A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril less than she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the crowd, and it was he who said to her--'Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet.Would you sell it to us? We would give you--'
'Certainly not,' said Mrs Biddle.'Go away, little boy.'
There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the hopelessness of persuasion.He found the others and said--'It's no use; she's like a lioness robbed of its puppies.We must watch where it goes--and-- Anthea, I don't care what you say.It's our own carpet.It wouldn't be burglary.It would be a sort of forlorn hope rescue party--heroic and daring and dashing, and not wrong at all.'
The children still wandered among the gay crowd--but there was no pleasure there for them any more.The chorus of singing birds sounded just like glass tubes being blown through water, and the phonograph simply made a horrid noise, so that you could hardly hear yourself speak.And the people were buying things they couldn't possibly want, and it all seemed very stupid.And Mrs Biddle had bought the wishing carpet for ten shillings.And the whole of life was sad and grey and dusty, and smelt of slight gas escapes, and hot people, and cake and crumbs, and all the children were very tired indeed.
They found a corner within sight of the carpet, and there they waited miserably, till it was far beyond their proper bedtime.And when it was ten the people who had bought things went away, but the people who had been selling stayed to count up their money.
'And to jaw about it,' said Robert.'I'll never go to another bazaar as long as ever I live.My hand is swollen as big as a pudding.I expect the nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.'
Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said--'Everything is over now; you had better go home.'
So they went.And then they waited on the pavement under the gas lamp, where ragged children had been standing all the evening to listen to the band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud till Mrs Biddle came out and was driven away in a cab with the many things she hadn't sold, and the few things she had bought--among others the carpet.The other stall-holders left their things at the school till Monday morning, but Mrs Biddle was afraid some one would steal some of them, so she took them in a cab.
The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, hung on behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle's house.When she and the carpet had gone in and the door was shut Anthea said--'Don't let's burgle--I mean do daring and dashing rescue acts--till we've given her a chance.Let's ring and ask to see her.'
The others hated to do this, but at last they agreed, on condition that Anthea would not make any silly fuss about the burglary afterwards, if it really had to come to that.
So they knocked and rang, and a scared-looking parlourmaid opened the front door.While they were asking for Mrs Biddle they saw her.She was in the dining-room, and she had already pushed back the table and spread out the carpet to see how it looked on the floor.
'I knew she didn't want it for her servants' bedroom,' Jane muttered.
