Ch4-Out! Out! Out!

CHAPTER FOUR Out! Out! Out! Jack and Annie hurried around to the back door and slipped inside the house. They walked through a small, dark mudroom, then stepped into the large front hallway. Sun slanted through the tall windows. Everything seemed to be made of

carved wood or marble. A wide staircase curved up to the second floor. "Get to work, sweeps!" barked the housekeeper. "Do the regular!" Mrs. Tibbs left them and clomped down the back stairs. Jack heard pots clattering below. He realized the kitchen must be in the cellar. The rest of the house was quiet, as if it were waiting for the mother and children to return. "I wonder where Mr. Dickens is writing," Annie whispered. "He must be working quietly somewhere in the house," said Jack. Mrs. Tibbs came bustling up the back stairs and burst into the front hallway. "I told you to get to

work!" she said. "If I don't see you working in two minutes, I'll throw you out on your ears!" The housekeeper then disappeared up the wide staircase to the second floor. "I guess we'd better get to work," said Jack. "So where do we start?" said Annie. "Let's check out the fireplaces on this floor," said Jack. Jack and Annie crept into a dining room that overlooked a garden. A fire crackled in the hearth. "She can't expect us to clean that chimney," said Jack, "unless she wants us to burn to death." Jack and Annie went back through the front hall and into a room filled with leather-bound books.

There was no fire in the large fireplace, but the room was bright and warm. It had big windows, a rich-colored plush carpet, and mirrors that reflected the light from outside. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a desk facing one of the windows. "Oh, man, I love this room," said Jack, staring at all the books. "Yeah, and look—there's a desk with a feather pen and paper," said Annie. "I'll bet this is where Mr. Dickens does his writing. I wonder where he is." "Maybe he's taking a break," said Jack. "Maybe he'll come in here soon," said Annie. "Let's start cleaning the chimney."

"Okay," said Jack. "But first we have to figure out how." He unbuckled the green bag and pulled out their research book. He looked in the index and found chimney sweeps. He turned to the right page and read aloud: In Victorian England, young boys worked as chimney sweeps, cleaning the soot made by coal fires. It was not only a dirty job, but a dangerous one as well. "Great." Jack closed the book. "Good work, Annie. You made us give up our nice clothes and all our money, and you landed us a dirty, dangerous job."

"Don't worry," said Annie. "We shoveled coal, washed dishes, and hauled bananas with Louis Armstrong. We can do this." "Yeah, but how do we do it? The book doesn't tell us," said Jack. "Well, we've got a brush, a broom, and rags," said Annie. "Let's start by using them. Remember, we're just waiting to run into Charles Dickens. Then we'll chat with him and play our music and—" "Okay, okay," said Jack. He put the book away. Jack and Annie stepped into the hearth. Annie got down on her hands and knees and began scrubbing the stones with the brush. Jack pushed his broom up the chimney and tried to sweep the