he house.

Audrey recovered her spirits as she remembered the books and papers at
home; they seemed to overflow and spread all over the house.

"I shall have my own bookcase, and keep my own books in it, away from the
children," she thought to herself. "I hope I have a bedroom to myself.
Oh, I must!" But the little doubt she could not get rid of sobered her
again. She thought of her pretty bedroom upstairs, how lovely the comfort
and peace of it had seemed to her after the bare ugly room at home, which
she had shared with Faith.

"Granny, do you think I shall have a room to myself at home?" she asked
anxiously. "I shall hate sharing one with Faith!"

"I daresay Faith will not relish sharing one with you," remarked granny,
severely, "if she has to."

"But she is so untidy, and after having had such a nice one all to myself,
I shall miss it dreadfully."

"I wonder if you will miss me," exclaimed Granny sharply, and for the
first time Audrey thought of her grandmother, and her feelings.

"Why, of course I shall, granny, and everything here. I expect I shall
often wish I was back again." But it was not until the last day came, and
she sat at breakfast for the last time in the handsome, comfortable
dining-room, that she fully realised the pain of parting.

She was looking across to the sun-bathed park, at the children already at
play there, and the 'grownups' sitting on the seats gazing at the view, or
reading their papers, when the thought came to her that to-morrow, and the
next day, and all the days that followed, they would be there, but she
would not see them. She would be miles away from that dear peaceful spot,
with only a rough country road to look out on, and the desolate-looking
moor in the distance. And with the same the shrill whistle of a departing
train cut the air, and the melancholy of it, and of the day, and of all
that was to happen, poured over Audrey, until the pain seemed almost more
than she could bear.

"Oh, granny, I don't want to go away," she cried. "I don't want to go.
I can't bear leaving you, and--and everything. I want to stay with you
always."

Oddly enough, at the sight of Audrey's sorrow, some of the sadness which
had weighed on her granny's heart for days was lifted from it, and, though
it was their last day, she felt happier. "Then the child does care,
she does feel leaving me, she has some deep affections! I knew she had,"
thought the lonely old grandmother with a se