“But you will come and see us at Comberidge, will you not?” she added. “Do you think your mother will ask me?” he said. “I think she will. I do so want to show you our library! And I have so many things to ask you!” “I am your slave, the jin of your lamp.” “I would I had such a lamp as would call you!” “It will need no lamp to make me come.” Lamps to call moths are plenty, and Lufa was herself one. CHAPTER XIII. “HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.” London was very hot, very dusty, and as dreary as Walter had anticipated. When Lufa went, the moon went out of the heavens, the stars chose banishment with their mistress, and only the bright, labor-urging sun was left. He might now take a holiday when he pleased, and he had money enough in hand. His father wanted him to pay them a visit; but what if an invitation to Comberidge should arrive! Home was a great way in the other direction! And then it would be so dull! He would of course be glad to see his father! He ought to go! He was owing there! What was he to do? He would not willingly even run the risk of losing his delight, for the sake of his first, best, truest earthly friend! But he must take his holiday now, in the slack of the London year, and the heat was great! He need not be all day with his father, and the thought of Lufa would be entrancing in the wide solitudes of the moor! Molly he scarce thought of, and his aunt was to be forgotten. He would go for a few days, he said, thus keeping the door open for a speedy departure. Just before he left, the invitation did arrive. He would have a week to dream about it under the old roof!