There were two tiny sisters up in the nursery, babies that hardly counted as yet in the restless, busy group of older ones. But they added their share, no doubt, to all that had to be done and thought of, though Charlotte often looked forward with prospective envy to the pleasant life that would be theirs when they came to her age. "You are pretty sure to be out in the world by then, Jerry," she said to him one day, "and I, if I am not married, shall be quite an old maid--a sort of second mother to Amy and Marion. Think how nice and quiet and regular the house will be! I do think a large family is dreadful." "But mamma says we don't know how dull it is to be an only child like she was," Jerry objected. "_As_ she was--do talk grammar," said Charlotte. "I don't care--I should have liked to be an only child--or perhaps to have had just one brother like you, Jerry. Just _think_ what a nice life we would have had! But I mustn't talk any more. I _must_ copy out my literature notes. When I have finished them, Jerry, I will tell you something if you remind me." The two had the school-room to themselves for once, which was the more remarkable as it was Saturday afternoon, and not a summer Saturday afternoon, nor yet a mid-winter frosty day, when Arthur, Ted, and Noble would have been safe to be off skating. It was a late September afternoon, dull and gloomy and already chilly. The rain had held off, however, fortunately, for the elder boys had for some days been planning a long country walk, to finish up with tea at the house of a schoolfellow, who lived a couple of miles out of the town. "What a dreary day it is!" Charlotte began again, looking up from her notes. "I wish we might have a fire," and she shivered a little. "I dare say we might," said Jerry, starting up. "Shall I ask mamma?" "No," Charlotte decided. "We shall be in the drawing-room all the evening. I've nearly done. I know mamma is glad not to give the servants anything extra to do on Saturdays. And they haven't got into the way of regular winter fires yet. I wonder if it isn't any brighter out in the country to-day than it is here." "Hardly, I should say," Jerry answered, as he glanced out of the window. "Still it would be _nicer_ than here. I wish we had a pony-carriage, Charlotte--think what jolly drives we might have. Those woods out Gretham way where the boys have gone must be nice even to-day," and Jerry gave a little sigh. He could not walk far, and Wortherham, though not a very large town, was partly a manufacturing one, and large enough therefore to be somewhat grim and smoky, and to make one long for the freshness and clearness of country air. "I wish you would not say that," said Charlotte, giving herself a little shake. "It makes me feel as if everything was all wrong for you not to have all you want, Jerry." "Nobody has, I suppose," said the boy.