone, "past half-past-eight; though I'm sure no one would think so by the light. I hope you've had a good night—but—" as she suddenly caught sight of my little visitor, "whatever's Master Racey doing in your bed?"