“And, mother, is there a garden to Uncle Richard’s house, and are there any children there to play with?”

“There’s a delightful garden, full of roses, and strawberries and grapes, and everything else that’s nice.  And it has a baby river all to itself, that runs and jumps and chatters all through the middle of it, so perhaps Olly may have a paddle sometimes, though we aren’t going to the sea.  And the gardener has got two little children, just about your age, Aunt Mary says:  and there are two more at the farm, two dear little girls, who aren’t a bit shy, and will like playing with you very much.  But who else shall we see there, Milly?  Who lives in the mountains too, near Uncle Richard?”

Olly looked puzzled, but Milly thought a minute, and then said quickly, “Aunt Emma, isn’t it, mother?  Didn’t she come here once?  I think I remember.”

“Yes, she came once, but long ago, when you were quite small.  But now we shall see a great deal of her I hope, for she lives just on the other side of the mountain from Uncle Richard’s house, in a dear old house, where I spent many, many happy days when I was small.  Great-grandpapa and grandmamma were alive then.  But now Aunt Emma lives there quite alone.  Except for one creature, at least, an old gray poll-parrot, that chatters away, and behaves as if it were quite sensible, and knew all about everything.”

“Hasn’t she got any pussies, mother?” asked Olly.

“Yes, two I believe; but they don’t get on with Polly very well, so they live in the kitchen out of the way—­”

“I like pussies better than pollies,” said Olly gravely.

“Why, what do you know about pollies, old man?”

“Pollies bite, I know they do.  There was a polly bited Francis once.”

“Well, and pussies scratch,” said Milly.

“No, they don’t, not if you’re nicey to them,” said Olly; who was just then very much in love with a white kitten, and thought there were no creatures so delightful as pussies.

“Well, suppose you don’t make up your mind about Aunt Emma’s Polly till you’ve seen her,” said Mrs. Norton.  “Now sit down on the rug there and let us have a talk.”

Down squatted the children on the floor opposite their mother, with their little heads full of plans and their eyes as bright as sparks.

“I’ll take my cart and horse,” began Olly; “and my big ball, and my whistle, and my wheelbarrow, and my spade, and all my books, and the big scrap-book, and—­”

“You can’t, Olly,” exclaimed Milly.  “Nurse could never pack all those up.  There’d be no room for our clothes.  You can take your whistle, and the top, and the picture books, and I can take my dolls.  That’ll be quite enough, won’t it, mother?”

“Quite enough,” said Mrs. Norton.  “If it’s fine weather you’ll see—­you won’t want any toys.  But now, look here, children,” and she held up the map.  “Shall I show you how we are going to get to the mountains?”