Meantime Hetty at Amber Hill was enjoying her life more than she had ever enjoyed it before.  She had her own pony, and went out to ride as often as, and at any hour she pleased.  Half-a-dozen dogs and as many cats belonged to her, and they all loved her.  Almost her entire time was spent out of doors, for Mrs. Rushton was too great an invalid now to care for much of her company.  Grant was almost always in attendance on her mistress, and so had very little opportunity for interference with Hetty.  Polly was easily kept in order, and the housekeeper always took the child’s part if any of the other servants annoyed or neglected her.

This wild uncontrolled life, spent chiefly in the open air, wandering through the woods, running races with the dogs, or galloping up hill and down hill with them all flying after the pony’s heels, suited Hetty exactly.  She thought the world delightful because she was allowed to live a healthy active life, and nobody thwarted her.  When Mrs. Rushton sent for her to the drawing-room or to her bed-room Hetty would steal in quietly, and, bringing a story-book with her, would sit down at her adopted mother’s feet, and remain buried in her book till notice was given her that it was time for her to depart.  In this way she gave very little trouble, and Mrs. Rushton was more than ever convinced that she had made an excellent choice in adopting Hetty, and that she was the most satisfactory child in the world.

One day Hetty had come in from her ride, and was sitting in her own room with her story-book waiting for the usual evening summons from Mrs. Rushton.  The days were now very short, and the little girl’s head was close to the window-pane as she tried to read.  The door opened and she started up, shutting the book and preparing to go down-stairs; but there was something unusual about Polly’s look and manner as she came into the room.

“Mrs. Rushton is taken very ill,” she said, “and the doctor is sent for.  So you will please come down and have your tea in the drawing-room by yourself, Miss Hetty.”

“Is she more ill than usual?  Much more?” asked Hetty.  “The doctor was here this morning.”

“She’s as ill as can be,” said Polly, “and all of a sudden.  But you can’t do her any good.  And you’d better come down to your tea.”

Hetty followed Polly without saying more, though she felt too anxious to care about her tea.  She was greatly frightened, yet hardly knew why, as Mrs. Rushton was often ill, and the doctor was often sent for.  There was a general impression in the household that the mistress sometimes made a great fuss about nothing, fainted, and thought she was going to die, and in a few hours was as well as usual.  But no one in the house felt as anxious about her as Hetty.  During the pleasant weeks that had lately passed over her head Hetty had been more drawn to her benefactress than she had ever been before.  No longer snubbed and neglected in strange uncomfortable places, she