So we went, and we stayed a month—four whole weeks. And we were very happy, for the weather was fine and we were out nearly all day gathering primroses and daffodils; and Pierson was very kind indeed, and her husband was very polite, though the first time Racey saw him in the smithy he was really rather frightened of him, he looked so black and queer. And Cray was really a very pretty village, just as Pierson had said, and we had no lessons and lots of fresh eggs and new milk. So altogether it was very nice. But yet when the last evening came we couldn't help saying to each other—though of course we were sorry to leave Pierson—that for always, you know, counting rainy days and all, we'd rather be in London with Uncle Geoff, and with dear Miss Goldy-hair coming to see us. And we thought—Tom and I at least—what a good thing it was we had lost our way that night and had found Miss Goldy-hair, instead of running away to Pierson. And all the way home in the train we kept thinking how nice it would be to see her—Miss Goldy-hair—again, and wondering if she'd be at the house when we got out of the cab. Uncle Geoff we knew we'd see at the station, for he had sent us a letter to Cray to say he'd be there, and so he was.
He looked so merry and nice we somehow were surprised.
"Uncle Geoff," I said to him, "you must have enjoyed yourself very much when you were away. You look so very merry."
"Yes," he said smiling, "I enjoyed my holiday very much."
We knew he had been away, for he had written to tell us.
"Do you think Miss Goldy-hair will be at the house to see us when we get there?" I asked. "Have you seen her while we were away?"
"Yes," said Uncle Geoff. "I have, and I think she will be there."
The cab stopped. Out we all jumped. What a different coming from the last time!—for there in the hall, looking as if she would have liked to run out into the street to see us, stood dear Miss Goldy-hair.
We all flew into her arms. Then we all looked at her. She seemed a little different. She had a grey dress—a very pretty one—instead of her black one. She had put it on, she told us afterwards, on purpose for this evening, though she had still to wear black for a good while.
"Miss Doldy-hair," said Racey, "is you doin' to stay to tea? You has no bonnet on."
By this time we were all in the dining-room, where the table was spread out for a most beautiful tea.
"Yes, Racey, if you'll have me, I'll stay to tea," she said. And then she looked up at Uncle Geoff.
"Children," he said, "you'll have to find a new name for Miss Goldy-hair, or rather I've found one for you. How would 'Auntie' do?"
Tom and Racey stared, but I, being so much older, of course understood. To Uncle Geoff's surprise I jumped up into his arms and kissed him.
"Oh, Uncle Geoff," I cried, "oh, what a good plan! Is she really our auntie now?"
"Really," said Uncle Geoff, "that's to say, she's been your stupid old uncle's wife for a fortnight."
Then the boys understood too. But Racey looked rather disconsolate. "I thought," he said, "Miss Doldy-hair was doin' to mally me."
But in the end he too thought it a very good plan, when he found that our new auntie was really going to live with us always. And I think one of the things that helped to please him quite was the discovery of a beautiful air-garden, which Uncle Geoff had had built out of one of the drawing-room windows for Miss Goldy-hair's pet plants.
Papa and mother have come home since then, for, as I told you, all these things happened a very long time ago—five whole years ago.
And we are, I think, the happiest children in the whole world, for we have not only our own dear mother, but our own dear auntie too—the auntie who was so good and kind to us when we were forlorn and misunderstood, and might so easily have got into naughty ways; and who taught us to be—or at least to try to be—all our dear mother hoped. We live very near Uncle Geoff's, for papa got to be something more clever still when he came back from China, and had to give up living in the country. We were rather sorry for that, but still perhaps we enjoy it all the more when we go there in the summer. And I have an air-garden of my own, which would be very nice if the boys wouldn't try experiments on the plants in the holidays.
And you have no idea how fond mother and auntie are of each other, and how often we all talk over how the boys and I found our dear Miss Goldy-hair that rainy evening when we lost our way in the London streets.