Octave felt dubious. She was writing letters to some particular friends with whom she kept up a correspondence, and did not care to be interrupted. "Where is it to go, Cris?" "Anywhere. We can drive through Barmester, and so home by the cross-roads. Or we'll go down the lower road to Barbrook, and go on to Barmester that way." The suggestion did not offer sufficient attraction to Octave. "No," said she, "I am busy, and shall not go out this afternoon. I don't care to drive out when there's nothing to go for." "You may as well come. It isn't often I ask you." "No, that it is not," returned Octave, with emphasis. "You have some particular motive in asking me now, I know. What is it, Cris?" "I want to try my new horse. They say he goes beautifully in harness." "What! that handsome horse you took a fancy to the other day?--that papa said you should not buy?" Cris nodded. "They let me have him for forty-five pounds." "Where did you get the money?" wondered Octave. "Never you mind. I have paid ten pounds down, and they'll wait for the rest. Will you come?" "No," said Octave. "I sha'n't go out to-day." The refusal perhaps was somewhat softened by the dashing up to the door of the dog-cart with the new purchase in it; and Cris ran out. A handsome animal certainly, but apparently restive. Mrs. Chattaway came through the hall, dressed for walking. Cris seized upon her. "Mother, dear, you'll go for a drive with me," cried he, caressingly. "Octave won't--ill-natured thing!" It was so unusual a circumstance to find herself made much of by her son, spoken to affectionately, that Mrs. Chattaway, in surprise and gratitude, forthwith ascended the dog-cart. "I am glad to accompany you, dear," she softly said. "I was only going to walk in the garden." But before Cris had gathered the reins in his hand and taken his place beside her, George Ryle came up, and somewhat hindered the departure. "I have been to Barmester to see Caroline this morning, Mrs. Chattaway, and have brought you a message from Amelia," he said, keeping his hold on the dog-cart as he spoke--as much as he could do so, for the restive animal. "That she wants to come home, I suppose?" said Mrs. Chattaway, smiling. "The message I was charged with was, that she _would_ come home," he said, smiling in answer. "The fact is, Caroline is coming home for a few days: and Amelia thinks she will be cruelly used unless she is allowed holiday also." "Caroline is coming to the harvest-home?" "Yes. I told Amelia----" Holding on any longer became impossible; and George drew back, and took a critical survey of the new horse. "Why, it is the horse Allen has had for sale!" he exclaimed. "What brings him here, Cris?" "I have bought him," shortly answered Cris. "Have you? Mrs. Chattaway, I would advise you not to venture out behind that horse. He has not been broken in for driving."