" And the next day he would send Betty over to Chericoke to stroke
down the Major's temper. "Slippery are the paths of the peacemaker," the
girl laughed one morning, when she had ridden home after an hour of
persuasion. "I go on tip-toe because of your indiscretions, papa. You
really must learn to control yourself, the Major says."
"Control myself!" repeated the Governor, laughing, though he looked a
little vexed. "If I hadn't the control of a stoic, daughter, to say nothing
of the patience of Job, do you think I'd be able to listen calmly to his
tirades? Why, he wants to pull the Government to pieces for his pleasure,"
then he pinched her cheek and added, smiling, "Oh, you sly puss, why don't
you play your pranks upon one of your own age?"
Through the long winter many visits were exchanged between Uplands and
Chericoke, and once, on a mild February morning, Mrs. Lightfoot drove over
in her old coach, with her knitting and her handmaid Mitty, to spend the
day. She took Betty back with her, and the girl stayed a week in the queer
old house, where the elm boughs tapped upon her window as she slept, and
the shadows on the crooked staircase frightened her when she went up and
down at night. It seemed to her that the presence of Jane Lightfoot still
haunted the home that she had left. When the snow fell on the roof and the
wind beat against the panes, she would open her door and look out into the
long dim halls, as if she half expected to see a girlish figure in a muslin
gown steal softly to the stair.
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