"Boys!" she gobbled, stopping in the doorway, "what does this mean? The boy who pulled down that blind stand up!"
Angel rose. "The light hurt my eyes," he lied feebly, "I aren't very well."
"Ridiculous!" snapped Mrs. Handsomebody, running up the blind with precision, "this room at its brightest is dim. Your eyes are keen enough for mischief, sir. Now we shall proceed with our arithmetic."
We floundered through the Tables, but my mind still wandered in the Bishop's garden. Resentment and curiosity struggled for mastery within me. In my mind's eye I saw her covering and uncovering the doll. Why did she do it? What did it feel like to push that "pram"? Would she drink tea from the Indian Tree cups and be allowed to strum on the piano? Oh, I wished she hadn't come! And yet—anyway, I was glad I was a boy.
As Fate had it, Angel and The Seraph had to have their hair trimmed that afternoon. My own straight blond crop grew but slowly so I was free for an hour to follow my own devices. Those led me to climb to the roof of our scullery and from there mount the high brick wall.
From this vantage point I scanned the surrounding country for signs of the interloper. There she was! There she was!
[56]
