So she stood with it open. It
seemed easier to keep from crying with one's mouth in that unusual
position.
'The Lamb,' mother went on; 'he was very good at first, but he's
pulled the toilet-cover off the dressing-table with all the brushes
and pots and things, and now he's so quiet I'm sure he's in some
dreadful mischief. And I can't see him from here, and if I'd got
out of bed to see I'm sure I should have fainted.'
'Do you mean he's HERE?' said Anthea.
'Of course he's here,' said mother, a little impatiently. 'Where
did you think he was?'
Anthea went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. There was a
pause.
'He's not here NOW,' she said.
That he had been there was plain, from the toilet-cover on the
floor, the scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and
combs, all involved in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an
open drawer had yielded to the baby's inquisitive fingers.
'He must have crept out, then,' said mother; 'do keep him with you,
there's a darling. If I don't get some sleep I shall be a wreck
when father comes home.'
Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst
into the nursery, crying--
'He must have wished he was with mother. He's been there all the
time. "Aggety dag--"'
The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books.
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