THE WOULDBEGOODS
After tea father came in, and he played "Letters" with them and the girls, and it was a little better; but while late dinner was going on—I shall never forget it. Oswald felt like the hero of a book—"almost at the end of his resources." I don't think I was ever glad of bedtime before, but that time I was.
When they had gone to bed (Daisy had to have all her strings and buttons undone for her, Dora told me, though she is nearly ten, and Denny said he couldn't sleep without the gas being left a little bit on) we held a council in the girls' room. We all sat on the bed—it is a mahogany four-poster with green curtains very good for tents, only the housekeeper doesn't allow it, and Oswald said:
"This is jolly nice, isn't it?"
"They'll be better to-morrow," Alice said; "they're only shy."
Dicky said shy was all very well, but you needn't behave like a perfect idiot.
"They're frightened. You see, we're all strange to them," Dora said.
"We're not wild beasts or Indians; we sha'n't eat them. What have they got to be frightened of?" Dicky said this.
Noël told us he thought they were an enchanted prince and princess who'd been turned into white rabbits, and their bodies had got changed back, but not their insides.
But Oswald told him to dry up.
"It's no use making things up about them," he said. "The thing is: what are we going to
8
