But never did Hope salute passing acquaintances so joyously; and Hope’s list of friends was as large as it was miscellaneous, extending from Mrs Maxwell of Firthside, in her carriage, down to Robbie Carlyle, the fisherman, with the creel on his shoulders full of flounders which he had captured this morning, knee-deep in the waters of the Firth. Just before the gate of Mount Fendie was a toll--a toll which Hope paid triumphantly in presence of an admiring congregation of John Tasker’s children. It was the crowning glory of her ride. “Oh, Hope, when did you get your pony?” cried Victoria Fendie. “What a pretty one!--but it’s not so pretty as Fred’s either--is it, Adelaide?” “I don’t know what you call Fred’s,” said Adelaide, “for Fred is too little to have a pony, but I am sure yours is very pretty, Hope. Were you not afraid?” Fred, a little spoiled, pale, ill-conditioned boy of eight stood on a bench in the garden, plucking the blossoms off an apple-tree. He paused to pull Adelaide’s hair--it was invitingly near him--and then resumed his profitable occupation. “I thought you would be afraid; but yours is a very pretty one, Hope,” repeated the steady Adelaide, “and Fred is too little yet to have a pony.” Hope was so engrossed with the pony, its beauties and good qualities, that she had almost forgotten the object of her visit. She recollected herself at last. “Adelaide, you have not told me, has the young lady come?” “The young lady!--she means the governess,” said Victoria. “Oh, yes--we’re all to go in now, to begin school, and you may come with us, Hope. She came yesterday.” “And do you like her?” said Hope, out of breath. “I don’t know; we’re all to begin school to-day, and you’re to come with us. But you’re always so quick, Hope Oswald!--how can people know in a day?” “I know,” said Victoria loudly, “I don’t like her at all. She is so pale, and she speaks so low, and--I don’t like her.” “Young ladies,” said a clear voice behind them, “your mother desires that you will come in.” Hope turned quickly round. A tall, pale girl stood behind, evidently endeavouring to assume a firmness and authority which she did not possess. Her deep mourning dress, and shadowy stooping figure, and singular paleness touched the girlish romance which lay dormant in the blythe spirit of Hope. Adelaide Fendie looked at the new governess hazily out of her dull blue eyes, and did not speak. The dyspeptic little tyrant Fred said “I won’t,” and the shrewish Victoria laughed. Hope had learned the stranger’s name, and knew her own power over Adelaide when she chose to exert it. “If you please, Miss Maxwell,” said the prompt young lady, “I’m Hope Oswald; and Adelaide was just coming in; and we’ll all go together.” Whereupon Hope seized the arm of Adelaide, and brought her, docile and obedient, into the rear of the new governess.