It has been said that all roads lead to Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early youth I am quite sure that many roads lead to BED, and stop there--or YOU do.
The rest of the fireworks were confiscated, and mother was not pleased when father let them off himself in the back garden, though he said, 'Well, how else can you get rid of them, my dear ?' You see, father had forgotten that the children were in disgrace, and that their bedroom windows looked out on to the back garden.

So that they all saw the fireworks most beautifully, and admired the skill with which father handled them.
Next day all was forgotten and forgiven; only the nursery had to be deeply cleaned (like spring-cleaning), and the ceiling had to be whitewashed.
And mother went out; and just at tea-time next day a man came with a rolled-up carpet, and father paid him, and mother said-- 'If the carpet isn't in good condition, you know, I shall expect you to change it.' And the man replied-- 'There ain't a thread gone in it nowhere, mum.

It's a bargain, if ever there was one, and I'm more'n 'arf sorry I let it go at the price; but we can't resist the lydies, can we, sir ?' and he winked at father and went away.
Then the carpet was put down in the nursery, and sure enough there wasn't a hole in it anywhere.
As the last fold was unrolled something hard and loud-sounding bumped out of it and trundled along the nursery floor.

All the children scrambled for it, and Cyril got it.

He took it to the gas.