events, of the "blawlers" was sound asleep.

The voice ceased and Tony's head appeared over the rail of his cot.

"Hush!" Jan whispered. "Sister's asleep. Just wait a few minutes till
Ayah comes, then I'll take you away with me."

Faithful Ayah didn't dawdle over her food. She returned, sat down on the
floor beside little Fay's cot and started her endless mending.

Jan carried Tony away with her along the passage and into the
drawing-room. The verandah was too hot in the early afternoon.

"Now what shall we do?" she asked, with a sigh, as she sat down on the
big sofa. "_I'd_ like to sleep, but I suppose you won't let me."

Tony got off her knee and looked at her gravely.

"You can," he said, magnanimously, "because you brought me. I hate bed.
I'll build a temple with my bricks and I won't knock it down. Not
loud."

And like his aunt he did what he said.

Jan put her feet up and lay very still. For a week now she had risen
early every morning to take the children out in the freshest part of the
day. She seldom got any rest in the afternoon, as she saw to it that
they should be quiet to let Fay sleep, and she went late to bed because
the cool nights in the verandah were the pleasant time for Fay.

Tony murmured to himself, but he made little noise with his stone
bricks. And presently Jan was sleeping almost as soundly as her
obstreperous niece.

Tony did not repeat new words aloud as did his sister. He turned them
over in his mind and treasured some simply because he liked the sound of
them.

There were two that he had carried in his memory for nearly half his
life; two that had for him a mysterious fascination, a vaguely agreeable
significance that he couldn't at all explain. One was "Piccadilly" and
the other "Coln St. Aldwyn's." He didn't even know that they were the
names of places at first, but he thought they had a most beautiful
sound. Gradually the fact that they were places filtered into his mind,
and for Tony Piccadilly seemed particularly rural. He connected it in
some way with the duck-slaying Mrs. Bond of the Baby's Opera, a book he
and Mummy used to sing from before she grew too tired and sad to sing.
Before she lay so many hours in her long chair, before the big man he
called Daddie became so furtive and disturbing. Then Mummy used to tell
him things about a place called Home, and though she never actually
mentioned Piccadilly he had heard the word very often in a song that
somebody sang in