go down one day
to see the farm, you'll take me with you, won't you?'

Cousin Dorothea has quick ears. She overheard.

'Oh yes, Valeria,' she said, 'you must take him. I consider it's more
than half thanks to him that we've thought of it.'

I do like Dorothea.

Mums smiled.

'We must see what father says,' she answered. 'Of course there's the
railway fare.'

'But you couldn't go alone, mums,' I reminded her; 'and you know I'm
only half, still. Father would never have time to go, and if you took
Rowley she'd cost full fare.'

'Oh, you old-fashioned child!' said Cousin Dorothea, laughing. 'Dear,
you _must_ take him.'

I felt sure mums would, after that.

'I know I could help you about the rooms and everything better than
anybody,' I said.

And I knew I could.

I did go. Father laughed and said I was the proper person to take his
place, as he couldn't possibly go. So it was settled, and one fine
morning off we set.

It was really a fine morning,--I don't mean it only as an expression. It
was really a lovely morning. Let me see, it must have been May by then.
I'll look it up in my diary of that year, and fill in the exact date
afterwards. It was sunny and mild, though there was a little nice wind
too. Mums and I felt like two children out of school, or two captives
out of prison, when we found ourselves in a jolly comfortable railway
carriage all alone, flying along through the bright green fields with
the trees in their new spring dresses and the sky as blue as blue,--all
so jolly, you know, after the long winter in our London square and all
the troubles we'd had.

Everything seemed at last to be going to begin to come right.

'I feel in such much better spirits,' said mums. 'Hebe does seem to be
improving so fast now, and the weather is so nice.'

Dear little mums, she was looking so pretty. She had a brown dress with
very soft, fussy trimming, and a brown bonnet, with something pink--just
a tiny bit of pink. She generally wears bonnets, except when we're
regularly in the country. They suit her, and I like them better than
hats for her. I hate those mothers who are always trying to look young.
And I think mums looks all the younger because she dresses like a mother
and not like a girl. I've got ideas about dressing though I am a boy. I
can't help having them.

'I do hope Mossmoor Farm will be nice,' she went on again. 'The only
thing is I wish we were going to be all together there.'

'So do I,' I