"I shall get you a donkey to ride, Boodles," she said, as they turned homewards, their arms full, and their hats wreathed with the wood flowers. "You are such a lot too heavy to carry. That reminds me, Betty," Camilla added, "you are going to have a dog, a real beauty. Sammy is sending it to you." "I don't want it, thank you very much," said Betty, in her clear treble. "Rupert's going to gived me a dog. I don't like Sammy." A little pause, then the child said thoughtfully, "I'm glad I'm not a dog, mummy--special Sammy's dog--because I've not gotten to eat my din-din out of his plate. And he can't kick me. I've saw him kick his horse in the stable that day he was throwed. I think he's a horrid man." Camilla had turned white. "You only care for the things Rupert gives you," she said, in a strangled voice; then, "Oh dear, how tired I am, and there is a dance-to-night! Why _did_ I walk so far?" Indeed, she was a long time getting back to the gardens, and when they were reached, she asked that the carriage might be made ready at once to take her over to Lea Abbey. "When do you want us to go to London?" Caroline asked her as they went indoors together. "Next week.... I don't know.... I will write. It seems a sin to take the chicks away from here. How well they look!" A little later, when she was getting into the carriage, Mrs. Lancing drew the girl towards her. "Don't let them forget me...." Her voice had an odd, dry sound. "Don't let them suppose I am forgetting because they do not see me. Children can forget so easily." She pressed Caroline's hand. "It is funny," she said, in an unsteady way. "I never left them before without yearning to be back the moment they were out of sight; but I leave them with you, almost happily, you funny little cross-patch Caroline." Caroline looked at her. Once again there were tears in her eyes. "Come back soon," she said. "Come back and let us make you well. We all want you." Their hands unclasped, the door was shut, and the carriage rolled away. At the bend of the drive Mrs. Lancing leaned forward and waved her hand out of the window. Caroline stood a minute or two and watched the carriage roll out of sight. The air was fragrant with the scent of spring, laden with the whispers of a thousand unseen blossoms. From where she stood she could see nothing save the lawn and the mass of newly garmented trees. Only a little while before it had been easy to see the entrance gate; now all was blocked out by that fresh shutter of golden-green foliage. Turning at last, she walked slowly through the hall. Mr. Brenton had discarded his usual corner, and had taken his books out into the sunshine. She could hear the children laughing and singing beyond. Their mother had given each a little parcel as she had gone away. It seemed to Caroline as if she had shirked taking farewell of them. The girl was glad to be alone for a little while. Dennis was with the children. Mrs. Brenton had vanished.