On Saturday morning, about ten o'clock, Grannie Smith's donkey-cart arrived; Milly, Maud, Percy, myself, and several baskets of eatables, started at once, after mother had settled that Percy was to drive as far as a certain turning in the road; then I might take the reins and drive to a pond of water, where Ned must stop to drink; and Milly might drive the rest of the way. Mother and father would drive out and join us in the evening. Miss Cole was going with us: she was walking on in front; for though she didn't mind riding in the donkey-cart when nobody could see her, she didn't care to ride through the town. As we passed the gates of Neesby Court a carriage was just coming out. In it were seated Miss Townley and her niece. "Tris" turned to look at us as we, a happy, laughing party, passed. Her aunt spoke quite crossly to her, and told her to sit still and not turn round; which poor "Tris" did, with a very red face. "How mean of Miss Townley," broke out Milly, almost before the carriage had got beyond hearing distance. "I daresay the poor little thing was wishing she had some brothers and sisters to play with her. I don't like that Miss Townley, but I should like to make friends with 'Tris.'" "Tris!" scornfully said Percy; "you won't be able to make friends with 'Tris,' as you call her, because she's never out without her governess, and that dear creature looks as cross as two sticks." Here we overtook Miss Cole, and we soon forgot both "Tris" and her troubles in deciding what games we should play. We had a splendid time. We played every game we knew; we ate every particle of food we brought with us; and were very glad when father and mother came. We sat down on the grass by father, and he told us one of his nice tales. This one was about a man who sold his poor old horse to a company of gipsies for ten pounds, and went to a fair next day to buy a new one. There he saw a nice one that quite took his fancy, with two white legs, and a white streak down the middle of his face; so he bought him for twenty pounds. When he got home he called to his wife to come and see this fine new horse. Directly she saw him the old woman cried out, "Why, Sam! 'tis our own old horse come back;" and so it was. The gipsies had painted his face and two of his legs, so that the old man did not know his horse; and he paid twenty pounds for the same one that he had sold the day before for ten pounds. Miss Cole drove home in the victoria with father and mother; we went along in the donkey-cart. Percy drove all the way. Maud fell asleep in the bottom of the cart; Milly and I were too tired even to talk. We met "Tris" again, and she looked at us in her sad little way. She was with her governess this time; so Milly and I nodded to her; she smiled back and looked so pleased.