At one time we were afraid that
she would go. It's her heart. Poor dear, and she's been worrying so about
her work--but she's better now and she'll be truly glad to see you, Mr.
Peter--but you mustn't stay more than a few minutes. She's up on the sofa
but it's the excitement that's bad for her."
But first Peter went to pay a visit to the Tressiter establishment. He
knew, from old custom, that this would be the hour when the family would be
getting itself, by slow and noisy degrees, to bed. So tremendous, indeed,
was the tumult that he was able to open the door and stand, within the
room, watching and un-noticed. Mrs. Tressiter was attempting to bathe a fat
and very strident baby. Two small boys were standing on a bed and hitting
one another with pillows; a little girl lay on her face on the floor and
howled for no apparent reason; Robin, but little older than Peter's last
impression of him had painted, was standing, naked save for his shirt and
looking down, gravely, at his screaming sister.
Every now and again, Mrs. Tressiter, without ceasing from her work on the
baby who slipped about in her hands like a stout eel, cried in a shrill
voice: "Children, if you don't be quiet," or "Nicholas, in a moment I'll
give you such a beating,"--or "Agatha, for goodness' sake!"...
Then suddenly Robin, looking up, caught sight of Peter, he gave a shout and
was across the room in an instant.
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