“We’ll take care of him, Winnie. He shan’t be dull if we can help it. I’ll never forget him any more, I promise you.” “Thank you,” said Winnie gratefully, and her heart felt the lighter for this promise. She knew Charley would not fail when he had once pledged himself. Mrs. Digby gave a willing consent to Winifred’s plan for the proposed tea-party; and entered into an animated discussion of its every detail. It was arranged for the following Saturday. The guests were to be invited for three o’clock, to have games in the garden, tea in the nursery, charades in the play-room, and fireworks after supper just before going home. Everything sounded delightful, and the boys went off in high spirits to prepare their lessons. “Mamma,” said Winnie, after she was in bed, her mother still remaining beside her, “may I give away some of my books and toys to Violet when she comes?” “What makes you wish to do so, dear?” “I have so many, you know, mamma, and Violet has so few, and she would be so pleased. Besides, I feel sometimes as if I was growing older. I don’t seem to care so much for toys and fairy tales. I like some of my books better than ever; but I hardly ever read the stories I used to be so fond of, and I haven’t played with my dolls--Oh, I don’t know when!” “And so you would like Violet to have them instead, would you?” asked Mrs. Digby, caressing the child’s head. “Yes, mamma, if you don’t mind. I feel as if I’d not been quite kind to Violet all this while. She would have liked to come here oftener to play, and I haven’t asked her; and I haven’t been to see her when I know she would have liked it. I didn’t think about things once; but I do now, and I know it wasn’t quite right of me.” “And you think Violet would be pleased by having the dolls and fairy tales?” “I think she would; and I should like to feel that she had them. You don’t mind, do you, mamma?” “No, dearest. If you do not want your toys yourself, it is better to give them to some one who will be pleased by having them.” “Yes; and it will be nice to have seen the boys’ friends, and to have made Vi happy. I wonder I never thought about it before. Mamma, the swallows won’t have gone by Saturday, will they?” “No, darling, no,” and it seemed as if Mrs. Digby’s voice shook. “They will gather a long while yet. What makes my little girl think so much of the swallows?” “I don’t quite know, mamma. Sometimes I can’t help fancying that everything will be different when the swallows have gone.” The mother kissed her child very fervently and tenderly, and left the room without another word. To her surprise she found Charley lingering about the door, as if waiting for her. His face wore a troubled look, and he did not speak at once, but followed his mother down the passage, and did not speak until they reached the window at the end of the corridor near to the staircase, which looked over the water-meadows. “Mamma,” he said then, looking up into her face, “have you been crying?”