A most kind Letter from Mr. _Milton_, hoping _Father_ is better, and praying for News of him. How can I write to him without betraying _Dick_? _Robin_ and I rode, this Morning, to _Sheepscote_. Thoughte Mr. _Agnew_ received me with unwonted Gravitie. He tolde me he had received a Letter from my Husband, praying News of my Father, seeing I had sent him none, and that he had writ to him that _Father_ was quite well, never had been better. Then he sayd to me he feared Mr. _Milton_ was labouring under some false Impression. I tolde him trulie, that _Dick_, to get me Home, had exaggerated a trifling Illness of _Father's_, but that I was guiltlesse of it. He sayd _Dick_ was inexcusable, and that noe good End coulde justifie a Man of Honour in overcharging the Truth; and that, since I was innocent, I shoulde write to my Husband to clear myself. I said briefly, I woulde; and I mean to do soe, onlie not to-daye. Oh, sweet countrie Life! I was made for you and none other. This riding and walking at one's owne free Will, in the fresh pure Ayre, coming in to earlie, heartie, wholesome Meals, seasoned with harmlesse Jests,--seeing fresh Faces everie Daye come to the House, knowing everie Face one meets out of Doores,--supping in the Garden, and remaining in the Ayre long after the Moon has risen, talking, laughing, or perhaps dancing,--if this be not Joyfulnesse, what is? For certain, I woulde that Mr. _Milton_ were here; but he woulde call our Sports mistimed, and throw a Damp upon our Mirth by not joining in it. Soe I will enjoy my Holiday while it lasts, for it may be long ere I get another--especiallie if his and _Father's_ Opinions get wider asunder, as I think they are doing alreadie. My promised Spring Holiday may come to nothing. _Monday_. My Husband hath writ to me strangelie, chiding me most unkindlie for what was noe Fault of mine, to wit, _Dick's_ Falsitie; and wondering I can derive anie Pleasure from a Holiday so obtayned, which he will not curtayl, but will on noe Pretence extend. Nay! but methinks Mr. _Milton_ presumeth somewhat too much on his marital Authoritie, writing in this Strayn. I am no mere Child neither, nor a runaway Wife, nor in such bad Companie, in mine own Father's House, where he firste saw me; and, was it anie Fault of mine, indeed, that _Father_ was not ill? or can I wish he had beene? No, truly! This Letter hath sorelie vexed me. Dear _Father_, seeing me soe dulle, askt me if I had had bad News. I sayd I had, for that Mr. _Milton_ wanted me back at the Month's End. He sayd, lightlie, Oh, that must not be, I must at all Events stay over his Birthdaye, he could not spare me sooner; he woulde settle all that. Let it be soe then--I am content enoughe.