She and James continued their chat, and the children sat down on a low wicker seat, playing with the fallen fuchsia buds, and comparing their present life with the one they had so lately left.
'I wish Mr. Bob had a nice glass house like this,' said Olive thoughtfully. 'Why doesn't he, Roly?'
'We'll ask him next time we see him. I expect he is too poor.'
'And, Roly, do you think Jack Frost is a thief who tries to steal James's flowers?'
'I don't know.'
A little later, when nurse was taking them into the house, Olive inquired again, rather anxiously, 'Nurse, I hope Jack Frost won't come to us when we're in bed; James seemed to think we should feel him.'
'No, no, Miss Olive; I'll tuck you up too warm for that. There will be no Jack Frost in our nursery, I can tell you. I keep too big a fire.'
But the little girl was anxious and ill at ease, till at last she unburdened her mind to Miss Sibyl, when she went to wish her 'good-night' in the drawing-room.
'Why, Olive dear, Jack Frost isn't a man; that is only a joke. When it is very cold the air freezes, and the pretty dew-drops on the grass and flowers all turn to ice. Have you never seen a frost?'
'No, never.'