through a
lovely park in a beautiful pony carriage, drawn by cream-coloured ponies,
and seated beside an exquisitely dressed little lady who had more money
than she could count, and insisted on sharing all with her companion?

Mona certainly could not. She never could manage to remember two things
at the same time; so, as all her thoughts were absorbed by her
golden-haired friend in the blue silk frock, granny in her old black
merino and heavy boots was forgotten as completely as the fire, and it was
not until someone came stumbling up the garden path and a tired voice
said, "Well, dearie, I'm come at last, how have you got on since I've been
gone?" that she remembered anything about either; and when she did she
felt almost sorry that granny had come quite so soon, for if she had only
been a few minutes later Mona might just have finished the chapter.

"Oh, I'm so tired!" groaned granny, dropping wearily into her arm-chair.
"I have been longing for a nice cup of tea for this hour and more."
Then, as her eyes fell on the black grate, her voice changed to one of
dismay. "Why, Mona!" she cried, "the fire's gone clean out! Oh, dear!
oh, dear!" Granny's voice was full of disappointment. With anyone but
Mona she would have been very cross indeed, but she was rarely cross with
her. "I daresay it'll catch up again quickly with a few sticks,"
she added patiently.

Mona, really ashamed of herself, ran out to the little wood-rick which
stood always in the back-yard. "Stupid old fire," she muttered
impatiently, "of course it must go out, just to spite me because I wanted
to have a little read," and she jerked out the sticks with such force that
a whole pile of faggots came tumbling down to the ground. She did not
stay, though, to pick them up again, for she really was sorry for her
carelessness, and wanted to try and catch up the fire as quickly as
possible. She had fully meant to have a nice fire, and the tea laid,
and the kettle on the point of boiling, and everything as nice as could be
by the time her grandmother got back from the town. But one never got any
credit for what one meant to do, thought Mona with a feeling of self-pity.

By the time she got back to the kitchen her grandmother had taken off her
bonnet and shawl and was putting on her apron. "My feet do ache," she
sighed. "The roads are so rough, and it's a good step to Milbrook and
back--leastways it seems so when you're past sixty."

Mona felt anothe