gives his opinion. If he does not wish me to go,
he will have a good reason for saying so. I never found either father or
mother wrong yet, and I am not going to find fault with them now. Don't
let us talk any more about it, Hatty. I want to think of something
else." But, in spite of this wise resolution, Bessie did think a good
deal about the letter, and in her heart she hoped that her father would
allow her to accept Miss Sefton's tempting invitation.

Dr. Lambert did not return home that night until long after his girls
had retired to rest, and to Bessie's surprise he said nothing to her at
breakfast; but just as she was leaving the room to give out the stores,
as usual, he called her back. "Oh, by the by, Bessie," he observed, "I
have to drive out as far as Castleton this afternoon. I will take you
with me if you care to go."

"I always care to go with you, father dear," replied Bessie, and then
she hesitated, as she remembered Hatty's pale cheeks; "but I think you
ought to take Hatty instead; it would do her so much good, and she does
so love a drive."

"No, I think you shall be my companion this afternoon; I will take Hatty
to-morrow," replied the doctor, as he took up his paper again.

"Good child, she always thinks of poor Hatty," he said to himself, and
his eyes glistened. "They are all good girls, but not one of them is so
unselfish as my little Betty; she takes after her mother in that. Dora
never thinks of herself."

Bessie went about her household tasks with a light heart, for she had
the prospect of a pleasant afternoon before her. The drive to Castleton
would be lovely, and she would hear what her father had to say about the
letter. So she was ready and waiting by the time the pretty little
victoria came around to the door, and as Dr. Lambert stood on the porch,
he thought the happy, sunshiny face looked very attractive under the new
gray hat.

"You look very smart, Bessie," he said, smiling. "Have I seen that very
becoming hat before?"

"Only last Sunday," returned Bessie brightly; "but I always put on my
best things when I drive with you, that your daughter may do you
credit;" for Bessie in her heart thought her father the handsomest man
in Cliffe; and indeed many people admired the doctor's clever, refined
face, and quiet, genial manners.

The sturdy little roan trotted briskly down the lower road, as it was
called, and Bessie leaned back and looked dreamily at the golden ripples
that lay on