Betty the Baby-Sitter

I am Betty and I am just sixteen. I go baby-sitting, but only on Saturdays. I’m still at school, and during the week I go to bed rather early. Oh! That’s the telephone. Excuse me. “Hello? Hello? Yes, Betty Brown speaking. Saturday next? Yes, Mrs. Smith. That’s February 18th, isn’t it? Yes, six o’clock sharp. Sixteen College Road.”

Mrs. Smith is one of Mummy’s friends. She has two little boys. Here is Mummy now.

“Mummy, can I go to Mrs. Smith’s on Saturday? She and Mr. Smith are going to the cinema, and they want me to babysit.”

“Till when, Betty?”

“Till ten-thirty, Mummy. Oh, please, Mummy, can I go?”

“You’re coming home at ten-thirty, Betty — don’t forget! Ask Mr. Smith to bring you home in the car.”

It’s Saturday night, and the time is seven-thirty. The little boys, George and Tom, are going to bed. George is seven and Tom is eight. They don’t like going to bed.

“Come on, George! To bed.”

“Just a minute,” says George. “I want a drink.”

“I want a drink,” says Tom.

I get them a drink.

“Come on, boys. Bed time.”

“Read us a story, Betty.”

I read a story.

“Now, come on, boys! Bed time.”

“There’s a ghost in the bedroom, Betty!”

“There isn’t, Tom. Please go to bed, boys.”

They’re in bed at last. It’s eight-thirty. I go downstairs, into the sitting-room. I get out my books. I’m going to do homework. There’s a big television set and the program is very good. And there’s a box of chocolates on the table with a note: “Betty, these are for you! — Mrs. Smith.”

When the program is over, there are no more chocolates. I turn off the television. What’s the time? It’s ten o’clock. I open the door and listen. Are the boys asleep?

Silence.

I go upstairs and open the door of the boys’ bedroom. It is dark inside. I go into the room. Where are the boys? The beds are empty.

Of course, Tom and George are playing a game. They’re under the bed. No, they’re not under the bed. They’re in the bathroom! No, they’re not in the bathroom. In the kitchen? No! Where are they?

It is ten-thirty! I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Smith at the door.

“Hello, Betty,” says Mrs. Smith, “are the boys asleep? I’m just going upstairs to see them.”

We go upstairs.

As we come to the boys’ bedroom, I stop. How can I explain where the boys are? But Mrs. Smith walks to the next door. She opens that door and looks in, “Sleeping,” she says.