Without answering, Maggie stalked off, making for the swing that George, Cissie’s husband, had tied to the branch of the big oak tree. Heaving a sigh, Sunday went to join Cissie, who was watching the children play, with her own youngest son, Johnny, sitting close to her.

‘I see madam’s been at it again,’ Cissie said, nodding towards Maggie as Sunday sat down on the grass beside her.

‘Hmm, so I believe,’ Sunday answered. ‘I do wish those two could get on better.’

‘Well, happen they’re only babies as yet. No doubt they’ll make friends as they get a bit older. And because they’re so close in age they’re bound to vie for attention.’ The words had barely left Cissie’s lips when Kitty came toddling towards them, none the worse for her fall, to hand Sunday a small bunch of daisies she had plucked from the grass.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Sunday took them and drew the child onto her lap, burying her face in the little girl’s thick dark curls. At the same moment, Ben, who was now eleven years old, flopped down onto the grass beside her. For most of the time he was Kitty’s protector and he had saved her from any number of spats with Maggie.

He’s growing up so fast, Sunday thought to herself. He was almost as tall as she was now and already showed signs of turning into a very comely young man. His hair was thick and the colour of ripe corn, and his eyes were a lovely deep blue colour. Sunday felt a pang of regret as she realised that, in not too many years’ time, he would be ready to fly the nest and make his own way in the world. She had tried her best to ensure that he and all the other children at the Home enjoyed the stability that she herself had lacked in her early years in the workhouse. But because Ben had been the first foundling she and Tom had taken in, he too had a special place in her heart and she dreaded the day when she would have to let him go. Not that he’d shown any inclination to leave as yet, fortunately. Ben loved nothing more than helping George and Tom with any odd jobs that needed doing when he wasn’t attending the local school, and deep inside, Sunday secretly hoped that he might want to stay with them. They would be able to afford to pay him a small wage, if that was what he chose to do. Goodness knows, there was always more than enough to keep everyone busy about the house and grounds, and another pair of hands would be more than welcome. But that was still a few years in the future.

It was only recently that Sunday had realised what a wrench it was going to be when the first of her foundlings grew up and left, but for now she pushed the thought away and turned her attention back to the children gambolling about on the lawn like spring lambs. Life is almost perfect, she found herself thinking. The location of Treetops Children’s Home was idyllic. It nestled close to Hartshill Hayes, a well-known Warwickshire beauty spot. The Hayes consisted of over 137 acres of unspoiled forest, and the view from the top on a clear day was breathtaking: you could see many of the neighbouring counties. In the summer, Sunday and Tom and their brood, and many local families enjoyed picnics there and the children would romp amongst the trees. Perhaps one day I shall have a child of my very own to join them, Sunday mused wistfully, but for now she was grateful for the ones in her care, particularly Ben and Kitty. She hadn’t included Maggie in her thoughts, she noted guiltily – but then Maggie was a particularly needy little girl, which was perhaps what made her so difficult to love.