winter came on. The days grew darker and colder, and the children were loth to leave their nursery with its warm fire, and sally out into the cold December air for their constitutional walk with nurse. Only the thought of old Bob at the lodge kept their spirits up, and if they were allowed to have a word or two with him occasionally, their walks were more cheerfully taken. The conservatory was their chief joy, and often would they steal down from the nursery, and be found by one of their aunts comfortably established with their toys and picture-books in a corner of it.

'I never thought Indian children would hate the winter so much as these two mites do,' said Miss Hunter one evening at dinner; 'they seem to look upon it as a regular curse. I should have thought the very novelty would have attracted them.'

'They seem to have such ridiculous theories about it,' said Miss Hester. 'I fancy Bob has been stuffing their heads with his gloomy views.'

'I always think Bob looks as happy as can be,' put in Miss Amabel briskly. 'I don't think the children were prepared for the barrenness and dreariness of an English winter. They have come from the land of brilliant flowers and sunshine, and naturally feel the difference.'

'Yes,' remarked Miss Sibyl gently. 'They told me this afternoon, when I found them in the conservatory, that they were pretending it was summer. And Roland added shrewdly, "You see, Aunt Sibyl, James shuts out the winter in here, doesn't he? And so he makes it easy for us to forget it. We pretend there is no cold, and no dead trees and flowers and graves, when we are here. Don't you think it a good plan?" I told them I thought it a very good plan. It is the same game we older people play at sometimes. We shut out from our minds and thoughts what we would rather not remember.'

'Sibyl is turning into a parson,' said Miss Amabel with a laugh.

Miss Sibyl did not mind the laugh.

'The children are unfolding a parable to me,' she said quietly, 'and I am getting the benefit of its interpretation.'

Christmas came and went, and Roland and Olive, with the delights of a Christmas tree, and a party, and all the brightness attending that festive season, were a little shaken in their views upon an English winter. They went down to the lodge to talk it over with old Bob.

'I don't think Easter can be much nicer than Christmas!' said Olive, as she climbed up on the old man's knees. 'Don't you like Christmas, Mr. Bob?'

'Yes, Miss Olive, I loves the Christmas in the Bible; but not as some folks make it here. 'Tis very nice for you little ones, with all your bright spirits; but when you get old, you somehow never feel so sad as when every one round you is extra happy. I'm a lonely old man, and I miss my dear ones at these times.'

'It seems years since we came to England,' said Roland, his thoughts taking another direction, 'and it has been winter ever since we came from India. I can't think how it will ever look any different You're quite sure we shall see all the gardens full of beautiful flowers at Easter, Mr. Bob? I don't see how it is going to happen.'

'No more do any of us,' said Bob, with shining eyes; 'we just hope and wait, and the good Lord never fails. You won't see the garden at its best at Easter, perhaps, Master Roland, but you'll see the beginning of it all, like "the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day."'

So time passed, and then one day when the children were passing by the lodge, Bob called them in with a mysterious face.

'Look inside my dear wife's pot,' he said.

Eagerly the little faces peered down into it, and then little Olive laughed and clapped her hands.

'A dear little tiny weeny green stem! It's coming up at last!'

'And look! In two other pots I can see something! exclaimed Roland excitedly.

'Ay, I remember the first sight I ketched of it after my loss,' said Bob. 'I were very broken-hearted, but it seemed to bring a tiny spark of hope to my heart, to see what I had only believed by faith was goin' on underground. It's grand to see the Lord's workin's; but mind, you little ones, that there plant is just as much alive before it shows itself. There is a deal goin' on in the silence and darkness that we knows nothin' about, but it's fact all the same.'

The children could talk of nothing else all that day, and little Olive was found by her nurse standing over Bob's graves, giving them most careful scrutiny a short time after.

'What are you doing here?' asked nurse. 'I've been looking for you everywhere.'

'Mr. Bob's lilies have come through the earth at last, nurse,' said Olive, raising her blue eyes earnestly to her nurse's face; 'so I came to see if these graves were cracking yet. They'll be like Jesus' grave in the garden, you know, at Easter.'

Only a few weeks after this, both Olive and her brother lay prostrate in their beds with a severe attack of measles. Their aunts had been so long unaccustomed to children's ailments, that perhaps they may have exaggerated the danger; still, even the family doctor looked grave and talked about 'Indian constitutions,' 'no stamina,' etc., etc., and the old house that had so lately rung with childish voices and laughter now lay hushed and silent in the sweet spring sunshine.

'They're too precocious,' said Miss Hunter with tearful eyes, as she came down from the sick room one day; 'it is always the good precocious children that die young. Roland has just said, in his little weak, quavering voice, "Auntie, perhaps Olive and I are going to die and be put in a grave." And when I told him that wasn't likely, and he mustn't think of such things, he said in quite a cheerful tone, "Oh, well we shall come up at Easter, you know. If it isn't this Easter, it will be another one, and you'll have our graves to look after, like Mr. Bob. Jesus will take care of us till we come up, like Mr. Bob takes care of his lily pots." I don't half understand their talk.'

'I do,' said Miss Sibyl, with a wistful smile; 'and I believe they are going to get well, and give us more of faith's lessons to learn and understand.'

They did get well, though their recovery was somewhat slow; and Easter, late as it came that year, was close at hand before they were quite convalescent.

It was a lovely spring morning when, wrapped up in shawls, the two little invalids were brought out of the house to take their first airing.

Never as long as they lived would the children forget the scene before them! The budding trees, the singing of the birds, and the sweet scents that came to them were only part of the great surprise that awaited them. Golden sheets of daffodil and white narcissus bordered the dark evergreen shrubberies; edging the old lawn were clumps of violets and primroses. Hyacinths, tulips, and other bulbs were making the flower beds a mass of bright colour, and the lilac and laburnum trees seemed overweighted with their bloom.

Roland could hardly find voice to express his delight, but Olive trotted here and there, breaking out into happy peals of laughter.

'It's better than ever I thought! It's lovelier than India! It's all true, and Easter is here at last!'

Then, after their admiration had worked itself out, they implored to be taken down to the lodge.

'No, no,' said nurse; 'you have been out long enough You must get stronger before you can take that walk. Be good children and come indoors now.'

'When does Easter Sunday come?' asked Roland, as he and his sister were enjoying their basins of beef-tea at the nursery table shortly afterwards.

'It is only a week to-morrow,' was the reply.

Roland nodded across at his sister.

'That's the proper real Easter,' he said; 'that's when Mr. Bob's lilies will be out.'

'How glad the flowers must be, now the winter is over!' said Olive dreamily. 'What a long, long time they've been under the ground! If Mr. Bob hadn't told us about them we shouldn't have known they were there, should we? This is nicer than India, Roly!'

'Much nicer. When we get quite well we will stay out in the garden always. We shan't want James's flowers now.'

'And we'll go and see Mr. Bob's lilies to-morrow, and we'll see his graves too, won't we?'

'I don't think,' Roland said slowly, pausing between his spoonfuls of beef-tea, and regarding his sister with serious eyes, 'I don't think Mr. Bob said his graves would open for certain this Easter. They may; but perhaps he will have to wait.'

'He said his lilies were sure to come up, and that made him sure about his graves,' said Olive, with disappointment in her tone.

'Yes; but I think he meant his graves might take longer than his lilies. I think he told us that, Olive.'

'Well, we'll ask him all about it to-morrow.'

But they were not allowed to go down the avenue on the next day, nor yet the day after, and Easter Eve arrived before they had been able to visit their old friend.