"Do you think I shall be put on the horse again Nurse?" she asked timidly.
"No," said Nurse shortly; "I don't think you will."
The little girl heaved a sigh of relief. She met her mother in the hall, who laughed when she saw her.
"Take off that veil, child! This fresh, bright morning air won't get a chance of getting near those white cheeks! Now come along; we are going for a brisk walk."
They started down the avenue at a quick pace, and Christina had to trot to keep up with her stepmother's swinging strides. It did her good, for it prevented her from feeling the cold, and the colour slowly crept into her cheeks.
"Now tell me," said Mrs. Maclahan in that quick, imperious tone of hers, "Have you been shut up in this way all your life? Have you had no children to play with, no outdoor games or exercises?"
"There is Dawn!" said Christina eagerly. "Oh, I should like to play more with Dawn. He hardly ever comes to me, and it's too long a walk for Nurse to go to him."
"Dawn! What a queer name! Who is he? What is he?"
"He's a boy; he's always called that because his father painted a picture of him and called it Dawn. He painted three pictures, and called them Dawn and Day and Dusk. Dawn's real name is Avril, but he hates being called that, and his father calls him by ever so many names: Will-o'-the-wisp and Jack-in-the-box, and lots of others."
"He sounds interesting. Tell me about the pictures. I love them. If he was Dawn, who was Day and Dusk? Did you ever see the pictures? Were they in the Academy?"