Betty's horse had mounted the white hill at last, and now scoured
swiftly away over the springy turf on the wide downs.
For miles she passed no human habitation, then Betty reached her
destination.
Low in a hollow dip of the green grass sea nestled a small cottage. No
tree or bush within miles, the unbroken winds tore round it, the snow
often banked up against it; but the owner, one of Mr. Ives' pensioners,
appeared to care little for wind or weather.
As Betty rode up, she sent her clear ringing voice before her:
"Rachel! Rachel Ray!"
Then paused suddenly, for fastened by the bridle to a low post close to
the cottage door, she perceived a fine bay horse that she knew well. She
drew rein, swiftly debating within herself whether she should go on, or
draw back, then shaking back her proud little head she rode forward.
Betty feared nothing on earth; should she be scared by the odd feeling
in her heart that made it beat so fast and loud? A thousand times no.
Before she had reached the cottage, the door opened, and a small troop
of ragged children tumbled out to meet her, children with black elfin
locks, and eyes gleaming like live coals, showing wild gipsy blood.
Betty leapt from her horse, and called the eldest boy to her side.
"Here, Reuben," she said, "I will give you a silver penny if you hold
Conrad steadily, and like a good boy, while I visit your grandmother.
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