There was nothing to spoil the return. Jasper was taller and plumper and ruddier than he had ever been in his life; his father and mother glad to feel that their visit had given happiness as well as brought it to themselves and their dear ones; for the future now looked very different from what had been the case a year ago. There was even a prospect of having Fareham as their country home again before very long, as Mr Maynard had begun to rebuild a charming old house in the neighbourhood which he had bought, and intended to settle in, as soon as it was ready.
And many good and happy plans gradually took shape in the children’s minds as to how others, less fortunate than themselves, should be made to benefit by their prosperity—ideas suggested, in great part, I feel sure, by their close companionship with their Aunt Margaret.
“Ever since I were so ill,” said Jasper one day—his English by this time being almost quite “grown-up”—“ever since I were so ill, I’ve thought I’d like to make a beautiful big house at the seaside for poor children who’ve been ill, too, to get well in. And I’d have lots of bath-chairs and donkeys for the weller ones.”
And who knows what may come of the idea some day?
“But in the meantime,” said Leila, “as soon as ever we’re settled in our big new London house, Aunt Margaret and Mumsey are going to have a room on purpose for us to have some poor children—not ill ones, of course—at tea, once a week. Won’t it be nice?”
“There’s to be a piano for them to dance to, and all sorts of things,” added Chrissie.
“And lots and lots of cakes and buns,” said Jasper.
His sisters laughed.
“Why, Japs,” said Chrissie, “you used never to care about nice things to eat.”
“But you see I’m always hungry now,” he replied with satisfaction, “so it make me think that lots of them must be hungry too—awfly hungry sometimes, I daresay.”