where you are?"

"On Sutton Heath, I presume, from the absence of landmarks."

"Yes, that we are. You dear old place, how d'ye do? You beginning of
home! I don't know when it is best coming to you: on a summer's evening,
all glowing with purple heath, or a frosty star-light night like this.
There is the Sutton Leigh turn! Hurrah! only a mile further to the
gate."

"Where I used to go to meet the boys coming home from school," said
her aunt, in a low tone of deep feeling. But she would not sadden their
blithe young hearts, and added cheerfully, "Just the same as ever, I
see: how well I know the outline of the bank there!"

"Ay, it is your fatherland, too, Aunt Mary! Is there not something
inspiring in the very air? Come, Fred, can't you get up a little
enthusiasm?"

"Oceans, without getting it up," replied Fred. "I never was more
rejoiced in my whole life," and he began to hum Domum.

"Sing it, sing it; let us join in chorus as homage to Knight Sutton,"
cried Henrietta.

And the voices began, "Domum, Domum, dulce Domum;" even Aunt Mary
herself caught the feelings of her young companions, felt herself coming
to her own beloved home and parents, half forgot how changed was her
situation, and threw herself into the delight of returning.

"Now, Fred," said Henrietta, "let us try those verses that you found a
tune for, that begin 'What is home?'"

This also was sung, and by the time it was finished they had reached a
gate leading into a long drive through dark beech woods. "This is the
beautiful wood of which I have often told you, Henrietta," said Mrs.
Frederick Langford.

"The wood with glades like cathedral aisles," said Henrietta. "O, how
delightful it will be to see it come out in leaf!"

"Which I have never seen," said Beatrice. "I tell papa he has made his
fortune, and ought to retire, and he says he is too young for it."

"In which I fully agree with him," said her aunt. "I should not like to
see him with nothing to do."

"O, mamma, Uncle Geoffrey would never be anywhere with nothing to do,"
said Henrietta.

"No," said her mother, "but people are always happier with work made for
them, than with what they make for themselves. Besides, Uncle Geoffrey
has too much talent to be spared."

"Ay," said Fred, "I wondered to hear you so devoid of ambition, little
Busy Bee."

"It is only Knight Sutton and thinking of May flowers that makes me so,"
said Beatrice. "I believe after all, I should break my heart