n't really matter, or make you happy; and papa
says they're going quite out of fashion,' said Horatia, with a merry
laugh, as she gave Sarah a final goodnight hug.

CHAPTER XI.

HORATIA SPEAKS OUT.

One thing Sarah had learnt from Horatia, and that was to be outwardly
respectful to her father, whatever she might inwardly feel towards him.
It is true, she had been told the same thing by her mother and brother;
but one word from her schoolfellow had had more effect than all her
brother's arguments or her mother's scoldings.

The next morning dawned cold and rainy; and Sarah was surprised to find
that for once the bad weather did not depress her, and the prospect of a
day in the house, which she generally dreaded, rather pleased her than
otherwise. The fact was that Sarah was glad her father's plans for the
day were put an end to. 'He's sure to have thought of something quite
unsuitable, that Horatia would not like,' she said to herself.

'Isn't this horrid, Sarah?' cried Horatia when the two met at breakfast,
and the rain was falling faster.

'It's a bore; but I dare say we can find something to do,' said Sarah,
after looking out of the window and seeing no prospect of better weather.

'It 'as turned quite cold; one might think it was autumn,' complained Mrs
Clay, rubbing her hands. 'That's the worst o' our climate, never two days
alike. I'm sure I'm starved in this dress; an' so must you be, my dear,'
she added to Horatia. 'Starved' is Yorkshire for 'cold.'

'I'm dreadfully sorry,' said Horatia, who was always in extremes of joy
or sorrow; 'because of Mr Clay's lovely plan, which can't come off now.'

'What was it?' demanded Sarah, who imagined from her way of speaking that
Horatia knew and liked the plan.

'I don't in the least know; but I'm quite sure it would have been lovely,
and now we can't do it,' she replied.

'I'm not so sure about that,' remarked Mrs Clay.

'Oh, what is it? Do tell me!' cried Horatia.

'I don't think Mr Clay would like me to; but I think 'e'll be in by the
time you've 'ad your breakfast, an' before it, if you go on as you're
doin', my dear, not eatin' anythin',' she put in; for Horatia, in her
excitement, had put down her knife and fork, and was letting her
breakfast get cold while she questioned her hostess.

'Hasn't father gone to the mill?' asked Sarah.

'No; 'e's busy over this plan,' replied his wife, smiling at Horatia, and
adding, 'It's not often 'e breaks 'is 'a