"No," said Uncle Geoff, smiling a little. "She hasn't found one yet."
There came a sort of squeal from the corner of the room. We all started. It was Racey. He was playing as usual with his beloved horses, not seeming to pay any attention to what we were saying. But he was attending all the time, and the squeal was a squeal of delight at hearing that the new nurse was not coming.
"What is the matter, Racey?" I said.
"Her's not tumming," he shouted. "Her won't whip us."
"Who said anything about being whipped?" said Uncle Geoff.
We hesitated.
"I don't quite know," I said. "Mrs. Partridge said we should have a very strict nurse, and I don't know how it was the boys thought she'd whip them."
Uncle Geoff looked rather grave again.
"I must go," he said. "I will let Miss Goldy-hair,"—he smiled again when he said it—"I will let her know that I can't let Tom out to-day and that his good little sister won't leave him;"—how kind I thought it of Uncle Geoff to say that!—"and I must do the best I can to find a nice nurse for you—one that won't whip you, Racey."
"Must Tom go to bed?" I asked.