Mattison was an old, broken-down trooper, who was head-groom and general master of the horse at Stanton Court. Consultation with him revealed the fact that there was a steady old gray horse, just the thing for a lady like Mrs. Corbet, and a broken-down charger left behind by my lord, which would answer very well for Mattison, who was to accompany her. So it was settled that they should take an early breakfast and set out from Stanton Court in the cool of the morning, resting, during the hottest part of the day, at the house of an old lady, a friend of Cousin Deborah's. Anne was a little surprised, the next morning, to see Lady Lucy, after she had watched her cousin down the avenue, turn into the terrace parlour, as it was called, and seat herself at her lute, with the hour-glass by which she was used to time her tasks, on the table by the side of her lesson-book. She had expected to see Lucy take the opportunity to play. "You are very industrious, my lady," said she. "That is not the way you used to do when Mrs. Bernard went away." "Aunt Bernard was one person, and Cousin Deborah is another," said Lucy. "Cousin Deborah said she trusted me to be a good girl; and I am going to try and please her. Aunt Bernard never trusted me; and you know yourself, Anne, I never could please her, do what I would. It never made one bit of difference whether I did my tasks or let them alone; and so I used to feel as though I might as well do one thing as an other. But Cousin Deborah always praises me if I do well and if I do ill, she does not seem vexed—only sorry; that makes me feel as though I wanted to do every thing right." "Well, I'll not say but you are in the right," replied Anne, seriously. "Mrs. Corbet is one of the best ladies I ever knew, I will say for her; and it was a blessed day for you which put you into her hands. By the way, has she ever said any thing about the thimble?" "Not a word," replied Lucy. "It seems as though she must have missed it; but she has never spoken about it." "I don't understand it," returned Anne. "She may be waiting to see if you will find it and put it back of your own accord." "Do you think the gipsy-woman will be able to tell where it is, Anne?" "I can't justly say. They do know wonderful things, to be sure. And it is not safe to offend them, either; for there is no knowing what revenge they may take. There was a woman my grandmother knew, who lived on the edge of Exmoor,—" And forthwith Anne plunged into a foolish tale, effectually diverting Lucy's mind from her practising, and making her feel more than ever afraid of not keeping her appointment with the gipsy. "If I could only feel right about Cousin Deborah," said she; "but I am almost sure she will not like it." "She will not know it," argued Anne; "and what folks don't know don't hurt them, folks say."