indulgently. "Prue, my pet, look in my bag and you will find five
parcels, one for each young robber. Be fair and amiable, my
children. Come, Hugh. Good night, Papa's little angel." He kissed
Baby, handed her over to Prudence, put on his hat again, and was off
down the wide path between the cypress trees with Hugh hanging on
his arm, in less than no time.

"Let's watch from the gate," said Prudence. "Bridget will take Baby.
Hurry up, Mollie."

They reached the foot of the garden just in time to see Papa's tall
hat disappear round the corner of the road. It was a lovely evening,
and the girls lingered by the gate; the scent of violets and
freesias rose from the flowerbed at their feet, and every now and
again came a whiff of something else--something exquisitely fragrant
and delicate.

"What's that?" asked Mollie, with an unladylike sniff; "that lovely
smell?"

"It's wattle," Prudence answered. "It's in the fields over there.
You can smell it for miles sometimes, in the country; it's a nice
smell. Let's go and look at Papa's parcels. He went to see Mrs.
Macfarline at her toyshop to-day, and when he goes there he always
brings something home. It's a beautiful shop. Once I stayed with
Lucy Macfarline from Saturday till Monday, and her mamma allowed us
to play in the shop on Sunday; it was so funny, all dark and dim,
and the dolls looking like little ghosts. We played with the toys on
the shelves and had a lovely time. I love shops--oh, Mollie, we have
forgotten Grizzel! She is up in the tree all this time! We must run