They played on the sands nearly all day, and Sybil, to her great delight, was covered up from damage by one of Carrots" blouses. The sun came out bright and warm, and they built the most lovely sand house you ever saw.
"I"d like to live in it always," said Carrots.
"Oh you funny boy," said Sybil patronisingly, "and what would you do at night, when it got cold, and perhaps the sea would come in."
"Perhaps the mermaids would take care of him till the morning," said Floss.
"What are the mermaids?" asked Sybil.
"Pretty ladies," said Carrots, "who live at the bottom of the sea, only they"ve got tails."
"Then they can"t be pretty," said Sybil decidedly, "not unless their tails are beautiful and sweeping out, like peac.o.c.ks! Are they?--one day I tied a shawl of mother"s on, it was a red and gold shawl, and I sweeped it about just like a peac.o.c.k,--that _would_ be pretty."
"I don"t think mermaids" tails are like that," said Carrots, doubtfully, "but they _are_ pretty ladies, aren"t they, Floss?"
"Beautiful," said Floss, "but they"re very sad. They come up to the sh.o.r.e at night and comb their hair and cry dreadfully."
"What do they cry for?" asked Sybil and Carrots, pressing up to Floss, and forgetting all about the lovely sand house.
"Because they--no, you couldn"t understand," she broke off; "it is no good telling you."
"Oh do tell," said the children.
"Well," said Floss, "I read in a book of Cecil"s, they cry because they haven"t got any souls. When they die they can"t go to heaven, you see."
Sybil and Carrots looked very solemn at this. Then a sudden thought struck Carrots.
"How can they cry if they haven"t got souls, Floss?" he said, "nurse says it"s our souls that make us glad and sorry. Are you _sure_ the poor mermaids haven"t got souls?"
"I"m only telling you what I read in a book," said Floss. "I dare say it"s all a sort of fairy tale. Don"t you like fairy tales, Sybil?"
"No," said Sybil, "I like stories of naughty boys and girls best--_very_ naughty boys and girls."
"Oh, Sybil!" said Carrots, "_I_ don"t, because they are always unhappy in the end."
"No, they"re not. Sometimes they all get good. Mother always makes them get good at the end," replied Sybil.
"Does auntie tell you stories?" said Floss.
"Yes, of course, for I can"t read them to myself yet. I"m learning, but it is _so_ hard," said Sybil dolefully.
"I wish auntie would tell _us_ stories."
"P"raps she will when you come to my house," said Sybil, encouragingly.
"Would you think that a treat?"
"It would be a "normous treat."
"We"re going to have a treat to-day," said Floss. "We"re going to have tea in the dining-room with you, Sybil, and auntie and everybody, and I think it"s time to go in now, because we must change our frocks."
Carrots had never had tea in the dining-room before, and felt a little overpowered by the honour. He sat very still, and took whatever was offered to him, as nurse had taught him. Cecil poured out the tea, and to please the children she put an extra allowance of sugar into their cups. Carrots tasted his, and was just thinking how very nice it was, when it flashed across his mind that he should not have had any sugar.
He put down his cup and looked round him in great perplexity. If only he could ask Floss. But Floss was at the other side of the table, she seemed to be drinking her tea without any misgiving. Wasn"t it naughty?
Could she have forgotten? Carrots grew more and more unhappy; the tears filled his eyes, and his face got scarlet.
"What"s the matter, dear?" said auntie, who was sitting next him, "is your tea too hot? Has it scalded your poor little mouth?"
She said it in a low voice. She was so kind and "understanding," she knew Carrots would not have liked everybody round the table to begin noticing him, and as she looked at him more closely, she saw that the tears in his eyes were those of distress, not of "scalding."
"No, thank you," said Carrots, looking up in auntie"s face in his perplexity; "it isn"t that. My tea is _werry_ good, but it"s got sugar in."
"And you don"t like sugar? Poor old man! Never mind, Cecil will give you another cup. You"re not like Sybil in your tastes," said auntie, kindly, and she turned to ask Cecil for some sugarless tea for her little brother.
"No, no, auntie. Oh, _please_ don"t," whispered Carrots, his trouble increasing, and pulling hard at his aunt"s sleeve as he spoke, "I _do_ like sugar werry much--it isn"t that. But mamma said I was never, _never_ to take nucken that wasn"t mine, and sugar won"t be mine for two weeks more, nurse says."
Auntie stared at her little nephew in blank bewilderment. What _did_ he mean? Even her quick wits were quite at fault.
"What _do_ you mean, my dear little boy?" she said.
Suddenly a new complication struck poor Carrots.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "it"s a secret, it"s a secret, and I"m telling it,"
and he burst into tears.
It was impossible now to hide his trouble. Everybody began to cross-question him.
"Cry-baby," muttered Maurice, and even Mrs. Desart said, "Carrots, I wonder at your behaving so when your aunt and cousin are here. Floss, do you know what is the matter with him?"
"No, mamma," said Floss, looking as she always did when Carrots was in distress, ready to cry herself.
"Carrots," said Captain Desart, sharply, "go to the nursery till you learn to behave properly."
Carrots got slowly down off his high chair, and crept away. But everybody looked troubled and uncomfortable.
Auntie hated to see people looking troubled and uncomfortable. She thought a minute, and then she turned to Mrs. Desart.
"Lucy," she said, "will you let me try what I can do with the poor little fellow? I am sure it was not naughtiness made him cry."
And almost before Mrs. Desart could reply, auntie was off to the nursery in search of Carrots.
He had left off crying, and was sitting quietly by the window, looking out at his old friend the sea.
"What are you thinking about, my poor old man?" said auntie, fondly.
Carrots looked up at her. "I like you to call me that," he said. "I was thinking about our hoops and what a long time four weeks is."
"Has that to do with you having no sugar?" asked auntie.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "What are you thinking about, my poor old man?" said auntie, fondly. _To face page_ 148.]