Now, up the side of the wall grew a very thick, bushy fig-tree, the stem of which was very big of its kind.  When we rushed out into the foggy air, there was Harry clambering so cleverly up among the large, wet leaves; and on the edge of the roof, caught by his clothes in some way that we could not see, was poor little Murray!  Susette covered her face with her hands, and most of us turned away too frightened to look.  I remember hiding my face in Jane’s gown, and feeling her stroking my hair; and I never looked up till there was a cry that it was all right, and Harry and Murray were both safe on the ground again.

How glad we all were, and how we all talked at once, and said how we had felt, and how Murray cried though he wasn’t hurt, only frightened—­all this I mustn’t stop to tell you.  By and by it came to be one of those things that are always nice to talk about with shudders, and sighs, and laughter.  Many and many a tea-time the same wonder and thankfulness were repeated, always beginning with, “Don’t you remember that dreadful day?” and so on.

Meanwhile Christmas was coming, and Christmas weather came sooner still.  Then the snow collected outside the nursery window, and the mornings were very dark, and bed the only comfortable place; and Gus’s hands got blue, and his face thin and pinched, and he wished himself away with the “Capitaine” in the warm South Seas.

[Illustration:  LOOK AT ME!]

But there was fun, too, about that cold weather; fun with the snow-man in the Park; fun in learning to skate on the frozen pond, shut in so nicely with the fir-trees; and fun in the real Christmas treats, Christmas-trees, and Christmas games.

And so it was a very bright time that came to finish up those happy Beecham days.  The end of it all was saying “good-bye” to grandmamma and cousins one fine, frosty morning, just the other side of New Year’s Day, and driving off between papa and mamma.

When you think of my first evening in that drawing-room, perhaps you will wonder at the doubtful look which I know there was on my face, and which made papa look right into my eyes, questioning, as he said,

“Whether I wanted to go home or not.”

XI.

GOOD-BYE TO BEECHAM.

Was I glad to go home or sorry?  How could I tell?  When it came to the train, it was all such fun that I chattered away to mamma as fast as possible about the stations we should pass, and the things we should see, till I saw an old gentleman opposite exchanging smiles with mamma.  That made me feel shy, and shrink back into the corner silent enough; and with the silence came a sigh, and five minutes later mamma’s question surprised me, in a fit of melancholy thought, about all that I had left behind me.  When would Lottie and I meet again?  And how should we know which was getting on best with the history?  Ah, those nice history lessons, with all those exciting stories and our favourite heroes, who would read them with me now?  I am not at all sure that I did not have to choke down two or three tears before I could answer mamma.  Do you think she noticed it?