"It ought to be my realisation." Then a light came into her eyes. "But it doesn't say 'I shall never be shaken'; only 'never be moved.' It's the buffeting I find so trying. It isn't the building's fault when the wind and storm attack it." She visibly brightened up. "I like to tease you sometimes," said Monica, smiling at her. "Yes, you brace me up, Monnie. I feel very slack at present. I have all kinds of presentiments, and I honestly don't like living near anyone who is not friendly to me. I see the girls are coming in. They are a handsome couple, are they not?" Chuckles was dancing up the garden after them. He was in a very dirty overall, and brandished a trowel in one hand. Monica carried him off to make him tidy for tea; the girls joined Sidney in the cosy sitting-room. Both were genuinely glad to see her there. "We've been up the Beacon," said Jockie. "It's our favourite walk. Oh, dear! I shall be glad of some tea. Talking and climbing are rather exhausting, and our tongues have been hard at it. Gavine says she's going away soon; isn't it a shame of her, when I want her so much?" "Does your mother want you to leave her so soon?" Sidney asked, turning to Gavine. "Yes," the girl answered simply; then she added, with a little effort: "We have been talking together, and mother is quite willing that I shall go and do something. You see, my aunts do not really need me. They told me so when I came away; they thought my duty was to stay with my mother." "And is it not?" asked Sidney. "Not when it is her wish that I should leave her," said Gavine quietly. "I am going up to London to stay with a clergyman and his wife; he has a curacy in the slums somewhere, and they say they can give me plenty of work. She was at school with me. Jockie knows her." "Yes; she's not a bit like a clergyman's wife; much too fond of dress and society," said the outspoken Jockie; and then she laughed. "I expect people say much the same of me—not a bit like a clergyman's cousin; much too fond of fun. I tell Gavine we can give her plenty of parish work, can't me, Miss Urquhart? But I know what she wants—a more rigorous, self-denying life; she wants to live in a kind of cell and be short of food and fires, and go out to early services at six o'clock in the morning, and make herself very ill and bad-tempered." Monica came back at this juncture, leading a very clean Chuckles by the hand. Then she asked them to come to a sit down tea in the dining-room. When they were at the table, Sidney asked the small boy what he had been doing with himself all the afternoon. His eyes gleamed. "I've been building a real house, me and Mr. Rudge togever." "It's a labourer's cottage being erected," said Monica. "You can fancy that he discovered it very quickly." "Yes," said Chuckles, with a self-satisfied nod. "Mr. Rudge holded my hand and showed me how to put the mortar atween the bwicks. He was very like God this morning. I tolded him so."