'Oh, poor 'Liza won't be forgotten either,' said his mother. Denis grew brighter after this conversation, and at tea that afternoon, when all the children were talking, he joined in as usual. 'Mother told me where you'se all to sleep at Granny's house,' he announced, impatiently. 'I'm to sleep with nurse and baby.' 'Yes, of course, because you're such a baby yourself,' said Linda. 'Nettie and I are to have a room to ourselves like we have at home. I hope it'll be the turret room at the end of the gallery. I do so love the gallery--at night, you know, when the moon comes in through the coloured glass and makes all the faces of the pictures look so queer--red and purple, and blue and green. The red ones look quite jolly, but the green and blue ones look dreadful.' 'Like ghosts,' suggested Lambert. 'Yes, something like that, I suppose,' said Linda, as if she was in the habit of seeing ghosts, and knew quite what they were like. 'Or like us when we play snapdragon--at the end, you know, when they throw salt in among the brandy,' suggested Nettie. 'Don't talk about that, please, Nettie,' whispered Denis, tugging softly at his sister's arm. Nettie looked surprised, but she understood Den better than did any of the others, so she said no more; but later in the evening, when they were alone, she asked him what he meant. 'I don't know,' said Denis; 'don't ask me; I want to forget about it,' and he gave a little shiver. And question as Nettie would, he could not be got to explain further. There was only one Sunday at home before the day came for going. It was a cold and snowy day; too cold, it was decided, for the children to go to church, so in the afternoon their mother sent for them all to read with her. The stormy weather led to their talking about adventures in winter--about poor travellers being lost in the snow, and the brave things that had been done to rescue them sometimes, and the children's mother told them some stories which they thought very interesting. 'What is "brave?"' asked Denis suddenly. He was sitting beside his mother, and was holding her hand. Mother looked round. 'Suppose you each answer Denis's question?' she said. 'I'll begin with you, Alex, as you're the oldest. What does true bravery mean?' 'Den didn't say "true" bravery, mother,' objected Linda, who had already shrugged her plump shoulders contemptuously at her little brother's question, with a muttered 'So silly--anybody could tell that.'--'He only said, "what does 'brave' mean?" If you say "true bravery," it gets more puzzling.' Mother looked at Linda with a rather amused expression. 'That is why I added the word you object to, my dear Linda. I _want_ you all to think about it a little, not just to answer what "anybody can tell," without reflecting at all.' Linda blushed. _Sometimes_ it was annoying that mother had such quick ears. But she said nothing. 'Come, Alex,' continued mother, 'what is true bravery?'