Priscilla’s love of horses was, then and always, one of the passions of her life, and of all horses Betsy was the queen. She hurried through the orchard now to speak to Betsy, and to see what was happening. In the yard she found Hocking, their man, wheeling the carriage out of the coach-house, and Betsy standing, partly harnessed, looking on. At the sound of Priscilla’s step she looked around, and Priscilla, running to her, embraced one of her legs and kissed her soft warm shoulder.
“You dear!” she said, laying her cheek against the old horse, patting her with little loving pats, and Betsy lowered her head and looked at her little mistress in a motherly way.
While Priscilla stood there her father came out to place a medicine-case in the carriage.
“Hullo, little woman,” he said. “What are you doing? Nothing! That’s a dull way of passing your time. Would you like to come with me?”
“Oh!” cried Priscilla, unclasping Betsy and clasping her own small hands in rapture, “may I?”
“Yes, if you like. I am going to Lantig, but I shall be back by tea-time. Hurry in, then, and get ready, and don’t spend an age over your toilet.”
Priscilla laughed delightedly, and flew up to her room. As she passed in and up the stairs, she heard Loveday’s shrill little voice calling to her:
“Prissy, Prissy, do come here! Oh, I do want some one to watch me paint! Just look what I’ve done!”
“Can’t stay,” shouted back Priscilla. “I am going to Lantig with father, and he told me to hurry.”
“Well, somebody ought to stay with me when I’m an—an invalid,” declared Loveday, in an aggrieved tone.