She was nothing to lift, so I humored her by carrying her to the window. It was the first chance I had to look out, and I exclaimed at the beauty of the view which met my eyes. The green grass of the lawn—oh, so green—stretched away to the woods, of which the buds were at least two weeks in advance of those I had left at home, and in some places showed a faint tinge of their summer's hue. On one side I could just catch a glimpse of a fine formal garden, with statues, and a fountain, and high clipped hollys and yews. The church tower peeped from the trees at the end of the long avenue, and away at the horizon lay a broad belt of glittering blue. I was so taken by surprise that I did not think what it was, and asked Lady Betty. "Why, that is the sea!" said the child. "Did you never see the sea before? I love to sit and look at it, and at night I lie and listen to the sound of the waves, till I long to fly away over there, where the birds go. Would you not like to fly, Margaret Merton?" "You are to say Mistress Merton," said Mary, who now came in with the breakfast. "I shall say what I like!" retorted the peevish child. "Margaret is a pretty name, and I love to say it. I may call you Margaret, may I not?" "Surely, my love, if your mother does not object." "My mother wont care. Every one lets me do as I please, only my aunt Jemima, and you need not mind her." "Come now and have your breakfast," said I. "I don't want my breakfast. I am not hungry." "But you will be hungry by and by," I urged. "And besides, your mother will not be pleased if you do not eat your good bread and milk. It is that which makes little girls fat and rosy." "I shall never be fat and rosy, I know!" said Lady Betty, in so sad a tone for a child, that the tears came to my eyes. "But never mind, Margaret, I will eat it if you want me to. Only please sit by me and talk to me!" I was quite ready to do that, and we grew very merry over the bread and milk, Mary putting the room to rights meantime. I was telling my Lady a long story about our old cat and her kittens, and how she carried them all back to the rectory in her mouth when we moved. I had just come to the most interesting part of the story, when the door opened, and a lady entered whom I had not seen before. She seemed to me about thirty-five, though I have since learned that she is not nearly so old. She was very plain, with hair, eyes and skin which seemed all of a color, and there was a wonderful formal, precise air about her. I broke off my story and rose, of course, while Lady Betty greeted the new-comer with: "Now, Aunt Jemima, do go away! Margaret is telling me such a pretty tale, and I want to hear the end of it." "Margaret, forsooth! And pray who is this young person with whom you are so intimate already?" asked the lady, glancing at me, as if she suspected me of committing some great impropriety. "Why, Margaret Merton, of course!" answered the child, pettishly.