And no one noticed that no one had noticed.
All were partially clean, and Cyril was just plunging into his
great-coat to go and look for his parents--he, and not unjustly,
called it looking for a needle in a bundle of hay--when the sound
of father's latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up
the stairs.
'Are you all safe?' cried mother's voice; 'are you all safe?' and
the next moment she was kneeling on the linoleum of the hall,
trying to kiss four damp children at once, and laughing and crying
by turns, while father stood looking on and saying he was blessed
or something.
'But how did you guess we'd come home,' said Cyril, later, when
every one was calm enough for talking.
'Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on
fire, and of course we went straight there,' said father, briskly.
'We couldn't find you, of course--and we couldn't get in--but the
firemen told us every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice
at my ear say, "Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane"--and something
touched me on the shoulder. It was a great yellow pigeon, and it
got in the way of my seeing who'd spoken. It fluttered off, and
then some one said in the other ear, "They're safe at home"; and
when I turned again, to see who it was speaking, hanged if there
wasn't that confounded pigeon on my other shoulder.
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