The world, they felt, and indeed had some reason to feel, was full of wonderful things--and they were really the sort of people that wonderful things happen to.

So they looked forward to the summer holiday; but when it came everything was different, and very, very horrid.

Father had to go out to Manchuria to telegraph news about the war to the tiresome paper he wrote for--the Daily Bellower, or something like that, was its name.

And Mother, poor dear Mother, was away in Madeira, because she had been very ill.

And The Lamb--I mean the baby--was with her.