rolls of bliss. When they have subsided a little—"Children," says mamma, "I have something to tell you."
“Won't it keep, mother, dear?" asks Alice, "till some day when we are not quite so happy? We don't get many treats; had we not better have them one at a time?"
"It will keep," says mamma smiling; "but I must tell you now. We are going away."
Going away! We know the sound of these words well enough as applied to the governor, but as applied to ourselves they have a strange, unusual flavour—a romantic freshness that breathes of distant lands, gorgeous cities, and unknown, mysterious pleasures. Not one of us has ever been away from home in all our lives, save Jack.
"Where, mamma?" we ask after a pause; it takes a little while to get used to the idea that we are going away without requiring any further knowledge on the subject.
"To the sea!" The answer strikes us dumb again. Have we not longed ourselves sick for a sight of it? Have we not splashed ourselves from head to foot over a dirty pond in trying to make real waves with stout sticks?
"When, mamma, when?"
"Early next week. Your papa has heard of a house that will suit us."
So soon! it takes our breath away. "And is he coming too? I ask anxiously.
"Not for a fortnight?" We draw a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"What strolls we will have!" says Alice. "And donkey rides!" and shrimps!" "and peace!" "and cuttle-fish tooth-powder!" "No walks!" "or punishments!" "No one to call us dummies!" "or make us talk!" "or send us to bed!"
"Come along, Dolly," says Alan the solemn-faced. "I'm going to begin packing up."
