The little ones played about till they were tired; then John took out the newspaper, and read about Ciudad Rodrigo and Lord Wellington's entry into Madrid--the battered eagles and the torn and bloody flags of Badajoz, which were on their way home to the Prince Regent.
"I wish the fighting were over, and peace were come," said Muriel.
But the boys wished quite otherwise; they already gloried in the accounts of battles, played domestic games of French and English, acted garden sieges and blockades.
"How strange and awful it seems, to sit on this green grass, looking down on our quiet valley, and then think of the fighting far away in Spain--perhaps this very minute, under this very sky.

Boys, I'll never let either of you be a soldier." "Poor little fellows!" said I, "they can remember nothing but war time." "What would peace be like ?" asked Muriel.
"A glorious time, my child--rejoicings everywhere, fathers and brothers coming home, work thriving, poor men's food made cheap, and all things prospering." "I should like to live to see it.

Shall I be a woman, then, father ?" He started.

Somehow, she seemed so unlike an ordinary child, that while all the boys' future was merrily planned out--the mother often said, laughing, she knew exactly what sort of a young man Guy would be--none of us ever seemed to think of Muriel as a woman.
"Is Muriel anxious to be grown up?
Is she not satisfied with being my little daughter always ?" "Always." Her father drew her to him, and kissed her soft, shut, blind eyes.
Then, sighing, he rose, and proposed that we should all go home.
This first feast at Longfield was a most merry day.

The men and their families came about noon.