She said that if any of the children developed an imagination he needn't
think _he_ had anything to do with it.

"I shan't," said Anthony. "I wouldn't have anything to do with it if I
could. Facts are good enough for me. The children must be brought up to
realize facts."

An ash-tree was a fact and a tree of Heaven was a fancy; unless by any
chance she meant _ailanthus glandulosa_. (He knew she didn't.) If she
wanted to know, the buds of the ash were black like ebony. The buds of
the tree of Heaven were rose-red, like--like bad mahogany. Wait till the
spring and look at the buds.

Frances waited till the spring and looked at the buds, and, sure enough,
they were black like ebony.

Anthony also said that if they were choosing a house for the children,
it was no earthly use to think about the old people. For the old people
would go and the children would remain.

As if to show how right he was, Grandpapa had died early in that summer
of 'ninety-five, one month after they had moved into West End House.
That still left Grannie and Auntie Louie and Auntie Emmeline and Auntie
Edie for Anthony to look after.

* * * * *

She was thinking of them now. She hoped that they would come early in
time to see the children. She also hoped that they would go early, so
that she and Anthony might have their three sets of tennis before