“I wouldn’t care one bit if only Mummie and Daddy were here,” sighed the child; “the old wind could blow as hard as it liked. I wouldn’t care if it blew away the house, and the old clock, and Mrs. Grudge. Oh, if only it would--and left just Mummie and Daddy and me, all alone in the dear old bed, cuddling tight.” Coppertop threw her little freckled arms round the soft, bulgy pillow, and tried to “’magine” that it really was so; but still the wind howled, and the rain pattered on the windowpane. “Oh, I’m tired of ’magining! I wish they were really-truly here. I believe I shall hate that horrid old India soon, for keeping them away. Well, perhaps I won’t quite hate it, but I wish it were here, then they’d be here too, and so would Simla and the beautiful Taj Mahal.” “But if India were here, where would Here be? Oh, it’s awfully muddling,” she added. Then her face brightened up, and plunging one hand under the pillow she brought out a very crumpled letter, a letter that had been hugged and kissed till it was scarcely readable. Screwing up her grey eyes, Coppertop read it, word by word, keeping her place with a wet finger with which she had just flicked away a tear: My Dearest Child,-- I am writing this letter to you from our bungalow at Simla--the one in which you stayed two years ago--do you remember? I am sitting on the verandah, looking out over the mountains, and thinking of you, my darling, oh, so hard, that I believe I can almost see you, dancing through the long grass in the orchard, and climbing the trees, to see if the green apples are not too hard for your strong little teeth. And, dear, you really must not eat green apples, they are not good for little girls--it is so much better to let them grow into big, rosy ones. Daddy is lying in the deck-chair under the punkah, and the breeze from it is making his hair stand up in queer little tufts--you would laugh so to see it--and he is snoring! Snoring so loudly that I thought it was the punkah. He is sound asleep, and dreaming, I expect, of his darling little girl in far-away Australia. And now for some beautiful news! We are coming back to our little girl. Daddy has applied for his leave, and we may sail quite, quite soon. I expect we shall go to England first, and then back again, through the Canal, and see the Pyramids and the Arab donkey-boys, and the camels. Take care of that little bronze camel Daddy gave you--don’t lose it, dear. And try to be good to Mrs. Grudge, and do as she tells you. How I am longing to give you a big, big hug. Good-bye, my own darling child. MUMMIE. P.S.--Daddy will write next mail. When she came to the last line Coppertop’s lips trembled, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. It was just that “Big, big hug” that she was wanting this very minute.