Lady Betty was full of news about Cousin Walter, as she called him. "Cousin Walter," had been to see her already, and had brought her a little dog from foreign parts, which she was to have to-morrow, and a fine picture-book from London. I am not likely to see much of this fine gentleman, but I cannot help fancying him for his kindness to my poor little nursling. And I could see that my Lady was pleased, also. It seemed that his mother, Mrs. Corbet, wishes to return to end her days in the old house, and he has come down, like a dutiful son, to see it put in order for her. _April 9._ Our company have all gone now, and we are not to have any more for some time—only Madam Corbet is to be here for some two or three weeks, before she goes to her own house. Mary shook her head and looked grave upon this, but would not tell me why. I am glad, for my part, that we are likely to have a quieter house. I am sure so much of care and company cannot be good for my Lady. I now take my dinner and supper with the rest, an arrangement which makes me more one of the family than I have been before. My seat is next the chaplain's, so we are becoming well acquainted. _April 10._ Last night Lady Jemima came to my room before I had finished writing, so that I was forced to put my book away in a hurry. I thought at first that something must have happened, and stood waiting to hear what it was, but she bade me be seated, and taking a chair herself she began turning over my books. They were but few—my Bible and Prayer-book, the book of "Contemplations" my Lord gave me, and Spenser's "Faerie Queene," a present from Dick, besides my old Latin grammar and Virgilius, which I had brought partly for association's sake, and a volume of father's sermons. "Do you read your Bible every day?" she asked, presently. "Yes, my Lady," I replied. "And do you understand all that you read?" "No, my Lady," said I, adding: "I suppose nobody does." "Of course not, child. And what other books of devotion have you?" "None, my Lady, only this." And I showed her the Bishop's "Contemplations," which I am reading by course. She looked at it rather slightingly, I thought, and laid it down. Then she began to catechize me. "Had I been confirmed? Had I received the Communion, and how many times? Did I say my prayers, and how often?" and finally—"Did I fast?" I did not quite know what to answer, so she asked me again if I ate meat at this holy season. I told her I did. "And why do you so?" she asked, sharply. "There is always fish on my brother's table." I told her that fish did not suit me: that it made me ill, and that if I went without meat, I had the headache, and was not fit for my work: but that I had always been used to deny myself in the matter of dainties in time of Lent. She looked but half satisfied.