"How lucky it is you've got your desk and paper, and embelopes and everything all ready," he said. "You can write without anybody knowing. If I could make letters as nice as you, Audrey, I'd write too."
"Never mind. I can say it all quite well," I said, "but I won't do it just yet for fear Mrs. Partridge comes back again."
I had hardly said the words when we heard a quick, firm step coming up-stairs. We looked at each other; we knew who it must be.
Uncle Geoff threw open the door and walked in.
"Children," he said, "what is all this I hear? I am very sorry that all of you—you Audrey, especially, who are old enough to know better, and to set the boys a good example—should be so troublesome and disobedient. I cannot understand you. I had no idea I should have had anything like this."
He looked really puzzled and worried, and I would have liked to say something gentle and nice to comfort him. But I said to myself, "What's the use? He won't believe anything but what Mrs. Partridge says," and so I got hard again and said nothing.
"Where is the burnt carpet?" then said Uncle Geoff, looking about him as if he expected to see some terrible destruction.
I stooped down on the floor and poked about till I found the little round hole where the spark had fallen.
"There," I said, "that's the burnt place."
Uncle Geoff stooped too and examined the hole. The look on his face changed. I could almost have fancied he was going to smile. He began sniffing as if he did not understand what he smelt.