"Much better, Dearie. But I'm wanted downstairs; can you spare me, Poppets? Put yourself to bed, and I'll be back directly with your hot milk." Without waiting for an answer she bustled into the adjoining night nursery, where Monica heard her busily opening and shutting the great cupboards. The cheery old body was called Grandnurse because she had been in the family for ever so long--so long as to have become, as it were, a member of it. Passing through the nursery again she stopped and said-- "What would my Poppets say to a little sister, I wonder! A tiny new baby!" "Oh, Grandnurse!" And before the old woman could hurry out of the door Monica sprang forward, her face all aglow with excitement, and holding her tight by the arm cried all in a breath-- "Is it true? Where is it? When's it coming? Who's going to bring it?" "Patience; I can't wait now. Let me go, Dearie," said Grandnurse, disengaging herself from the little girl. "But is it true?" "Quite true." "What will it come in?" "A bandbox, of course," answered Grandnurse, laughing gaily as she went out of the room. "Can I fetch it? When can I fetch it?" persisted Monica, following her downstairs. "When there's a blue moon. Now go back, there's a dear." "Yes, but who's going to bring it?" "Don't ask me--ask the man in the moon," said the little old woman over her shoulder in a hushed voice as she disappeared down a dark passage of the large house. Monica, standing there, laughed a little scornful laugh. "Ask the man in the moon, indeed!" she muttered. "As though there were one! She often says that, but I'm not so silly as to believe it." And full of thought of the new little sister she re-entered the nursery. The heavy curtains had not been drawn, and the moon was looking at her just as it had done during the drive. How lovely it was, that drive! She went to the large window seat and curled herself up in her favourite corner. Outside it looked so cold and white that she drew the curtain close around her with a little shiver. "Can Grandnurse really think there is a man in the moon?" pondered Monica as she gazed up at it; and confusedly she thought on: "I wonder if there is, after all. Can he be going to bring the baby? I should so like to know, and when, or who is going to--I wish he'd tell me--perhaps if I were to ask--who spoke about bumping up against the moon? Ah!!"