She wondered what had become of her pretty saddle-horse, Jet, and her uncle’s proud steed, Banquo, and sighed regretfully as she reviewed the happy past, when they four—­for the horses had seemed almost human—­had roamed over the country together.  She sometimes even longed to be back in New York among her piles of sewing, for she had not enough to do now to occupy her time, and it often hung heavily on her hands, thus allowing painful memories to depress her.

The third morning after their arrival, just as a gay party was on the point of starting off, Mona, being at liberty, thought she would slip down to the library and try to find an entertaining book to pass away the long hours before lunch.

She was half-way down stairs, when Kitty McKenzie came running breathlessly back, looking flushed and exceedingly disappointed over something.

“Oh, dear!” she cried, as she was passing Mona; “I tripped in my riding-habit, and have ripped the facing so badly that I must change it and go in the carriage with mamma.  It is too bad, for I had the loveliest pony to ride.”

“Have you ripped it too badly to have it repaired?” Mona asked, sorry to have the gay girl deprived of her coveted pleasure.

“Yes, for it takes me forever to mend anything.  I am a wretched bungler with my needle,” she confessed, with engaging frankness, but with a conscious blush.

“Let me see it,” and Mona stooped to examine the rip.  “This is not so bad, after all,” she continued, cheerfully.  “Just come to my room, and I will catch it up for you; I can do it in less time than it would take to change your dress.”

“Can you?  Oh, that will be so good of you!” and, delighted that she was not to be deprived of her ride, Miss Kitty followed Mona, with a bright face and an eager step.

Five minutes sufficed for our young seamstress to make the garment wearable, and then she told Miss McKenzie that if she would bring the habit to her upon her return, she would repair it more thoroughly.

The kind-hearted girl was very grateful.

“How kind you are to do it!” she cried, as Mona smoothed the heavy folds into place, then, with a sudden impulse and a sympathetic look into the fair face of the seamstress, she added:  “What a pity it is that you have to stay here all by yourself, while the rest of us are having such delightful times!  Why cannot you come with us, Miss Richards?  I will make mamma let you go with her—­there is an extra seat in that carriage.”

“Thank you; you are very good to suggest it, Miss McKenzie, but I cannot go,” Mona answered, with a flush, but touched that the girl should wish her to share her pleasures.

“I am sure you would enjoy it, for you are young, and it is too bad to be obliged to stay indoors this delightful weather, and I imagine, if the truth were known, you could be as gay as anybody, while truly,” with an arch, winsome glance, “I believe you are the prettiest girl here.  Do you know how to dance?”