We did enjoy our tea exceedingly—the boys perhaps more than I, for I was excited with the idea of what I meant to do, and I thought it better not to tell Tom till the last moment. So we finished our tea, and Sarah came up and took the things away and told us to follow her down-stairs to the dining-room.
There was a nice fire in the dining-room and the gas was already lighted. It was a pleasant change from the nursery where we seemed to have been "such a lot of days," as Racey said. Sarah came up again from the kitchen to see that we were all right before settling down to her work, she said. She told us which of the papers we might look at, and put a great heap of Illustrated London News and Graphics on the rug in front of the fire for us, and we all sat down on the floor to look at them. Then she went away saying she would come back in an hour to take us up-stairs—the man-servant was out with Uncle Geoff, and the cook was busy with the dinner, Sarah said, so there'd be a nice quiet time if only nobody would come ringing at the door.
As soon as Sarah had left us, I pulled Tom close to me and whispered in his ear.
"Tom," I said, "this is just the time for posting the letter."
Tom jumped up on to his feet.
"Of course," he said. "Give it me, Audrey. I can find my way to the post-box pairfitly" ("pairfitly" for "perfectly" was another of Tom's funny words, like "lubbish"). "I'll just fetch my cap, and tie my comforter round my throat, and I'll be back in a moment."
He spoke in a very big-man way, as if all his life he had been accustomed to run about London streets in the dark—for by this time it really was dark—and I could not help admiring his courage and feeling rather proud of him. Still I was startled, for I had never thought of Tom's going all by himself.
"But you can't go alone, Tom," I said, "you're far too little. I meant to go, if you would tell me quite exactly where you saw the letter-box, and if you would promise me to stay here quite quiet with Racey till I come back."
"Oh no, Audrey," said Tom, in a tone of great distress, "that would never do. I couldn't tell you ezacktly where the letter-box is, though I'm sure I could find it myself. And you're a girl, Audrey, and not so vrezy much bigger than me. And besides, I'm a boy. And oh, Audrey, I do so want to go!"
The last reason was the strongest I dare say, and it was honest of Tom to tell it. I stood uncertain what to do. In his eagerness Tom had spoken out quite loud, and Racey had stopped looking at the pictures to listen. He sat on the floor—his little bare legs stretched out, his mouth wide open, staring up at Tom and me. Then another thought came into my mind.