Philip and Conrad might also be seen on the terrace in their clean linen blouses and fresh knickerbockers; their hands were also carefully washed, their hair brushed back from their faces, the faces themselves shining from soap and water.

"Oh, dear! there's no help for it," thought little Ann, "I must go into the nursery and let Simpson pull me about. How she will scrub me and tug at my hair, and put on such a horrid starched dress, and it's so hot to-night! Well, if I hurry I may be in time to tell Philip what I know about their names. Oh, how delicious it will be! He'll be so excited. Yes, I'll be as quick as possible."

Ann ran down the long pa.s.sage which led from the schoolroom to the nursery, opened the door, and approached a prim old servant with a somewhat cross face, who was busily engaged mending stockings.

"Please, Simpson, here I am. Will you dress me?" said Ann, panting as she spoke.

Simpson laid down her work with deliberation.

"Now, I wonder, Miss Ann," she said, "why I am to be put about for you. I have just finished dressing all the other children. Why didn't you come with the others? There, miss, you must just dress yourself, for I can't and won't be worried; these stockings must be finished before the mistress comes home."

"All right," answered Ann, in a cheerful tone. "I can wash myself beautifully. May I go into the night-nursery, please, Simpson, and do my best?"

"Yes, my dear. You'll find a white frock hanging in the wardrobe. I'll fasten it for you after you have washed yourself and combed out your hair. Now, do be quick. I would help you willingly, Miss Ann, only I really have not a minute to spare; Master Philip and Master Conrad are dreadful with their socks, and when the mistress comes with that fresh family, goodness knows when I shall have a moment to see to your clothes again."

Ann dressed herself, and ran back to Simpson.

"Simpson," she said, as that good woman was fastening the hooks and eyes at the back of her frock, "I know it is wrong to be so much excited, but I am. My heart beats awfully fast at the thought of their coming."

"Well, Miss Ann, it's more than my heart does. And now, miss, if you'll take a word of advice from me, you'll keep your feelin's to yourself, as far as your ma is concerned. Your ma don't wish any of you to give way to excitement. She wants you to grow up steady, well-conducted young ladies."

"I hate being a well-conducted young lady," burst from little Ann.

"Oh, dear me, miss! it's dreadful to hear you talk so unproper. Now stand still and don't fidget."

The frock was fastened, and Ann ran off to join her brothers and sisters on the terrace.

Lucy and Mary were little girls after their mother's own heart. They never questioned her wishes, they never rebelled against her rules, they were as good and well-behaved as any two little English maids of the respective ages of twelve and ten could be. Now, as little Ann approached, they looked at her as if they thought her quite beneath their notice.

"Oh, do go away, Ann!" said Lucy. "Mary and I are talking secrets, and we don't want you."

"You are always talking secrets," said Ann. "It's horrid unfair to me."

"We have got to talk things over. We can't confide in you; you're the youngest. Please don't be disagreeable now. We are having a most important talk. Please run away at once."

Ann looked beseeching, but then, all of a sudden, her eyes fell upon Philip. She turned, ran up to him, clutched him by the arm, and pulled him away from Conrad.

"Phil," she said, "I want to have you all to myself. I have something terribly exciting to say."

Philip looked from Conrad to Ann.

"But you are always getting into hot water, Ann," he replied, "and Con and I were talking about our fishes. We think if we are very careful with our pocket-money we may have enough to buy some gold and silver fish in the holidays."

"Yes, yes," answered Ann impetuously; "buy any kind of fish you like.

Only, Con, like a dear, good boy, please go and walk at the other end of the terrace for five minutes. I must speak to someone or I'll burst."

"How awfully vulgar you are, Ann!" said Lucy, who happened to pa.s.s by, with Mary leaning on her arm, at that moment.

But Philip felt flattered at Ann's evident anxiety to be alone with him.

"Go and do as you are told, Conrad," he said, in lofty tones; "go to the other end of the terrace at once."

"It's rather hard on me," said Conrad. "I like having secrets as well as anybody else; the air is full of secrets to-day--why shouldn't I have some?"

"I'll have a secret with you by and by," said Ann, "if you'll only go away now."

The little boy looked at her, saw she was in earnest, and obeyed somewhat unwillingly.

"Now then, Ann," said Philip, "speak out; be as quick as ever you can."

"Philip," said Ann, in a solemn voice, "don't you want to know all about the children who are coming to-night?"

"Is that what the secret is about?" said Philip in disgust. "Do you know, Ann, what I heard Miss Ramsay say to Simpson to-day. She said that the new children would be awful bothers, and that _she_ for one does not know if she is going to stay, and Simpson said she was sure that she would give notice too. Miss Ramsay said it was an awful shame bringing four children to the house, and Simpson threw up her hands.

You know how she looks when she throws up her hands. And she said, 'Them's my sentiments, Miss Ramsay.' Do you know what she meant by 'Them's my sentiments,' Ann, 'cos I don't? I never heard such funny words before. Did you, Ann?"

"No," said Ann; "but you ought not to have listened, Phil."

"Oh, I often listen!" replied Philip calmly. "I get to know all kinds of funny things that way, and they turn out no end useful. I know lots of things about Miss Ramsay, and since I just let her know that I did, she is not half so hard on me. That's how I find listening useful."

"Well, it is not right," said Ann, "but I have no time to argue with you now, Phil; I want to talk about the children. Whatever Simpson says, and whatever Miss Ramsay says, I am delighted that they are coming. I think it will be fun. In my heart, you know, Phil, I love fun, and I want to be able to talk English sometimes, and Phil, would, _would_ you like to know their names?"

"Their names?" said Philip. "I suppose they have names, although I never thought about them."

"Well, of course they have, and I'll tell you what they are. They have got lovely names; once I heard mother say that the whole four of them were called after heathen idols. Isn't it awful and exciting to be called after a heathen idol? Oh, Phil! they have such lovely names!"

Philip was not much interested in heathen idols, but Ann's excited face and her bright blue eyes did strike him as out of the common.

"Well, you are in a state," he said. "What creatures girls are! You'll catch it when mother comes home. You know she never can stand anybody all jumpy, and jerky, and quivery, like you are now. Well, what are the names? Out with them and get them over."

"Iris is the name of the eldest girl," said Ann. "Then comes Apollo--he is a boy."

"I'll never be able to get hold of that name," said Philip. "Apollo!

how queer."

"But it is not queer, really," said Ann, delighted at having roused his real interest at last. "Of course, Apollo is very well known indeed. He was a sort of beautiful G.o.d long ago."

"But this boy is not a G.o.d--horrid little beggar," said Philip. "Well, what are the names of the others?"

"There is a girl called Diana."

"Diana," repeated Philip. "There's nothing in that name. That name is in the Bible. Miss Ramsay read the whole story aloud to us last Sunday when the beastly rain kept dropping and dropping all day long.

'Great is Diana of the Ephesians.' I rather like the sound, but there's nothing at all in a name of that sort, Ann."

"Well, I didn't say there was," answered Ann. "I only think it awfully pretty."

"I don't think much of it for an ordinary girl. Well, now, what is the other name? I'll call Conrad back, if you are not quick."

"I'll tell it to you. Look here, Phil, I bet you never heard a name like it."