"Irene, Irene," called her mother from within the house, and Irene sprang to her feet. "Think about it," she said, lightly touching Audrey's hot cheek with her finger, "think of the fun of the rehearsals, and all the rest."
"Think about it!" There was little need to tell Audrey to do that. She thought and thought, and at first she felt she could never face it all; then, by degrees, the idea grew less distasteful, more pleasant, then at last she laughed.
"A penny for your thoughts, Audrey," a sweet soft voice broke the silence, and brought Audrey back from a happy future to the blissful present. Looking up she saw her mother leaning on Irene's arm.
"I couldn't sell them," she said, laughing and springing to her feet, "they were too, too lovely, but not nearly as lovely, mother, as seeing you here and walking about."
Mrs. Carlyle sank on to the seat with a happy sigh. "I can hardly believe I am myself," she said, smiling. "I am almost afraid I shall wake up and find it is all a dream—as I have done so often."
"Oh, this is no dream," laughed Irene, "it is all very real. Look at those bad sparrows, fighting over a piece of bread. Listen to the pigeons calling for their tea, and look at my bed of verbenas, all raised from seeds by my very own hand. It is only Audrey who dreams. Audrey, will you give us your thoughts, as they are not to be bought?"
"Yes," said Audrey, her grey eyes shining bright with happiness. "I am thinking that in all the world there is nothing so beautiful as home, no happiness so great as——"
"As that which comes from helping others," said Mrs. Carlyle softly, and drawing her dearly loved daughter to her. "Oh, my dear, how blessed I am in my children, and in their friends;—my children too," she added softly, as she drew Irene to her, and kissed first one and then the other.
Mrs. Vivian came to the door and looked out, smiling at them.
"Will you come now? Tea is ready," she called cheerfully. And, with one supporting her on either side, Mrs. Carlyle went in to the house to cut her birthday cake.