“I have some good news for you, children.”
“Good news!” they cried. “Whatever is it? Oh, tell us!”
“Tell us, quick!” cried Doris.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grey are leaving soon, and the manager and his wife and children are coming to live there.”
“Oh!”
The darning, which had been taken up again, was fairly banged on to the verandah now, and scissors and wool were scattered far and wide, while Eva threw a reel of cotton high in the air.
“Children coming! Playmates! Hurrah!”
“When are they coming, and who are they, and how many, and how old are the children, and are they nice?”
“Are you glad?” asked Dadda.
“Glad?” repeated Eileen. “Glad’s not in it! We’re overjoyed. Of course we all like Mrs. Gray; she can make lovely little cakes, and keep her house lovely and clean, but—little cakes and a clean house are not playmates. And when we’re dying for fun and playmates, cakes and houses don’t count!”