'Oh no, mamma; of course I am never dull at The Grange, and I don't know that I am so fond of Sarah. I do like her very much, but I shall see her in another month; so, if you like, I will write and refuse the invitation.'
'By no means. I wish you to grow up large-minded; but you have not explained why you were so delighted at the thought of going to spend a month with these strangers. I don't suppose their riches attract you.'
'Oh no; I don't think one could have a nicer home than this. I believe the real truth is that I should like to see a mill. I read a story about mill-girls once; how they wore pattens on their feet and shawls on their heads, and talked so broadly that you couldn't understand them, and threw mud at strangers. I would like'——
'To have mud thrown at you?' exclaimed her mother. 'Well, there's no accounting for tastes!'
Horatia gave a merry laugh, such an infectious laugh that both her mother and father joined in it.
'No; I should keep out of their way, and look at them through a window,' she remarked.
'Perhaps they'd throw a stone through the window and break it,' observed Horatia's practical sister.
'Well, I promise to duck my head if I see one coming,' she assured them, laughing.
'I don't suppose there will be any need. I fancy mill-hands, as I believe they call them, are very much civilised, and dress quite grandly now,' said her mother.
'Oh, I hope not! I shall be disappointed if they do,' cried Horatia.