Winifred was very silent on the way home. She seemed still thinking very much, but thinking did not make her face look brighter. As they drove through the gates of the lodge, she saw a pale little face looking out of the lattice-window, and her mother leaned out to ask of the woman who opened the gate: “How is little Phil to-day?” “Much the same, thank you, ma’am.” “I will send him some more jelly soon.” “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” As Winifred climbed the stairs to her nursery her face was graver than ever. “Why, I’ve never finished those mittens I promised little Phil months and months ago. And I haven’t been to see him for ever so long. I don’t believe even he will miss me when I go away, and he used so to watch for me to come, and be so pleased. Oh dear, dear, he must go on to the list of people now who are to have things given them--or something. But I can’t think whatever I can do to make them sorry when I go.” When Winifred went to bed that night she still had seen no way out of the trouble. [Illustration: Decorative image] CHAPTER III. A STRANGE JOURNEY. That night Winifred could not sleep. Turn and settle herself as she would she could not even fall into a doze; and all kinds of troublesome thoughts kept flocking into her mind. Chief amongst these was the old fear about the swallows--the fear that they would go when she was not watching them, and that she would not be able to bid them good-bye and wish them a pleasant journey. Winnie’s head was tired and confused that night. She did not remember that the swallows had hardly even begun to gather for flight as yet. She fancied they were there in myriads in the water-meadows, and that any time they might make their silent start. “Oh dear!” sighed the little child, “perhaps they will go to-night. Didn’t somebody say they always went at night and nobody ever saw them? I should so like to see them go. I don’t think they would be angry with me. I am so fond of them--I think they are fond of me too. I must just get up and look out of the window.” It was a mild night, and Winifred wrapped herself well up in her little flannel gown, and folded the eider-down quilt about her shoulders. She stole to the window and drew up the blind and looked out into the dusky night. There was a little moon, but not much, and enough wind to stir the leaves of the trees and make them look almost like living things, bending over, and whispering one to the other. Where were the swallows?