stories for them while they were at school, and read them
aloud after tea, and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for their
birthdays and for other great occasions, such as the christening of the
new kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time when
they were getting over the mumps.

These three lucky children always had everything they needed: pretty
clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother
Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who was
called James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who was
just perfect--never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game--at
least, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellent
reason for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestingly
and funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself.

You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they
were, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the Red
Villa was over and done with, and they had to live a very different life
indeed.

The dreadful change came quite suddenly.

Peter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a model
engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The other
presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than any
of the others were.

Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then,
owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, which
had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenly
went off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and did
not come back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tender
were broken to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor little
engine and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it--but
of course boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may be
which darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had a
cold. This turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when
he said it, the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother
began to be afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly
he sat up in bed and said:

"I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to get
up and have something REAL to eat."

"What would you like?" Mother asked.

"A pigeon-pie," said Peter, eagerly, "a large pigeon-pie. A ver