They all laughed, but there was still a little sigh at the bottom of auntie's heart. There was reason for it greater than the sight of her little nephew's and niece's shabby clothes. But there was no sigh in the hearts of Floss and Carrots. "Carrots," said Floss, as they made their way to the nursery to decide which of their small collection of toys were fit for Sybil's inspection, "Carrots, _did_ you hear." "What auntie said?" asked Carrots. "Yes, I heard. Do you think mamma will ever let us go?" "Some day, perhaps," said Floss, and oh what dreams and plans and fancies hung on that "perhaps!" "_Fancy_, Carrots, we should go in the railway, you and me, Carrots, alone perhaps." "Oh, Floss!" said Carrots, his feelings being beyond further expression. That "some day" was a good way off, however, but "to-day" was here, and a nice bright-looking to-day it was. How happy they were! How happy Sybil was! For, somehow, though she was dressed like a princess, though since babyhood she had had _everything_ a child could wish for, though very often, I must confess, she had had "her own way," a good deal more than would have been good for most children, little Sybil was not spoilt. The spoiling dropped off her like water down a duck's back, and auntie never found out it had been there at all! Perhaps after all there is a kind of spoiling that isn't spoiling--love and kindness, and even indulgence, do not spoil when there is perfect trust and openness, and when a child at the same time is taught the one great lesson, that the best happiness is trying to make others happy too. They played on the sands nearly all day, and Sybil, to her great delight, was covered up from damage by one of Carrots' blouses. The sun came out bright and warm, and they built the most lovely sand house you ever saw. "I'd like to live in it always," said Carrots. "Oh you funny boy," said Sybil patronisingly, "and what would you do at night, when it got cold, and perhaps the sea would come in." "Perhaps the mermaids would take care of him till the morning," said Floss. "What are the mermaids?" asked Sybil. "Pretty ladies," said Carrots, "who live at the bottom of the sea, only they've got tails." "Then they can't be pretty," said Sybil decidedly, "not unless their tails are beautiful and sweeping out, like peacocks! Are they?--one day I tied a shawl of mother's on, it was a red and gold shawl, and I sweeped it about just like a peacock,--that _would_ be pretty." "I don't think mermaids' tails are like that," said Carrots, doubtfully, "but they _are_ pretty ladies, aren't they, Floss?" "Beautiful," said Floss, "but they're very sad. They come up to the shore at night and comb their hair and cry dreadfully." "What do they cry for?" asked Sybil and Carrots, pressing up to Floss, and forgetting all about the lovely sand house. "Because they--no, you couldn't understand," she broke off; "it is no good telling you." "Oh do tell," said the children.