"That can't have made such a smell of burning," he said.
"No, it was the slice of toast that fell into the fire that made most of the smell," I said. "It had some butter on. We were toasting our bread—that was what made Mrs. Partridge so angry."
"How did you toast it?"
Tom, who was nearest the fireplace, held up the poker and tongs, on which still hung some bits of string.
"We made holes in the bread and tied it on," he said.
At this Uncle Geoff's face really did break into a smile. All might have ended well, had it not unfortunately happened that just at this moment Mrs. Partridge—who had taken till now to arrive at the top of the stairs—came stumping into the room. Her face was very red, and she looked, as she would have said herself, very much "put about."
"Oh dear, sir," she exclaimed, when she saw Uncle Geoff on his knees on the floor, "oh dear, sir, you shouldn't trouble yourself so."
"I wanted to see the damage for myself," he said, getting up as he spoke, "it isn't very bad after all. Your fears have exaggerated it, Partridge."
Mrs. Partridge did not seem at all pleased.
"Well, sir," she said, "it's natural for me to have felt upset. And even though not much harm may have been done to the carpet, think what might be, once children make free with the fire. And it isn't even that, I feel the most, sir—children will be children and need constant looking after—but it's their rudeness, sir—the naughty way they've spoken to me ever since they came. From the very first moment I saw that Miss Audrey had made up her mind to take her own way, and no one else's, and it's for their own sake I speak, sir. It's a terrible pity when children are allowed to be rude and disobedient to those who have the care of them, and it's a thing at my age, sir, I can't stand."