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“You dear!” she said, laying her cheek against the old horse, patting her with little loving pats, and Betsy lowered her head and looked at her little mistress in a motherly way.

While Priscilla stood there her father came out to place a medicine-case in the carriage.

“Hullo, little woman,” he said. “What are you doing? Nothing! That’s a dull way of passing your time. Would you like to come with me?”

“Oh!” cried Priscilla, unclasping Betsy and clasping her own small hands in rapture, “may I?”

“Yes, if you like. I am going to Lantig, but I shall be back by tea-time. Hurry in, then, and get ready, and don’t spend an age over your toilet.”

Priscilla laughed delightedly, and flew up to her room. As she passed in and up the stairs, she heard Loveday’s shrill little voice calling to her:

“Prissy, Prissy, do come here! Oh, I do want some one to watch me paint! Just look what I’ve done!”

“Can’t stay,” shouted back Priscilla. “I am going to Lantig with father, and he told me to hurry.”

“Well, somebody ought to stay with me when I’m an—an invalid,” declared Loveday, in an aggrieved tone.