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away six months: and the children are looking pale, a
country life will do them all the good in the world. Let them run wild,
nurse, they will come back to their lessons all the better for it. Miss
Grant told me this morning she would have to give up teaching--her
mother is very ill--so, all things combined, I think this plan will work
well. Will you write to your brother and find out if he can take you in
the last week in April? Let me know when you have heard from him.'

Mrs. Stuart rose as she spoke; her visits were never long, and nurse left
the room with her.
'Betty,' said Molly, in an eager tone, 'did you hear? We're going into the
country.'
'I heard; and no lessons, and we're to run wild; how lovely!' Betty's
curly head bobbed up and down in excitement, then she said
persuasively, 'Molly, let you and me keep it a secret together; we won't
tell Douglas or the twins.'
This required consideration. Molly sat up in bed and looked thoughtful.
'I never do have a secret with you,' pleaded Betty. 'You and Douglas
have lots; I never have any one to have secrets with.'
'Well, I'll see,' and there was a little of the elder sister in Molly's tone.
'I'll tell you to-morrow morning. Oh, it will be jolly in the country,
won't it? And nurse's home that she tells us about is like our
story-books: it's full of calves, and lambs, and horses, and ducks, and
chickens, and haymaking, and pigs!'
'And ponds, and apple orchards, and we shall have cream, and honey,
and strawberries every day!' continued Betty.
The little girls' voices were raised in their excitement, and they did not
notice a door at the end of the room slowly open.
'What a row! Are you telling stories?'
It was Douglas, who slept in a little room off the nursery, and who had
been roused by the sound of talking.
'Hush! nurse will hear. Come and sit on my bed,' said Molly, 'and then
you will hear all about it.'
'Oh, Molly, it was to be our secret!'
'Douglas won't tell. Besides, nurse is sure to tell us; she knew we were

awake and listening.'
Betty gave a little sigh, then joined eagerly in giving her brother the
delightful information.
He listened, rumpling up his fair curls, and blinking his blue eyes,
which were already heavy with sleep.
'Easter is years off,' he said at last. 'Why, we are still in winter. I
daresay we shan't go, after all.'
'We are in February now,' said Molly, looking a little disappointed at
the calm way he received such rapturous news.
'If I go,' Douglas went on meditatively, 'I shall ask father to let me have
a gun, and I shall shoot rabbits and birds every day.'
'Then you'd be a wicked, cruel boy!' pronounced Betty indignantly. 'I
shall catch all the rabbits I can see and tame them.'
'Then I shall let them loose again,' retorted Douglas; and taking up
Molly's pillow, he flung it with all his strength at Betty, who instantly
returned it, and a pillow fight commenced. Molly joined delightedly in
the fray; but, alas! in the height of the excitement, Betty backed into a
can of water put ready for their morning bath. Over she went, head first,
on the floor, and the whole contents of the can flooded her and the
carpet together. Douglas precipitately fled into his little room, and
Molly into her bed, so that when nurse came hastily in Betty again was
discovered as chief offender. Whilst she was being hustled into a dry
nightdress nurse relieved her vexed feelings by giving her a good
scolding, and Betty eventually crept into bed wondering if she was
really the 'wickedest, mischievousest child on earth,' or if grown-up
people sometimes made mistakes.
For the next few days nothing was talked of but the proposed country
visit; but as weeks went on, and spring seemed still as far away, the
children's excitement subsided, and the ordinary routine of lessons,
walks, and play engrossed their whole attention.

But Easter came at last, and then packing-up began. Miss Grant took
her departure, and poor Sophy, the nursery maid, had her hands full
enough, for nurse's command was to keep the children quiet, and not let
them come near her when packing.
Mr. Roper was leaving the library one afternoon about four o'clock,
when he saw the disconsolate little figure of Betty seated on the stairs.
'Anything the matter?' he asked good-naturedly.
'We're going away to-morrow,' was the reply, 'and it is all topsy-turvy
upstairs. Douglas and Molly have been lions for hours, and Bobby and
Billy two monkeys, and I've been the man. I'm tired of being him,