"But, Lady Betty, Mrs. Merton will be no farther away than the parsonage, and you can ride down to see her on your donkey," said Mary. "I wont!" cried Betty, in something of her old tone. "I will never go near the parsonage!" "You had better wait till you are asked, my dear!" said I, a little sharply. "If you do not go thither till you go to see me, it will be a long time first. Mary, you would do much better to be about your work, than to be gossipping about my affairs. You have made the bed very ill, and the hangings are all in strings, nor have you put away your Lady's clothes, nor dusted properly. And you, Lady Betty, have neglected your lesson to hear and fret yourself over this idle matter. If you do so again, I shall set you a double task." Dick used to say, laughing, that I could be awfully dignified when I chose, and I suppose I was so now, for poor Mary looked very much scared, and began to make apologies, but I cut her short. "I wish to hear no more," said I. "Do your work over, and do it properly, and another time remember that my affairs are not yours. Lady Betty, you can bring your book into the gallery, and learn your lesson there, till this room is fit for you!" Lady Betty took her book and followed me, meekly enough. As I closed the door, I heard Mary say to herself, in a tone of wonder: "O dear! Then she don't mean to have the parson, after all!" I set a chair for Betty in her favorite window, and took my place beside her with my embroidery. After a little Lady Betty said, timidly, "You are not vexed with me, are you, Margaret?" "Yes, I am!" I answered. "'Twas not like a little lady to let Mary gossip to you about me and Mr. Penrose. My Lady, your mother, would be ill-pleased if she knew you had done such a thing. I shall not tell her, but you must never do so again. Come now, learn your lesson, and then we will go out into the chase." Mr. Corbet joined us in the chase. I think he must have seen that something was the matter, but he made no allusion to it. On the contrary, he began telling Betty stories of his travels and the wonders he hath seen, and soon effectually diverted not only her but myself. He hath been to America two or three times, and hath seen the place whither so many colonists are now going. He says it is a fair land and fertile enough, but that the winters are long and severe, and the perils many, both from savages and wild beasts. Yet more and more people go thither every year, and he thinks that in time the settlement may be one of considerable importance. "What sort of people go thither?" I asked him.