[Illustration: OSWALD LISTENED AS CAREFULLY AS HE COULD, BUT DENNY
ALWAYS BUZZES SO WHEN HE WHISPERS.]
"You remember that day we went to Bexley Heath with Albert's uncle?
Well, there was a house, and Albert's uncle said a clever writer lived
there, and in more ancient years that chap in history--Sir Thomas What's
his name; and Denny thinks he might let us be antiquaries there. It
looks a ripping place from the railway."
It really does. It's a fine big house, and splendid gardens, and a lawn
with a sundial, and the tallest trees anywhere about here.
"But what could we _do_?" said Dicky. "I don't suppose _he'd_ give _us_
tea," though such, indeed, had been our hospitable conduct to the
antiquaries who came to see Albert's uncle.
"Oh, I don't know," said Alice. "We might dress up for it, and wear
spectacles, and we could all read papers. It would be lovely--something
to fill up the Christmas holidays--the part before the wedding, I mean.
Do let's."
"All right, I don't mind. I suppose it would be improving," said Dora.
"We should have to read a lot of history. You can settle it. I'm going
to show Daisy our bridesmaids' dresses."
It was, alas! too true. Albert's uncle was to be married but shortly
after, and it was partly our faults, though that does not come into this
story.
So the two D.'s went to look at the clothes--girls like this--but Alice,
who wishes she had never consented to be born a girl, stayed with us,
and we had a long and earnest council about it.
"One thing," said Oswald, "it can't possibly be wrong--so perhaps it
won't be amusing."
"Oh, Oswald!" said Alice, and she spoke rather like Dora.
"I don't mean what you mean," said Oswald in lofty scorn. "What I mean
to say is that when a thing is quite sure to be right, it's not
so--well--I mean to say there it is, don't you know; and if it might be
wrong, and isn't, it's a score to you; and if it might be wrong, and
is--as so often happens--well, you know yourself, adventures sometimes
turn out wrong that you didn't think were going to, but seldom, or
never, the uninteresting kind, and----"
Dicky told Oswald to dry up--which, of course, no one stands from a
younger brother, but though Oswald explained this at the time, he felt
in his heart that he has sometimes said what he meant with more
clearness. When Oswald and Dicky had finished, we went on and arranged
everything.
Every one was to write a paper--and read it.
"If the papers are too long to read while we're there," said Noel, "we
can read them in the long winter evenings when we are grouped along the
household hearthrug. I shall do my paper in poetry--about Agincourt."
Some of us thought Agincourt wasn't fair, because no one could be sure
about any knight who took part in that well-known conflict having lived
in the Red House; but Alice got us to agree, because she said it would
be precious dull if we all wrote about nothing but Sir Thomas
Whatdoyoucallhim--whose real name in history Oswald said he would find
out, and then write his paper on that world-renowned person, who is a
household word in all families. Denny said he would write about Charles
the First, because they were just doing that part at his school.
"I shall write about what happened in 1066," said H.O. "I know that."