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“Where is mother?”

“Out.”

“Oh, well, she’ll be in soon. Go out to the kitchen and show your pictures to Ellen;” and on she ran.

The children had not a real nurse now; Dr. and Mrs. Carlyon were not wealthy people, and when the children were no longer babies Mrs. Carlyon had felt that she must, if possible, manage with only two maid-servants. But Nurse was so fond of her “babies,” as she called them, that she asked to stay on as nurse-housemaid, in the place of Prudence, the housemaid, who was just leaving to be married, and she did so, to the delight and comfort of every one.

Priscilla did not call Nurse now to help her to get ready; she was learning to do a great many things for herself, and her toilet was a very simple one. She passed a brush vigorously over her curls, replaced her sun-hat, plunged her hands into the jug—it was too heavy for her to lift—rubbed the dirt off on the towel, slipped on a clean holland coat, which she found in the drawer, and ran down again.

Loveday was standing at the dining-room door, with a paint-brush in one hand and a cake of paint in the other; her face was streaked with paints of different colours.