After that Terry would read aloud, poetry such as Gran'ma liked, and Terry did not much object to that, for she loved musical rhythm, only Granny always chose and marked the pieces, and Terry would rather have tossed over the leaves till she found a poem that she could make a favourite of for herself.

She hoped it would be Longfellow to-night.

She liked that one: "A little face at the window Peers out into the night".
Oh, yes; she would be as good as good! And Terry heaved a long-drawn sigh.
"Turly," she said suddenly, "do you never get tired lying flat on the floor, playing with soldiers and bricks, and things ?" "No," said Turly, "I've done such a day's work.

I've built a whole city of streets out of this one brick-box." "You ridiculous boy! The box only holds enough bricks to build one house with." "I know that," said Turly placidly.

"I build one house at a time, and I count the houses I've built till I know there is a street." "Oh, you silly! You are building the same house every time, and taking it down again.