r father round her little finger. He sent her to a
smart boarding school, and no money was spared in order to give her
pleasure. It was the dream of Farmer King, and Nancy's dearest ambition
also, that she should be turned into a lady. But, alas and alack! Miss
Nancy could not overcome the stout yeoman blood in her veins. She was no
aristocrat, and nothing could make her one. She was just a hearty,
healthy happy-minded English girl; vulgar in voice and loud in speech,
but fairly well-intentioned at heart. She was the sort of farmer's
daughter who would marry a farmer, and look after the dairy, and rear
stalwart sons and hearty girls in her turn. Nature never intended her for
a fine lady; but silly Nancy had learnt a great deal more at school than
how to talk a little French very badly and how to recite a poem with
false action and sentiment. She had learnt to esteem the world for the
world's own sake, and had become a little ashamed of the farmer and the
farmer's ways; and, finally, when she returned from school she insisted
on the best parlor being turned into a sort of drawing-room, on her
friends being regaled with late dinners, and on herself being provided
with servants, so that she need not touch household work. She was
playing, therefore, the game of being a lady, and was failing as she
played it. She knew that she was failing, and this knowledge made her
feel very cross. She tried hard to stifle it, and clung more than ever to
her acquaintanceship with the Dale girls.

In her heart of hearts Nancy knew that she would very much like to milk
the cows, and superintend the dairy, and churn the butter. In her heart
of hearts she would have adored getting up early in the morning and
searching for the warm, pink eggs, and riding barebacked over the farm
with her father, consulting him on the tilling of the land and the best
way to make the old place profitable; for one day it would be her own,
and she would be, for her class in life, a rich girl. Just at present,
however, she was passing through a phase, and not a very pleasant one.
She thought herself quite good enough to go into any society; and fine
dress, loud-voiced friends, and the hollow, empty nothings which she and
her acquaintances called conversation seemed the best things possible
that could come into life. She was, therefore, not at all in the mood to
give up her friendship with the Dale girls.

Now, there never was a girl less likely to please Miss Tredgo