Cyril's stories had taken some time, so had the meal of strange
sweet foods that they had had while the little pretty things were
being bought, and the gas in the schoolroom was already lighted.
Outside, the winter dusk was stealing down among the Camden Town
houses.
'I'm glad we got washed in India,' said Cyril. 'We should have
been awfully late if we'd had to go home and scrub.'
'Besides,' Robert said, 'it's much warmer washing in India. I
shouldn't mind it so much if we lived there.'
The thoughtful carpet had dumped the children down in a dusky space
behind the point where the corners of two stalls met. The floor
was littered with string and brown paper, and baskets and boxes
were heaped along the wall.
The children crept out under a stall covered with all sorts of
table-covers and mats and things, embroidered beautifully by idle
ladies with no real work to do. They got out at the end,
displacing a sideboard-cloth adorned with a tasteful pattern of
blue geraniums. The girls got out unobserved, so did Cyril; but
Robert, as he cautiously emerged, was actually walked on by Mrs
Biddle, who kept the stall. Her large, solid foot stood firmly on
the small, solid hand of Robert and who can blame Robert if he DID
yell a little?
A crowd instantly collected.
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