"Children, ay, forsooth, They bring their own love with them when they come, But if they come not there is peace and rest; The pretty lambs! and yet she cries for more: Why, the world's full of them, and so is heaven-- They are not rare."--_Jean Ingelow._ The girls had lingered so long at the vicarage that Cathy postponed their intended walk until after luncheon; but as soon as it was over they sallied forth again, this time with Emmie. They went through the length and breadth of the village, peeped into the schools, visited one or two of the cottages, crossing Langley more than once on their path; and Queenie was again struck with the bright cheerfulness and cleanliness of the whole place. She took an especial fancy to the post-office--a pretty rustic-looking cottage, with a long garden full of sweet old-fashioned flowers. "Cathy, I have fallen in love with this place," she said at last. "I think life would go on peacefully and well here; look, Emmie, at this empty cottage; is not this just the one you always wanted to live in with Caleb?" They had just passed the turning that led to Church-Stile House; beyond were a cluster of new-built villas. Emmie clapped her hands and ran breathlessly across the road. "It has a board up 'to let.' Oh, Queen, do let us go over it, just for fun; it is such a dear, sweet little house; and what a long garden!--look." "We can go in if you like," returned Cathy, smiling at the child's eagerness. "I know the woman who takes care of it; it is rather a pretty place, though ill-kept and desolate. I heard Garth say it would let for a mere song." Queenie did not answer; a strange thought had been agitating her all the morning, a possibility and a probability that had taken tremendous hold of her mind. An odd feeling came over her as she followed Cathy through the little gate--one of those weird over-shadowings or pre-visions that baffle metaphysicians. The place somehow seemed familiar to her; had she seen it in a dream? A dim sense that it belonged to her, that she had trodden that path before, and peeped through the lattice windows, oppressed her with a giddy unreality. Had she conjured it up among the shadows of the old garret? or had she seen a place so nearly approximate that its similarity deceived her? She gave Emmie's hand an involuntary squeeze as they stood in the little porch. It was certainly a pretty place, in spite of the air of neglect and disuse that pervaded everything. A long narrow lawn in front ran down to the road; opposite was the smart grocer's shop, and the lane that led to the church and vicarage. Some laburnums and lilacs grew near the house; there was a little border for flowers under the windows: only a ragged-looking Sweet-William and some weeds grew there now. Behind, an ill-kept lawn sloped down to the house, running on to the back door, giving it a waste, barren look, and imparting an air of dampness to the whole place.