Winifred smiled a little.
“I should like to think they would often come,” said she, slowly. “If you like it and they like it, and mamma doesn’t mind. It would make it nice for you, wouldn’t it, Ronald?”
“Yes, jolly!” he answered, turning an agile somersault. “But you look tired, Winnie. I’ll take you to mamma, and she’ll say you ought to be in bed.”
“Yes, I should like to go to bed,” said the child, rather wearily; “but it has been a nice evening.”
CHAPTER VIII.
SUNDAY.
The next day was Sunday, such a warm bright day, it seemed almost like a little bit of summer come by mistake into September.
Winifred had slept soundly and well after her exertions of the previous evening, and she awoke refreshed and happy, feeling as every one else felt, the joyousness of all around in nature’s beautiful world.
“I feel so strong to-day, mamma,” she said, with one of her old, bright, childlike smiles. “So strong and so well. It is so nice!”