"What?" asked the child. "What has he gone for?" "My dear child, he has gone on most important business. He will bring us back a great deal of _money_, Sibyl. You are too young yet to understand about money." "No, I am not," said Sibyl. "I know that when people have not much money they are sorrowful. Poor Mr. Holman is." "Who in the world is Mr. Holman?" "He sells the toys in the back street near our house. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for that sovereign. Mr. Holman is going to send me some dusty toys to-morrow." "What do you mean?" "I can't 'splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money." "Plenty of money," echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; "that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. When your father comes back we'll be rich." "Rich?" said Sibyl, "rich?" She did not say another word for a long time. Her mother really thought she had dropped asleep. In about half an hour, however, Sibyl spoke. "Is it nice, being rich?" she asked. "Of course it is." "But what does it do?" "Do? It does everything. It gives you all your pretty frocks." "But I am more comfy in my common frocks." "Well, it gives you your nice food." "I don't care nothing about food." "It gives you your comfortable home, your pony, and----" "Lord Grayleigh gave me my pony." "Child, I cannot explain. It makes all the difference between comfort and discomfort, between sorrow and happiness." "Do you think so?" said Sibyl. "And father has gone away to give me a nice house, and pretty clothes, and all the other things between being comfy and discomfy; and you want to be rich very much, do you, mother?" "Very much indeed; I like the good things of life." "I'll try and understand," said Sibyl. She turned wearily on her pillow, and the next instant sleep had visited the perplexed little brain. CHAPTER X. "Nursie," said Sibyl, two months after the events related in the last chapter, "mother says that when my ownest father comes back again we'll be very rich." "Um," replied nurse, with a grunt, "do she?" "Why do you speak in that sort of voice, nursie? It's very nice to be rich. I have been having long talks with mother, and she has 'splained things. It means a great deal to be rich. I am so glad that my father is coming back a very, very rich man. I didn't understand at first. I thought to be rich just meant to have lots of money, and big, big houses, and heaps of bags of sweeties, and toys and ponies, and, oh, the kind of things that don't matter a bit. But now I know what to be rich really is." "Yes, dear," said nurse. She was seated in the old nursery close to the window. She was mending some of Sibyl's stockings. A little pile of neatly mended pairs lay on the table, and there was a frock which also wanted a darn reclining on the back of the old woman's chair. Sibyl broke off and watched her nurse's movements with close interest. "Why do you wear spectacles?" she asked suddenly.