“Milly!” she called softly, shaking her very gently, “Milly, it’s breakfast-time, wake up!”

Milly began to move about, and muttered something about “whistles” and “hedges” in her sleep.

Then nurse gave her another little shake, and at last Milly’s eyes did try very hard to open—­“What is it?  What do you want, Nana?  Where are we?—­Oh, I know!”

And up sprang Milly in a second and ran to the window, her sleepy eyes wide open at last.  “Yes, there they are!  Come and look, Nana!  There, past those trees—­don’t you see the mountains?  And there is father walking about; and oh! do look at those roses over there.  Dress me quick, dress me quick, please, dear Nana.”

Thump! bump! and there was Olly out of bed, sitting on the floor rubbing his eyes.  Olly used always to jump out of bed half asleep, and then sit a long time on the floor waking up.  Nurse and Milly always left him alone till he was quite woke up.  It made him cross if you began to talk to him too soon.

“Milly,” said Olly presently, in a sleepy voice, “I’m going right up the mountains after breakfast.  Aren’t you?”

“Wait till you see them, Master Olly,” said nurse, taking him up and kissing him, “perhaps your little legs won’t find it quite so easy to climb up the mountains as you think.”

“I can climb up three, four, six, seven mountains,” said Olly stoutly; “mountains aren’t a bit hard.  Mother says they’re meant to climb up.”

“Well, I suppose it’s like going up stairs a long way,” said Milly, thoughtfully, pulling on her stockings.  “You didn’t like going up the stairs in Auntie Margaret’s house, Olly.”

Auntie Margaret’s house was a tall London house, with ever so many stairs.  The children when they were staying there were put to sleep at the top, and Olly used to sit down on the stairs and pout and grumble every time they had to go up.

But Olly shook his obstinate little head.

“I don’t believe it’s a bit like going up stairs.”

However, as they couldn’t know what it was like before they tried, nurse told them it was no good talking about it.  So they hurried on with their dressing, and presently there stood as fresh a pair of morning children as anyone could wish to see, with rosy cheeks, and smooth hair, and clean print frocks—­for Olly was still in frocks—­though when the winter came mother said she was going to put him into knickerbockers.

And then nurse took them each by the hand and led them through some long passages, down a pretty staircase, and through a swing door, into what looked like a great nagged kitchen, only there was no fireplace in it.  The real kitchen opened out of it at one side, and through the door came a smell of coffee and toast that made the children feel as hungry as little hunters.  But their own room was straight in front, across the kitchen without a fireplace, a tiny room with one large window hung round with roses, and looking out on to a green lawn.