"I wish the growing would go into my mind for a little, though I wouldn't like to be _much_ smaller than you, Sylvia.

Perhaps we shouldn't be dressed alike, then." "Do be quiet, Molly, you are such an awful chatterbox," growled Ralph from his corner.

"I was just having a nice little nap." He was far too "grown-up" to own to the eagerness with which, as they went along, he had been furtively peeping out at the window beside him--or to join in Molly's screams of delight at the brilliance of the illumined shop windows, and the interminable perspective of gas lamps growing longer and longer behind them as they rapidly made their way.
A sudden slackening of their speed, a sharp turn, and a rattle over the stones, told of their arrival at their destination.

And "Oh!" cried Molly, "I _am_ so glad.

Aren't you awfully hungry, Sylvia ?" And grandmother, who, to tell the truth, had been indulging in a peaceful, _real_ little nap--not a sham one like Ralph's--quite woke up at this, and told Molly it was the best sign in the world to be hungry after a journey; she was delighted to find her so good a traveller.
The "dinner-tea" which, out of consideration for the children's home hours, had been ordered for them, turned out delicious.