"What can it be? Not badminton?" queried Monica, all excitement.
"No, not badminton," repeated her grandmother, with a smile. "I hardly think you will guess, so as soon as you have finished breakfast we will go and see it."
"I finished ages ago," said Monica, as she pushed back her chair with alacrity; "I am curious, grannie." And she slipped her arm through the old lady's (a favourite habit nowadays), and they went together to a large summer-house where the croquet and tennis sets were kept.
"Is it a small game, or whatever you call it, grannie?"
"Not very small," was the amused reply, "but here we are, and you can judge for yourself."
She fitted a key in the lock, and opened the door, and Monica gazed in utter astonishment at what she saw; for, resting on its own stand in the middle of the quaint, octagonal summer-house, was a beautiful, perfectly new bicycle!
"MONICA GAZED IN UTTER ASTONISHMENT."
"Oh, grannie!" Only an exclamation, but who can describe all that was contained in those two words? and Monica almost squeezed the breath out of the old lady's body with the energy with which she hugged her.
"There, there, that will do, Monica; don't quite strangle me," protested Mrs. Beauchamp; but all the same, she keenly enjoyed her grandchild's unqualified delight. "Do you like it?" she added, as Monica examined and admired the bicycle to her heart's content.