back, anyhow. But still--

Denny said he thought he remembered us. But Daisy said, 'Of course
they are,' and then looked as if she was going to cry.

So then the aunt called a cab, and told the man where to drive, and
put Daisy and Denny in, and then she said--

'You two little girls may go too, if you like, but you little boys
must walk.'

So the cab went off, and we were left. The aunt turned to us to
say a few last words. We knew it would have been about brushing
your hair and wearing gloves, so Oswald said, 'Good-bye', and
turned haughtily away, before she could begin, and so did the
others. No one but that kind of black beady tight lady would say
'little boys'. She is like Miss Murdstone in David Copperfield.
I should like to tell her so; but she would not understand. I
don't suppose she has ever read anything but Markham's History and
Mangnall's Questions--improving books like that.

When we got home we found all four of those who had ridden in the
cab sitting in our sitting-room--we don't call it nursery
now--looking very thoroughly washed, and our girls were asking
polite questions and the others were saying 'Yes' and 'No', and 'I
don't know'. We boys did not say anything. We stood at the window
and looked out till the gong went for our dinner. We felt it was
going to be awful--and it was. The newcomers would never have done
for knight-errants, or to carry the Cardinal's sealed message
through the heart of France on a horse; they would never have