In old days, Shropshire children used to imagine that carrion crows flew off at night to Prolly Moor, there to roost. Prolly Moor is a great tract of wild land that lies at the foot of the Longmynd, and is said to be the sleeping-ground of crows and the place where witches hold midnight revels. I kept my eyes on the bird, and saw him sail away, skirting in his flight the old town, and at last I noted that he flew over the top of the Edge, at the back of Wenlock Town. [Sidenote: LIFE IS A DREAM] As I retraced my steps homewards, I was greeted by the soft music of the chimes. How prettily they sounded across the meadows; "Life is a dream, life is a dream," they seemed to say; yet for all their dreamy sound I remembered that they are calling out the hour of nine, and in spite of the joy of spring, the cry of birds, and the charm of beast and flower, I hurried up the stairs to the east garden and regained the house. On the threshold of the east entrance to the Abbey I met Bess. "Mama," she said reprovingly, "where have you been? Your breakfast is getting cold, and it is to-day, to-day I tell you." The last part of Bess's speech referred to the gift--the present of all the presents, as my little girl called it--which was to arrive; in other words, to the pug puppy. "Listen, mama," she cried, "it is to come by the train this afternoon; and Mamie has sent me a ribbon, all blue," and my little girl showed me a ribbon and a letter announcing the fact in a childish round hand. "Pups," continued Bess, gravely, "cannot be dressed in anything but blue. Then there is the day-bed to discuss, his saucer and his supper plate--mamsie, there is a great deal to do," and Bess hurried me upstairs to see the preparations. We found together a white saucer, and Bess looked forward to washing it. But Nan said severely, "Best let Liza, she understands such things." And I feared, from the pursed-down corners of Nan's mouth, poor master pug would get but a scant welcome. Bess noticed the expression on old Nana's face and whispered, "Specs God never gave Nan a dog-brother in all her life." Nan sat on stitching as if nothing could move her from her seat, as she always does in moments of irritation, and I must agree with Bess, that she was neither kind nor helpful in her preparations for the arrival of Prince Charming, as we christened our expected visitor. As we left the room, Nan lifted her eyes from her work, and said severely, "Might be a baby, I'm sure." We both felt rather chilled at this, and Bess took my hand, and, while she jumped down two steps at a time, asked if I didn't think my own bedroom would be better for the Prince than hers. "One dog more, mamsie," she urged, "couldn't make much difference. Where there's place for Mouse, mams, I am sure there is place for a pup."