RIGHT here at the start I must tell you that this story is true. It all really happened, in a city whose name commences with B; and it is not Boston.
It was a clear, wintry afternoon when it happened, and the children of the street were playing over in the sunshine.
There was a long row of houses on either side of this street, which is one rather sad thing about cities, and in one of the houses Morris Bell and his friend Jack were having a royal good time together, and quite by themselves too, for Morris's mamma had gone down town, and the servants were busy ironing in the kitchen.
"I think it's splendid to be left all alone," said Jack, as they roamed through the house.
"I think so too," replied Morris. "I wouldn't have a nurse for anything," which was rather hard upon Jack, who was still in kilts, and did have a nurse, only this was her "afternoon out" as well as his.
Morris showed Jack all his Uncle Will's neckties, and a great many other things as well, and both of them tried their hand on his new banjo, but one of the strings broke, with a very loud noise, and frightened them out of his room and back to the nursery.
When it began to grow dark, Morris dragged the pillows from his mother's bed, and placing one at either end, on the rockers of his hobby-horse, he and Jack sat down for a very comfortable see-saw. Bridget put her head in at the door just then.
"Ah! Morris, but you're going to get it," she said in an angry voice; then she slammed the door and the boys heard her run down the stairs.
Jack held on to the tail of the hobby-horse and looked round at Morris; Morris held on to the mane of the hobby-horse and looked round at Jack. Perhaps they were thinking of the banjo string. At any rate, Morris said "he didn't care," and Jack said "he didn't." Once in a while they would stand up to shake the pillows, which kept sinking through in bags between the rockers, and then go rocking away again. Meantime Morris's mamma came home.
"Where are the boys?" she asked, as Bridget shut the front door.