tied behind the wagon which held it, and Lizzie taken along to assist in
driving. The journey, though begun in early morning, was a tedious one,
for the cow fretted, the day was hot, and the footsore and weary child was
worn out long before the Hornby place was reached. It was after nine
o'clock when they did arrive, the last five miles having been made with
the added burden of a horse which seemed not at all well. Mr. Farnshaw
would not even go into the house to eat supper, but asked the farmer to
see that Lizzie was put to bed at once, while he remained with the sick
horse. The best team had been chosen for this trip, in spite of the near
approach of foaling time for one of the mares, because the other horses
were too reduced by lack of food to drive so far.

After eating a bowl of bread and milk the tired child was taken to her
room by Mrs. Hornby, and in spite of the ruffled curtains which adorned
the windows and the other evidences of taste and refinement about her, she
was soon fast asleep.

The next morning at daybreak the household of Nathan Hornby was astir. The
first object upon which Lizzie's eyes fell was Susan Hornby herself, who
had come to call her to breakfast.

"Your father took one of our horses and started right off home this
morning. The one that was sick last night died and left a little colt. He
said he thought he had better get the other one home at once, so he took
ours. Come right into our room to wash and comb."

Lizzie was on her feet instantly and followed her hostess into the next
room, making love to the neat white bows of her hostess' apron-strings as
she went. What did she care about her father's departure without her when
she could wash her face in a white bowl whose pitcher stood beside the
washstand, and comb her hair before a looking-glass "where you could see
your head and your belt at the same time?" But the combing was destined to
be a lengthy process, for before the child had pulled her comb through the
first lock attacked she saw reflected beside her face in that mirror an
old-fashioned, black walnut secretary _full of books_! Lizzie Farnshaw had
never seen a dozen books in one house in her life except school books, and
here were rows of books that didn't look like any she had ever seen. She
took her comb and walked over to the bookcase where she could read the
titles and comb at the same time, the spacious mirror, two whole feet in
length, being forgotten in this much more des