“The downstairs porch is where we spend our days,” said Mother, “and the upstairs porch is where we spend our nights.”
“Me, too?” asked Lydia, all excitement at the prospect.
“You, too, Lyddy Ann,” answered Father, “and Lucy Locket and Miss Puss likewise, unless she chooses to spend her nights in the catnip bed.”
For Miss Puss had scented the bed of catnip round the corner of the house, and was rolling and tumbling in it to her heart’s content. Mr. Blake and Lydia stood enjoying the sight, and Father pointed out a little garden bed that was to be Lydia’s very own.
“Will you plant flowers or vegetables?” asked he.
“Flowers, please,” said Lydia, her face aglow with pleasure. “Pink and red and blue and yellow ones I’d like.”
“To-morrow, then, we’ll spade it up,” said Father. “And now we had better be off to bed if we are going to do gardening in the morning.”
Out on the upper porch stood the three beds in a row. Lydia, in her long nightgown, hopped about, so excited it was hard to think of going to sleep.
But Mother tucked her under the warm blankets, and soon the sleeping-porch was as quiet as the soft, dark night all about it.
But Lydia was not asleep. She lay watching the twinkling stars and waving tree-tops, and suddenly the thought of Lucy Locket popped into her head. Lydia remembered just where she had left her, lying on the table in the hall below. Poor Lucy, missing her own white cradle, no doubt, to say nothing of her little mother’s care.