“Larger—that is to say as large as large raindrops—the kind that come when it thunders,” said Mr Coo.
“Oh dear,” sighed Mrs Coo, thinking to herself that Mary’s trouble must be a very bad one indeed if her tears were so large. She wanted very much for once, to ask what could be done, but she saw that Mr Coo was considering very deeply, so she did not interrupt his thoughts.
At last he turned to her.
“I heard something,” he said. “Very little, but enough to help me to put two and two together.”
“To make four,” said Mrs Coo quickly. She felt rather proud of her arithmetic, though she did not understand what Mr Coo could mean, as she had never heard the saying before. “Four what, my dear?”
“Four nothing,” was the reply—rather a cross one. “It is an expression. You are not as used to human talk as I am, you see,” he went on more amiably, for it is not the way with the Coo family ever to be cross for more than a moment, and if ever they are, they are sorry immediately. “Never mind about the two and two. What I heard was only a few words, but it has decided me that I must hear more, for,” and here Mr Coo’s tone grew very solemn, “it had to do with us!”
Mrs Coo was so startled that she repeated Mr Coo’s words, which was one of the few things that tried his temper.
“It had to do with us,” she said. “How could that be? We have never done anything that could make Mary cry, especially such very large tears.”
“Yes,” said Mr Coo, “we have done one thing. We have left the Square Gardens.”
“But that was some time ago,” said Mrs Coo, “and she did not cry when very sweetly.”