"Oh, what a big house!"
And then the smallest voice of the three with amazing distinctness:--
"What an exceedingly red fire."
The carriage door flew open, and two little girls all in red from top to toe, and one little boy in gray, rolled out in a heap, or seemed to roll out, like puppies out of a basket, scrambled on to their feet and ran up the steps,--Mr. Danby, slim and jaunty as usual, following them.
"Good gracious, how tiny they are!" cried Adela, stooping down to kiss the smaller girl, a round red bundle, with a round little face, and large dark gray eyes shining in the firelight.
The tiny thing accepted the kiss somewhat shrinkingly, and looked about her, awed by the grandeur of the hall, the large fireplace and blazing logs, the men in armor, or the suits of armor standing up and pretending to be men.
"I don't like them," said the tiny girl, clinging to Danby and pointing at one of these mailed warriors with a muffled red hand: "they're not alive, are they, Uncle Tom?"
"No, no, no, Moppet, they're as dead as door-nails."
"Are they? I don't like dead people."
"Come, come, Moppet, suppose they're not people at all--no more than a rocking-horse is a real live horse. We'll pull one of them down to-morrow and look inside him, and then you'll be satisfied."