But Miss Row, glancing up presently from her letter, felt no satisfaction at all; in fact she gave quite a scream when she saw her. "Oh, child," she cried. "Get off that chair this moment, quick! quick! It isn't meant to be sat on; it is far too old and valuable. Oh dear! you might have broken it right down, or--oh dear, oh dear, to think that out of all in the room you should have chosen that one!" Penelope sprang to her feet at once. At first she felt terribly alarmed, then very angry; it made one feel so small to be screamed at in that way. "I--I didn't know--how could I?" she said crossly. "Is it a broken chair?" What she longed to say was, "Why do you keep it there if it is so unsafe?" but she felt that would be rude. "I am very sorry," she added, forcing herself to be polite. "Is it a very old chair?" "Yes, very old. It was made for my great-great-grandmother, when she was a little girl, and I value it exceedingly. Unfortunately the last two or three years worms have got into the wood, and have eaten it so it is quite crumbling away." "But can't you do anything for it?" asked Penelope, her vexation swallowed up in pity for the chair. She was thinking that if she had valued it so much she would have taken better care of it. But Miss Row had returned to her letter again. When she had done she rose and rang the bell. "You can take some milk and cake before you go, can't you?" she asked. "Yes, I think so, thank you," said Penelope modestly. "But I left Guard outside. Will he stay, do you think?" "Oh yes, he is used to waiting here." Cook came in presently with a tray, on which was a large jug of milk, some glasses, and a plate of cakes of various kinds. Penelope thought they looked beautiful, so beautiful that she longed to take some back to the others. She knew exactly how thoroughly they would enjoy them; but, of course, no sign of what she was thinking escaped her. She was wondering which of all them she might take for herself, when Miss Row took up the plate. "I think you will find that very nice," pointing to a piece of uninteresting-looking shortbread, "or that," pointing to a slice of ginger-cake. "They would be less likely than the others to disagree with you." Penelope longed to say that nothing disagreed with her, but she did not like to, and helped herself with the best grace she could to the shortbread.