“You won’t be scared of Julian and Dick,” said Anne, proudly. “You’ll wish you had brothers like them. Won’t she, George?”

“Yes,” said George, shortly. She was feeling rather annoyed just then because Timmy was standing by Berta, wagging his plumy tail. “Come here, Timmy. Don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”

“Oh, he’s not,” said Berta, and patted his big head. “I like him. He seems simply ENORMOUS after my Sally. But you’ll love Sally, George, you really will. Everyone says how sweet she is — and I’ve trained her beautifully.”

George took no interest in these remarks at all. She pulled on her shorts and went to wash in the bathroom. Julian and Dick were there, and there was a lot of yelling and shouting as George tried to make them hurry up and get out. Berta laughed.

“That sounds nice and family-like,” she said. “You don’t get that sort of thing if you’re an only child. What do I wear here?”

“Oh — something very simple,” said Anne, looking at the suit-case open on the floor, showing a collection of Berta’s clothes. “That cotton frock will do.”

They were ready just as the gong rang for breakfast. A delicious smell of frying bacon and tomatoes came up the stairs, and Berta sniffed in delight.

“I do like English breakfast,” she said. “We haven’t gotten around to a proper breakfast in America yet! That’s bacon and tomatoes I smell, isn’t it? My English governess always said that bacon and eggs made the best breakfast in the world, but I guess the one we’re going to have will taste pretty good.”

Uncle Quentin was at the table when the children came down. He looked most surprised to see Berta, having quite forgotten that she was coming. “Who’s this?” he said.

“Now Quentin — don’t pretend you don’t know!” said his wife. “It’s Elbur’s girl — your friend Elbur. She came in the middle of the night, but I didn’t wake you, you were so sound asleep.”

“Ah yes,” said Uncle Quentin, and he shook hands with the rather scared Berta. “Glad to have you here, er — let me see now — what’s your name?”

“Berta,” said everyone in a chorus.

“Yes, yes — Berta. Sit down, my dear. I know your father well. He’s doing some wonderful work.”

Berta beamed. “He’s always at work!” she said. “He works all through the night sometimes.”

“Does he? Well, what a thing to do!” said Uncle Quentin.

“It’s a thing you often do yourself, Quentin,” said his wife, pouring out coffee. “Though I don’t suppose you even realise it.”

Uncle Quentin looked surprised. “Do I really? Bless us all! Don’t I go to bed some nights then?”

Berta laughed. “You’re like my Pops! Sometimes he doesn’t know what day of the week it is, even! And yet he’s supposed to be one of the cleverest guys in the world!”

“Guy?” said Uncle Quentin, surprised, immediately thinking of Firework Night. Everyone laughed. Anne patted her uncle’s knee. “It’s all right, Uncle,” she said, “he’s not going to sit on the top of a bonfire!”