The other side of the letter—the part which gave me joy—was the prospect of going to Caddagat.

Caddagat, the place where I was born! Caddagat, whereat, enfolded in grandmotherly love and the petting which accrued therefrom, I spent some of my few sweet childish days. Caddagat, the place my heart fondly enshrines as home. Caddagat, draped by nature in a dream of beauty. Caddagat, Caddagat! Caddagat for me, Caddagat for ever! I say.

Too engrossed with my thoughts to feel the cold of the dull winter day, I remained in my position against the wattle-tree until Gertie came to inform me that tea was ready.

"You know, Sybylla, it was your turn to get the tea ready; but I set the table to save you from getting into a row. Mother was looking for you, and said she supposed you were in one of your tantrums again."

Pretty little peacemaker! She often did things like that for me.

"Very well, Gertie, thank you. I will set it two evenings running to make up for it—if I'm here."

"If you are here! What do you mean?"

"I am going away," I replied, watching her narrowly to see if she cared, for I was very hungry for love.

"Going to run away becauses mother is always scolding you?"

"No, you little silly! I'm going up to Caddagat to live with grannie."

"Always?"

"Yes."