"Our sister is quite in her glory,
When telling us nice little tales."
He was not a very amusing person.
As ill-luck would have it, this day also was wet and dreary. I don't know that Mrs. Partridge or Sarah regretted it, for if it had been fine one of the servants would have had to take us out for a walk. But we were very sorry. Anything would have been better than another long dreary day up in the dull nursery. Still we had some variety to-day, for our tutor came to give us our first lesson, which took up two hours. He was not a very amusing person; he was very thin and tired-looking, but he was perfectly gentle, so we liked him well enough. We liked him too for another reason. He said that we were very well on for our ages; and as mother had always taught us herself, we felt quite pleased for him to say so. He left us some lessons to do for the next day, but not much. Long before the afternoon was half over we had finished them, and were wondering whatever we could get to do to help us through all the hours that still remained. This was not a day for Uncle Geoff seeing people in his house, so we had not even the fun of listening to the carriages stopping, and the bell ringing, and trying to peep at the ladies and gentlemen getting out. Sarah was rather kind—she came in and out to see us as often as she could, but of course she had a great deal of work to do, and she said Mrs. Partridge made her work even harder than she needed. Mrs. Partridge did not come up-stairs again herself all day, and of that we were very glad— I suppose she found the stairs too much for her.
Before the end of that afternoon, I think we had changed our minds about wishing we might have no nurse. Even a rather cross nurse would have been better than none at all. It was very tiresome every time we wanted anything to have to fetch it ourselves, or to have to run out to the landing and stand there till Sarah happened to come in sight. There was no bell in the nursery, at least it was broken, but even if it hadn't been, we shouldn't have dared to ring it. And two buttons came off Racey's boot—both off the same boot, just out of tiresomeness—and he couldn't keep it on properly, and he had to wear cloth boots in the house, because the winter before he had had such bad chilblains, so I had to try to sew them on, and you don't know how I pricked my fingers! I do think there is nothing so horrible as sewing on boot buttons.
And then when Tom and I were doing our writing for Mr. Lingard—that was our tutor—for the next day, Tom would pull the ink close over to him, and I pulled it back to me, and we both got cross, and the end of it was that the ink was all spilt over the table; and oh! it made such a big black pool, and then little streams of it began running to the edge, and would have fallen on to the carpet.
"Oh," said Tom, "I'll wipe it up;" and up he jumped to fetch something to wipe it with, and before I could see what he was about, what do you think he had done? He had seized my Lady Florimel's opera cloak, which was lying on a chair—of course it shouldn't have been lying about, I know—and scrubbed up the ink with it all in a minute. The cloak was black silk outside, so he thought it was just a piece of black stuff lying about—but inside it was lovely pale pink, and of course it was quite spoilt. I was so vexed that I began to cry, and then Tom was dreadfully sorry, and came and hugged and kissed me, and so we made friends again, and the ink spilling sent away our quarrelling any way. And perhaps it was better for Lady Florimel's cloak to be spoilt, than for the carpet, for then we should have had a very great scolding from Mrs. Partridge. It didn't matter for the table, as it just had an oilcloth cover that would not stain. And when we had made friends again, we all climbed up on to the window-sill, and began to wonder what we should do.
"Tom," said Racey, pressing his face flat against the window, so as to see out better, "Tom, have you seen the air-garden?"
"The air-garden," repeated Tom, "what do you mean?"