And Drusilla and her attendants remained in charge of Old Lyon Hall. She had been affectionately invited to accompany Anna and the General, but, though her baby was now nearly six months old, she declined either to leave him at home or to take him on so long and rough a journey. She thought that her boy and herself were both better in the country. The General agreed with her, and so she was left in charge of the premises. But though she sadly missed her friendly Anna, and fatherly old General, and gay Dick, yet her life when left at Old Lyon Hall was very different from what it had been when she was alone at Cedarwood. Here in the old hall she was no longer lonesome and dreary. She had a plenty of company and of interesting employment. She had her darling boy and her attentive servants; and she had visitors from the neighborhood almost every day; for young Mrs. Alexander Lyon was growing in favor with the whole neighborhood. Here she was not obliged to live a secret life. She would drive out in her carriage, with her baby and nurse, whenever she pleased. She could ride out on horseback attended by her young groom Leo, whenever she liked. She could return the calls of her country neighbors; she could accept their invitations to dinner or to tea, and she could receive and entertain them at home. Here she enjoyed the largest liberty. General Lyon and Anna had both assured her that she would only make them happier by behaving in all respects as a daughter of the house, and using it as if it were her own. And Drusilla, convinced of their perfect sincerity, took them at their word. Her sweet heart and social spirit took pleasure in this frequent intercourse with the country ladies and their little children. She liked to have a whole family, mother, children and nurses, to spend a long day with her at home; and almost as well she liked to take her boy and nurse and go and pass a whole day at the country house of some friend. It was gratifying to her also, when her nearest neighbors, the Seymours, came over and spent an evening with her. There were but three persons in this family—old Colonel and Mrs. Seymour, and their youngest daughter Annie, or Nanny, as they called her. Old Colonel Seymour was a passionate lover of music, and it was the one grievance of his life that his daughter Nanny had no voice, and no ear, and never could learn to sing or play on the piano. He could never understand it, he said, how a girl born with the usual allowance of senses, with a quick pair of ears, and a nimble tongue, and who could hear as fast and talk much faster than anybody he ever saw, should pretend that she did not know one tune from another! She that was neither deaf, nor dumb, nor an idiot! It was an incomprehensible fact, but it was no less a great personal injury to himself.