house to ours, though that was a mile away. Those
were his tin soldiers you saw in the box. He gave them to me to keep
for him when he went away to school, and thought himself too big to
play at soldiers any more."

"And when he came back from school, did he used to come and see you?"

"Yes, he used to come every summer till he got big."

"And what did the little boy do when he got big, Aunt Jane?"

"When he got big," said Aunt Jane slowly, looking very hard into the
fire, "he went away to sea."

"O-ho!" cried Rudolf. "And when he came back what did he bring you?"

"He never did come back," said Aunt Jane, and she bent her head low
over Peter's so that the children should not see how shiny wet her
eyes were. Ann and Rudolf did see, however, and politely forced back
the dozen questions trembling on the tips of their tongues about the
different ways there were of being lost at sea. Rudolf in particular
would have liked to know whether it was a hurricane or sharks or
pirates or a nice desert island that had been the end of that little
boy, and he was about to begin his questioning in a roundabout manner
by asking whether sea serpents had often been known to swallow ships
whole, when the door opened, and in came Betsy, Aunt Jane's old
servant. She had the lamp in one hand and the great brass warming-pan,
with which she always warmed the big bed, in the other.

Her arrival disturbed the pleasant group by the nursery fire, and
reminded Aunt Jane that it was the children's bedtime. She kissed them
good night, heard them say their prayers, and then went quickly away,
leaving Betsy to help them undress. Now this was rather unwise of Aunt
Jane, for Betsy and the children did not get on. She was one of those
uncomfortable persons who refuse to understand how a little
conversation makes undressing so much less unpleasant. She was not
inclined to give Rudolf any information on the subject of sea
serpents, nor would she listen to Ann's remarks on how much more
fashionable hot-water bottles were than warming-pans. She had even no
sympathy for Peter when he wished to be considered a diver going down
to the bottom of the sea after gold, instead of a little boy being
bathed in a tin tub.

Betsy had a horrid way of scrubbing, being none too careful about soap
in people's eyes, and Peter came out dreadfully clean. Feeling that he
needed comforting of some sort, he looked about for Mittens and
discovered him at last, taking a much