'James! James!' I cried. 'I'm coming to you, James? Where are you? Oh, tell me where you are, that I can come.' CHAPTER XIV HELPING TO MAKE THE PUDDING I was lying outside the bed, and it was broad day. I couldn't think what had happened. Then I remembered the voice. Had I heard it? Had James called to me? Or was it a dream? If so it was the strangest dream ever heard of. The door opened and the children came running in. So soon as they were old enough James never would let them sleep in the same room with us. So long as he was there I didn't mind; but when he wasn't I wanted them for company. Yet I felt that I couldn't do what he didn't like. But every morning, as soon as they were awake, they'd come rushing in to me. And that was something. But now that the mornings were getting colder I wasn't sure that it was wise: though I hadn't the heart to stop them, for I did love to have them for a few minutes in my arms with me in bed. And they loved to come. Somehow it seemed to make the day have a better beginning. It was that day all the strange things began to happen. Though I had no notion of anything of the kind as I listened to the children's chatter. We'd finished breakfast some time. I'd washed the things, and tidied up the place. Indeed I'd been round the corner to get the dinner. Liver and bacon we were going to have--the children are so fond of the gravy--and a baked rice pudding. I had just set Jimmy down to table and he was starting to learn his letters. There are some who say he ought to go to school: but I don't hold with children going to school so young, away from their mother, nor, I am thankful to say, does James either. I can give them all the teaching he wants. I've the time and I've the will; and I'm scholar enough for that. The way that boy picks up things is wonderful. He's a deal quicker than me--which perhaps isn't saying much. But he'll read before some of them who go to school--and so I can tell them. He knows his letters quite well, both large and small, and he can make out little words. And before long I'm going to start him writing. As I was saying, I'd set him down to table with his book, and Pollie--little pet!--was drawing what she calls 'Injuns,' on her slate. It was Jimmy started her doing that; that boy's full of Indians; where he got them from I can't think. And I was getting out my mending, of which there always does seem plenty, when there came a knock at the door. We were in the parlour--for James never will have us in the kitchen more than can be helped. He says if a parlour's not for living in, what's it for? 'Who's that?' I wondered. 'I do hope it's none of the neighbours come gossiping just as Jimmy's starting reading'--for the neighbours round our part will gossip--'and in particular I do hope it isn't that FitzHoward.' It wasn't either. When I saw who it was you might, as the saying is, have knocked me down with a feather.