“How many more things will you want before you get home, Olly, do you think?” asked his mother, kissing him.  “Perhaps you’ll want to take home a few mountains, and two or three little rivers, and a bog or two, and a few sheep—­eh, young man?”

By this time dinner was ready, and there was the dinner-bell ringing.  Up ran the children to Aunt Emma’s room to get their hands washed and their hair brushed, and presently there were two tidy little folks sitting on either side of Aunt Emma’s chair, and thinking to themselves that they had never felt quite so hungry before.  But hungry as Milly was she didn’t forget to look out of the window before she began her dinner, and it was worth while looking out of the window in Aunt Emma’s dining-room.

Before the windows was a green lawn, like the lawn at Ravensnest, only this lawn went sloping away, away till there was just a little rim of white beach, and then beyond came the wide, dancing blue lake, that the children had seen from the top of the mountain.  Here it was close to them, so close that Milly could hear the little waves plashing, through the open window.

“Milly,” whispered Aunt Emma when they were all waiting for pudding, “do you see that little house down there by the water’s edge?  That’s where the boat lives—­we call it a boathouse.  Do you think you’ll be frightened of the water, little woman?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Milly, shaking her little wise head gravely.  “I am frightened sometimes, very.  Mother calls me a little goose because I run away from Jenny sometimes—­that’s our cow at home, Aunt Emma, but then she’s got such long horns, and I can’t help feeling afraid.”

“Well, the lake hasn’t got horns, Milly,” said Aunt Emma, laughing, “so perhaps you will manage not to be afraid of it.”

How kind and nice Aunt Emma looked as she sat between the children, with her pretty soft gray hair, and her white cap and large white collar.  Mrs. Norton could not help thinking of the times when she was a little girl, and used always to insist on sitting by Aunt Emma at dinner-time.  That was before Aunt Emma’s hair had turned gray.  And now here were her own little children sitting where she used to sit at their age, and stealing their small hands into Aunt Emma’s lap as she used to do so long ago.

After dinner the children had to sit quiet in the drawing-room for a time, while Aunt Emma and father and mother talked; but they had picture-books to look at, and Aunt Emma gave them leave to turn out everything in one of the toy-drawers, and that kept them busy and happy for a long time.  But at last, just when Olly was beginning to get tired of the drawer, Aunt Emma called to them from the other end of the room to come with her into the kitchen for a minute.  Up jumped the children and ran after their aunt across the hall into the kitchen.

“Now, children,” said Aunt Emma, pointing to a big basket on the kitchen table, “suppose you help me to pack up our tea-things.  Olly, you go and fetch the spoons, and, Milly, bring the plates one by one.”