We had never seen our cousin Sidney till that Christmas Eve, and we
didn't want to see him then, and we didn't like him when we did see
him. He was just dumped down into the middle of us by mother, at a time
when it would have been unkind to her to say how little we wanted him.
We knew already that there wasn't to be any proper Christmas for us,
because Aunt Ellie--the one who always used to send the necklaces and
carved things from India, and remembered everybody's birthday--had come
home ill. Very ill she was, at a hotel in London, and mother had to go
to her, and, of course, father was away with his ship.
And then after we had said good-bye to mother, and told her how sorry we
were, we were left to ourselves, and told each other what a shame it
was, and no presents or anything. And then mother came suddenly back in
a cab, and we all shouted 'Hooray' when we saw the cab stop, and her get
out of it. And then we saw she was getting something out of the cab, and
our hearts leapt up like the man's in the piece of school poetry when he
beheld a rainbow in the sky--because we thought she had remembered about
the presents, and the thing she was getting out of the cab was _them_.
Of course it was not--it was Sidney, very thin and yellow, and looking
as sullen as a pig.
We opened the front door. Mother didn't even come in. She just said,
'Here's your Cousin Sidney. Be nice to him and give him a good time,
there's darlings. And don't forget he's your visitor, so be very extra
nice to him.'
I have sometimes thought it was the fault of what mother said about the
visitor that made what did happen happen, but I am almost sure really
that it was the fault of us, though I did not see it at the time, and
even now I'm sure we didn't mean to be unkind. Quite the opposite. But
the events of life are very confusing, especially when you try to think
what made you do them, and whether you really meant to be naughty or
not. Quite often it is not--but it turns out just the same.
When the cab had carried mother away--Hilda said it was like a dragon
carrying away a queen--we said, 'How do you do' to our Cousin Sidney,
who replied, 'Quite well, thank you.'
And then, curiously enough, no one could think of anything more to say.
Then Rupert--which is me--remembered that about being a visitor, and he
said:
'Won't you come into the drawing-room?'
He did when he had taken off his gloves and overcoat. There was a fire
in the drawing-room, because we had been going to have games there with
mother, only the telegram came about Aunt Ellie.
So we all sat on chairs in the drawing-room, and thought of nothing to
say harder than ever.
Hilda did say, 'How old are you?' but, of course, we knew the answer to
that. It was ten.