Mrs. Barry glowered at her angrily over her glasses. “Do you like woolly headed, stupid old negro men?” she snapped. “Ye-es, aunt,” demurely. “Very well, then, you shall have the finest horse in the stable, and old Abe shall teach you to ride--but I wonder at your taste,” sneering. Molly flushed, but finished her breakfast in silence, and then ran upstairs to arrange an impromptu riding-habit. By letting out the tucks in her red cashmere dress she made a very presentable habit, combined with the velvet-trimmed jacket, and setting a little red-plumed turban on her mop of curls she ran down-stairs in the gayest spirits. “I’m ready, Aunt Thalia.” “Whew! You’re like a whirlwind, Louise,” exclaimed Mrs. Barry; but she summoned old Abe at once, and said: “Miss Barry wants a ride, Abe, and you must go with her as she is not accustomed to riding. Saddle the young gray mare and take her at once.” “Um-hum, gwine broke her neck now, fo’ sartain sure,” grumbled the old man, who did not like to be called from his pipe in the kitchen. But he set off obediently for the stable, while Molly danced with impatience awaiting his return. “May I go into Lewisburg for letters? I am sure there must be one from my sister,” she said, and the brow of the old aristocrat gloomed over. “You may go to the post-office, but--I told you, Louise, never to call that girl your sister again!” “I beg your pardon, Aunt Thalia, my step-sister,” amended Molly, but she bit her red lips sharply to keep back indignant words. “How she despises my mother’s memory and my mother’s daughter,” she thought bitterly, and it was well that Uncle Abe came up just then, mounted on a sturdy old bay horse and leading a handsome gray filly by the bridle, or her indignation might have over-flowed into words. As it was she turned off sharply, ran down the steps and sprang into the saddle, cantering off at a pace that startled Uncle Abe. “Lor’-A’mighty! De gal gwine broke her neck in ten minutes!” he growled, as he galloped briskly after her, while Mrs. Barry looking on, thoroughly enjoyed the girl’s fearless riding. “She will make a good rider. It is the first thing in which she has shown herself a Barry,” she muttered, for this gay little humming-bird of a creature had rather startled the old lady by her unlikeness to the Barrys, who as a rule were homely rather than handsome, and dignified rather than merry. But on the whole, Mrs. Barry was proud of this lovely niece. She had all the fondness for beauty that is inherent in homely people, and it pleased her to gaze on that beautiful, spirited face, although very girlish-looking for the twenty-five years with which she was accredited. She gazed after the girl with actual pride, and muttered: