just as sure!" Ay, little ones, and for three years the Lord has delighted my soul by bringin' up these lilies at Easter time, just to tell me that my graves is goin' to be opened like the Lord's Himself, and I'm a-goin' to see my family again. The devil himself may tempt and try one in the winter, but away he goes in the spring, when every bit o' this blessed earth is preaching the resurrection to us!'

Much of this was above the children's heads, but Roland said, after a minute's thought, 'Will dead people come up out of the ground like the flowers?'

'Ay, Master Roland, the flowers are a very poor picture of the glorified body.'

'And they go to sleep in the winter time?' the boy went on; 'and how often does Easter come?'

'The flowers have their Easter every year, but we have to wait a little longer for ours. I ofttimes think that when the Lord do come down from heaven with a shout, He will choose Easter Sunday to wake the dead, for 'tis the day He rose Himself!'

Old Bob did not say much more, and Roland and Olive went back to the house thinking busily.

The next day was Sunday, and they went to church with their aunts; but directly the service was over, Roland, who was walking with Miss Hester, pulled her by the hand towards Bob's five graves in the corner.

'Do just let me look at them again! Have you got any graves here, Aunt Hester? I wish I had some. Poor Bob has too many, hasn't he?'

Miss Hester gave a little shiver.

'What an extraordinary child you are! You don't know the meaning of graves, or you wouldn't talk so!'

'Yes, I do,' said Roland earnestly; 'the earth is full of graves in winter; these graves in the churchyard belong to dead people, but the dead flowers are everywhere, and they're all coming up at Easter—Mr. Bob said so.'

'Bob fills your head with a lot of nonsense; come along.'

The boy felt snubbed, and said no more; but that afternoon, when he and his little sister came down to the drawing-room, the subject was opened afresh.

Their aunts found Sunday afternoon long and tedious, especially as now a heavy downpour of sleet and rain had set in, and it was in the hope of being amused that Miss Hunter sent for the children.

Miss Hester was on one of the sofas half asleep; Miss Amabel standing on the hearthrug with her back to the fire; whilst Miss Sibyl and Miss Hunter were both trying to read books of a religious character, and feeling very dull and bored.

'Now come and talk to us,' said Miss Amabel briskly, as the children appeared; 'we are all bored to death, and we want you to entertain us.'

Roland sat down on a footstool, and clasped his knees in an old-fashioned way. Olive ran to Miss Hunter and climbed into her lap. She was accustomed to be petted, and looked upon grown-up people's knees as her rightful privilege.

'What shall we talk about?' asked Roland.

'Let's ask Aunt Marion to tell us the story of Easter Sunday,' suggested Olive.

'Yes, nurse doesn't know it properly—she makes it so short.'

Miss Hunter looked helplessly at her sisters.

'I'm not good at Bible stories,' she said; 'I forget them so.'

'You tell us what you know about it,' said Miss Amabel.

Roland puckered his brows for a moment, then he began,—

'Jesus was dead—quite, quite dead. He had been hung on the cross, and killed by wicked, cruel men; and all His friends were crying and sobbing, and He was put in a grave, and soldiers stood outside.'

'All His friends were crying and sobbing,' repeated Olive, shaking her little head mournfully at Miss Hunter, 'and they thought they were never going to see Him again; never, never!'

'And then,' continued Roland, 'suddenly, bang! bang! the great stone grave broke open, and two beautiful angels flew down from heaven, and Jesus Christ came rising up from the grave quite well and strong again, and the soldiers ran away, and the good women came near.'

'And the good women were sobbing and crying,' put in Olive again, 'and they thought they were never going to see Him again, never!'

'And then one of them, called Mary, saw some one in the garden, and she didn't quite know who it was; and then He called out her name, and then she saw it was Jesus Himself.'

'Jesus Himself, quite well and strong, and wasn't she glad!' repeated little Olive.

'And that's what happened on Easter Sunday,' said Roland.

There was silence. The children's soft, earnest voices and the sweet Bible story touched the hearts of those who heard it.

'And how long will it be before Easter?' asked Olive, after a pause.

'Oh, a long, long time. Why, we haven't come to Christmas! We don't want Easter to come yet.'

'Mr. Bob says Easter is the happiest time in all the year; he likes it better than Christmas.'

'Yes, and so will we, when we see the dead flowers come up, and all the dead people too!'

'Oh, don't get them on the subject of "dead people" and graves,' murmured Miss Hester sleepily; 'they can talk of nothing else at present.'

'Tell us about your life in India, Roland,' said Miss Hunter, quite willing to change the subject; and the boy instantly obeyed, whilst his little sister, with knitted brows, was trying to puzzle out in her small mind why Aunt Hester did not like graves.

But when they left the drawing-room an hour afterwards, she said to her brother, 'All our aunties like the winter. It is only Mr. Bob who says Easter is best.'

'They haven't got any graves like Mr. Bob,' responded Roland thoughtfully, 'nor lilies buried in flower-pots. If they had, they would like Easter quite as much as he does.'

CHAPTER III

Signs of Life

winter came on. The days grew darker and colder, and the children were loth to leave their nursery with its warm fire, and sally out into the cold December air for their constitutional walk with nurse. Only the thought of old Bob at the lodge kept their spirits up, and if they were allowed to have a word or two with him occasionally, their walks were more cheerfully taken. The conservatory was their chief joy, and often would they steal down from the nursery, and be found by one of their aunts comfortably established with their toys and picture-books in a corner of it.

'I never thought Indian children would hate the winter so much as these two mites do,' said Miss Hunter one evening at dinner; 'they seem to look upon it as a regular curse. I should have thought the very novelty would have attracted them.'

'They seem to have such ridiculous theories about it,' said Miss Hester. 'I fancy Bob has been stuffing their heads with his gloomy views.'

'I always think Bob looks as happy as can be,' put in Miss Amabel briskly. 'I don't think the children were prepared for the barrenness and dreariness of an English winter. They have come from the land of brilliant flowers and sunshine, and naturally feel the difference.'

'Yes,' remarked Miss Sibyl gently.