was all over, and they were gathered panting round
the fire of blazing logs in the hall, the Monster Rabbit--the only one
with any breath at his command--looked up and spoke.

"Where's Jimbo?" he asked.

"Upstairs."

"Why didn't he come and play too?"

"He didn't want to."

"Why? What's he doing?"

Several answers were forthcoming.

"Nothing in p'tickler."

"Talking to the furniture when I last saw him."

"Just thinking, as usual, or staring in the fire."

None of the answers seemed to satisfy the Monster Rabbit, for when he
kissed them a little later and said good-night, he gave orders, with a
graver face, for Jimbo to be sent down to the study before he went to
bed. Moreover, he called him "James," which was a sure sign of parental
displeasure.

"James, why didn't you come and play with your brothers and sisters just
now?" asked the Colonel, as a dreamy-eyed boy of about eight, with a mop
of dark hair and a wistful expression, came slowly forward into the
room.

"I was in the middle of making pictures."

"Where--what--making pictures?"

"In the fire."

"James," said the Colonel in a serious tone, "don't you know that you
are getting too old now for that sort of thing? If you dream so much,
you'll fall asleep altogether some fine day, and never wake up again.
Just think what that means!"

The child smiled faintly and moved up confidingly between his father's
knees, staring into his eyes without the least sign of fear. But he said
nothing in reply. His thoughts were far away, and it seemed as if the
effort to bring them back into the study and to a consideration of his
father's words was almost beyond his power.

"You must run about more," pursued the soldier, rubbing his big hands
together briskly, "and join your brothers and sisters in their games.
Lie about in the summer and dream a bit if you like, but now it's
winter, you must be more active, and make your blood circulate
healthily,--er--and all that sort of thing."

The words were kindly spoken, but the voice and manner rather
deliberate. Jimbo began to look a little troubled, as his father watched
him.

"Come now, little man," he said more gently, "what's the matter, eh?"
He drew the boy close to him. "Tell me all about it, and what it is
you're always thinking about so much."

Jimbo brought back his mind with a tremendous effort, and said, "I don't
like the winter. It's so dark and full of horrid things. It's all ice
and shadows, so