think of
Christmas--winter--on a day like this!"

"I am not thinking of winter, only of Christmas--and our party."

"A Christmas party? Oh, Irene!"

"Yes. I must tell you quickly, or someone may come. Mother suggested it
only this morning--that we have a party, and--and act your play!"

Irene looked at her triumphantly, her pretty eyes bright with excitement.

"My play? Oh!" Audrey blushed scarlet. She seemed quite overcome.

"Irene, Irene," called her mother from within the house, and Irene sprang
to her feet. "Think about it," she said, lightly touching Audrey's hot
cheek with her finger, "think of the fun of the rehearsals, and all the
rest."

"Think about it!" There was little need to tell Audrey to do that.
She thought and thought, and at first she felt she could never face it
all; then, by degrees, the idea grew less distasteful, more pleasant, then
at last she laughed.

"A penny for your thoughts, Audrey," a sweet soft voice broke the silence,
and brought Audrey back from a happy future to the blissful present.
Looking up she saw her mother leaning on Irene's arm.

"I couldn't sell them," she said, laughing and springing to her feet,
"they were too, too lovely, but not nearly as lovely, mother, as seeing
you here and walking about."

Mrs. Carlyle sank on to the seat with a happy sigh. "I can hardly believe
I am myself," she said, smiling. "I am almost afraid I shall wake up and
find it is all a dream--as I have done so often."

"Oh, this is no dream," laughed Irene, "it is all very real. Look at
those bad sparrows, fighting over a piece of bread. Listen to the pigeons
calling for their tea, and look at my bed of verbenas, all raised from
seeds by my very own hand. It is only Audrey who dreams. Audrey, will
you give us your thoughts, as they are not to be bought?"

"Yes," said Audrey, her grey eyes shining bright with happiness.
"I am thinking that in all the world there is nothing so beautiful as
home, no happiness so great as----"

"As that which comes from helping others," said Mrs. Carlyle softly, and
drawing her dearly loved daughter to her. "Oh, my dear, how blessed I am
in my children, and in their friends;--my children too," she added softly,
as she drew Irene to her, and kissed first one and then the other.

Mrs. Vivian came to the door and looked out, smiling at them.

"Will you come now? Tea is ready," she called cheerfully. And, with one
supporting her on either side,