"You are foolish children," observed Mr. Ward, fondly. "Who would have thought that my sweet Moll had been such a little worldling at heart!" "No, dad, you must not say that. Worldly people are selfish, and Mollie has not a selfish thought. It is just a pretty, childish fancy. I sometimes believe in Kitlands myself, we have talked about it so often. On windy nights I have seen the oaks tossing their branches in the park, and the deer huddling under them, and the west room where we always sit of an evening, with the bay window. And how the red firelight streams out on the terrace? And there is a delicious couch by the fire with a lovely Japanese screen behind it, and----" But here Mr. Ward put his hand over the girl's mouth. "Do you think I am going to be entertained by a description of your baby-house?" he said, in mock wrath. "Tell Mollie she ought to be grown up by this time." But when he was left alone, he said to himself, "Now, why in the world should they have hit on that name Kitlands? Don't I recollect that sunny evening when I walked up the terrace, and the red light streamed from the west room!" He sighed, then roused himself. "Bless their dear, innocent hearts. Now if only their mother could have heard all that!" Mollie was perfectly ravished with the description of the Red House, and as soon as Waveney paused to take breath, she said, "Why, it is almost as nice as Kitlands, only there is no park and no deer. But I wish I had thought of a peacock." Then she put her head on one side and reflected deeply. "There is the Italian garden, you know, Wave, a sundial would do very nicely there, and we could choose an inscription." But Waveney gave her a little push. "Don't be such a baby, Mollie. We are getting too old for Kitlands. We must put our play-house away with the dear old dolls. But, seriously, is it not perfectly delicious to think we shall be together every Sunday?" "Yes, that will be nice, of course. But is it really settled, Wave?" and Mollie's voice was full of melancholy. "I think so, dear; but, of course, I must talk to father. Darling, promise me that you will try and make the best of it. The week will pass so quickly, and then, when Sunday comes, we shall be together. I daresay I shall be with you by half-past three, just after father and Noel have started for their afternoon walk." "I shall come to the station and meet you," interrupted Mollie. "Will you? How nice that will be! And we shall have a cosy hour on Grumps, and you shall tell me all your worries--every one of them; and I will tell mine. Then, when father comes in, you and Noel shall get tea ready, and dad and I will have a little talk. And after tea we will sing all our favourite hymns, and then we will go to St. Michael's together, and I will have my old place by father."