The young lady smiled again.
"I'd like to keep you," she said, "but think how frightened poor Sarah will be—and your uncle when he comes in."
Tom and I looked at each other. We were so glad she didn't say, "Think how frightened poor Mrs. Partridge will be."
"I think the best thing will be for me to take you home," she went on. "Though it isn't in this street it's very near. Not three minutes' walk. Yes," she said, more as if speaking to herself than to us, "that will be best—for me to take them alone."
She rang the bell, and James appeared.
"James," she said, "I am going out for a few minutes. When Miss Arbour comes in tell her I shall not be long. I am sure to be back by dinner-time."
Then Miss Goldy-hair went away for a minute or two and returned wrapped up in a big cloak, and with a couple of little jackets which she put on Tom and Racey.
"These are some of my children's jackets," she said. Tom and Racey looked at them curiously. It was queer that Miss Goldy-hair's children's cloaks should just fit them.
"They're just right for us," said Tom.
"Yes," she said, "I have several sizes of them. I've been getting them ready for my children for this cold weather."