ld have filled them with
hope and patience, and have bound their young hearts to their absent
parents for ever. Instead of which they felt rebuffed and unloved, they
were turned in on themselves, until such time as some other love should
warm their chilled hearts and expand their natures, and a stranger, maybe,
should mean more to them than a parent.

Of all the little brood Angela was the most affectionate, the most
clinging little home-bird. She loved her mother passionately, and her
home too, in spite of its unattractiveness, for the flaws she saw in
persons or things only made her love with a deeper, more sympathetic
desire to help. It was always to the most unlovable and unattractive that
Angela's heart went out. If people or animals had no one else to care for
them, she felt they might be glad of her.

She turned away from her mother with a little sigh. She did not blame her
for her want of feeling, she only winced as at a new revelation of her own
unlovableness.

Poppy, who all this while had been standing mute and considering, was at
that moment struck by an inspiriting idea.

"But, mother," she said gravely, "if we don't know how to behave properly
Aunt Julia won't want us either, and then what shall we do! You will
_have_ to take us with you," with rising hope in her voice, "and I am
_sure_ daddy would be glad, and I _do_ want to go in the big ship and see
daddy," with a deep sigh. "Oh, I _do,_" pathetically, "want to see daddy,
so badly."

"Don't talk nonsense, child. You can't remember your father. Why should
you want to see him?"

"I do. I want to see what he is like. Esther remembers him, and she
wants to see him too. _Do_ take us with you, mother. We'll be--oh, ever
so good. I _don't_ like Aunt Julia; she is _always_ cross, and I don't
like cross people."

Poppy had no fear or awe of any one. Every one but Aunt Julia had loved
her always, and done their best to make her happy, even cross Lydia, and
she in return rewarded them by a placid, sweet acceptance of their
efforts, and allowing them to love her.

"Mother," burst out Penelope eagerly, "couldn't we all go to
boarding-school while you are away? It would be jolly, and ever so much
nicer than living with Aunt Julia. I know we shall always be getting into
scrapes if we go to her, and no one _could_ please her, Lydia said so."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carroll warmly, "Lydia is a very rude girl to speak
so of a lady, and my siste