tten long and graphic
descriptions home. 'Let us hope so, indeed,' was all she said; and added,
'But do leave off talking about miserable things and get ready for this
party. What ought I to wear? One ought to have winter things for skating,
but I haven't any best winter dress here.'

'Why not wear your white flannel? And, if you don't mind, I'll lend you a
white feather hat and boa. I have never worn them, and I have heaps of
other things to wear; mother has a mania for buying me clothes, and I
have a wardrobeful never touched.'

Horatia was just going to refuse, for she preferred wearing her own
clothes; but she thought it might please Sarah, so she accepted, and went
to her bedroom with them on. 'I've got a new hat and boa, Nanny,' she
announced.

Mrs Nancy looked at them, and cried, 'How well they suit you, Miss
Horatia! The mistress ought to get you some like them;' for she guessed
at once they were Sarah's.

'I'm going to wear them this afternoon,' replied Horatia.

'Wear Miss Clay's hat! Oh Miss Horatia! you can never do such a thing,'
protested the old nurse.

'Why not?' inquired Horatia, as she pirouetted before the cheval-glass,
admiring the pretty feather toque. 'It's the very thing for rinking, and
so is this boa. Look how queerly it is made, with chiffon twined in;
that's what makes it so becoming. Clothes make a lot of difference,
Nanny. I don't look half so ugly with these on.'

'You never look ugly, Miss Horatia, and you look "distangy" whatever you
put on, so there's no need for you to put on other folk's clothes to look
nice; the mistress wouldn't like it at all, I'm sure,' said Nancy.

'I don't think she'd mind, Nanny, and I should vex Sarah if I refused,
and that's just what I don't want to do,' said Horatia.

'Well, they do suit you, and if you've a fancy for them, and to please
Miss Clay, perhaps you'd better; specially if she's got a temper anything
like her father's, for they say he's fairly hated at the mills,' said
Nancy.

Nancy did not like Mr Clay, and not all his wealth could make her think
him a fit host for her young lady; and, indeed, after his explosion in
the back-yard she had taken it upon herself to write to Lady Grace
Cunningham, and said: 'I feel sure, my lady, that if you knew the people
we are with, you would never let us stay; for not but what this is a
palace fit for a king, and we eat like fighting-cocks. Still, they are
not what I've been used to since I've been in