Angela's dream in time was realised too. Her dream poultry farm became a real one, and the most successful in the country. Very slowly at first she added penny to penny, then shilling to shilling, then pound to pound, until at last, instead of building more hens' houses, she bought a cow. It was an experiment, and one those about doubted the success of; but Angela never doubted, and presently another cow was added to her stock, and soon after that they all moved to a small farm, where Poppy had to become the little housewife, for Angela's time was quite taken up with her dairy. Poppy's market-gardening scheme never got beyond the bed of parsley. With that one success she decided to be satisfied. "It was a most wonderful pennyworth," she often remarked, "for it brought me quite a lot of money, and Mademoiselle as a friend, and nothing could have been better than that." "Nothing," said Esther softly. "Life is very wonderful, Poppy dear, isn't it?" "Very," answered Poppy sagely, with a serious shake of her curly head. One last scene before we bid them all good-bye! It is Easter time once more. In the orchards and woods the daffodils are bowing their golden heads, as though awed by the beauty of the pear-blossom spreading between them and the glorious blue sky. The hedges are starred with primroses, daisies, and king-cups, the air is sweet with the scent of flowers and the fresh earth. Everything seems brimming over with sunshine and happiness and joy of living. Easter is in the heart of all things animate and inanimate. Up in 'the Castle' the four girls are gathered as of old, but with one big gap in their circle. Guard, dear old Guard, will never accompany them more in their wanderings. He sleeps his last long sleep in the breast of the moor he loved so well. Yet he is with them in spirit and thought, for he lies buried close beside 'the Castle,' and they feel he is near them whenever they go there. Easter is in their hearts, too, for Penelope is home for her holidays and Angela has just returned from a much-dreaded duty visit to Aunt Julia, and their joy at being together again is intense. Penelope lies in her old attitude, flat on the moor, one cheek pressed close to its breast, her eyes gazing in a perfect rapture of delight over the length and breadth of it. "I _almost_ think," she says softly, "it is worth going away to have the joy of coming home again; to step out of that dear little station, and then to turn the corner and see--this," waving her hand in a wide sweep. "Oh, girls, shall you ever forget the first time we came, and how we dreaded it, and how shy we were, and frightened--" "Until we saw Cousin Charlotte," chimed in Esther. "I never felt frightened after that." "And do you remember," burst in Angela, "our dear little rooms, and how lovely it all looked when we came that night, and dear old Guard,"--her voice wavered and dropped--"came out to meet us, and Anna?"