As the girl entered she looked up quickly. “You haven't been wandering off by yourself again?” she asked reproachfully. “Oh, it is quite safe, mamma,” replied Betty, impatiently. “I didn't meet a soul except free Levi.” “Your father wouldn't like it, my dear,” returned Mrs. Ambler, in the tone in which she might have said, “it is forbidden in the Scriptures,” and she added after a moment, “but where is Petunia? You might, at least, take Petunia with you.” “Petunia is such a chatterbox,” said Betty, tossing her wraps upon a chair, “and if she sees a cricket in the road she shrieks, 'Gawd er live, Miss Betty,' and jumps on the other side of me. No, I can't stand Petunia.” She sat down upon an ottoman at her mother's feet, and rested her chin in her clasped hands. “But did you never go walking in your life, mamma?” she questioned. Mrs. Ambler looked a little startled. “Never alone, my dear,” she replied with dignity. “Why, I shouldn't have thought of such a thing. There was a path to a little arbour in the glen at my old home, I remember,--I think it was at least a quarter of a mile away,--and I sometimes strolled there with your father; but there were a good many briers about, so I usually preferred to stay on the lawn.” Her voice was clear and sweet, but it had none of the humour which gave piquancy to Betty's. It might soothe, caress, even reprimand, but it could never jest; for life to Mrs. Ambler was soft, yet serious, like a continued prayer to a pleasant and tender Deity. “I'm sure I don't see how you stood it,” said Betty, sympathetically. “Oh, I rode, my dear,” returned her mother. “I used to ride very often with your father or--or one of the others. I had a brown mare named Zephyr.” “And you never wanted to be alone, never for a single instant?” “Alone?” repeated Mrs. Ambler, wonderingly, “why, of course I read my Bible and meditated an hour every morning. In my youth it would have been considered very unladylike not to do it, and I'm sure there's no better way of beginning the day than with a chapter in the Bible and a little meditation. I wish you would try it, Betty.” Her eyes were upon her daughter, and she added in an unchanged voice, “Don't you think you might manage to make your hair lie smoother, dear? It's very pretty, I know; but the way it curls about your face is just a bit untidy, isn't it?” Then, as the Governor came in from his day in town, she turned eagerly to hear the news of his latest speech. “Oh, I've had a great day, Julia,” began the Governor; but as he stooped to kiss her, she gave a little cry of alarm. “Why, you're frozen through!” she exclaimed. “Betty, stir the fire, and make your father sit down by the fender. Shall I mix you a toddy, Mr. Ambler?” “Tut, tut!” protested the Governor, laughing, “a touch of the wind is good for the blood, my dear.”