“And all the live stock on the place, little one,” laughed her father.  “What do you say, Mr. Goldthwaite?  Minnie thinks the kittens would enjoy the view immensely.”

“The suggestion about the big waggon is opportune,” said Mr. George Keane.  “Last year some of the ladies would not have objected to a seat in it before we reached the top.”

“Some of the gentlemen, too,” said Alice Keane with a sly smile.  “I propose the big waggon for faint-hearted climbers, and the little one for rugs and provisions.”

“I am going to make a petition, Judge Keane,” said Carrie Goldthwaite.  “I have two little friends who would enjoy the excursion as much as any of us, and they have not much enjoyment in their lives.  I mean those orphan children at Thankful Rest.  Will you let them come?”

“With all my heart; no need to ask, my dear,” said the judge heartily; “and we will do our best to make them enjoy themselves.”

“Thank you, Judge Keane,” said Carrie, and her face wore the expression the old man liked particularly to see there.

“I see them in church regularly,” said Miss Keane.  “The girl is a remarkably pretty child.  Robert was quite charmed with her face when he was here a fortnight ago.  I believe he was thinking what a study she was for a picture instead of listening to you, Mr. Goldthwaite.”

“I scarcely think it, Miss Keane,” answered Frank smiling.  “At least he took me to task severely afterwards about a remark in my sermon which he did not approve.”

“Orphans, did you say, Carrie?” asked Mrs. Keane gently.  “Was their mother Deacon Strong’s youngest daughter Hetty?”

“The same, Mrs. Keane,” answered Carrie.  “And she must have been very different from her brother and sister, for the children have been evidently trained by a refined and cultured mind.  Lucy is a perfect lady, child though she is.”

“I feel very much interested,” said Mrs. Keane.

“I knew their mother slightly, and liked her much.  Could you not bring the children to see me some day?”

“I shall try, Mrs. Keane; but it is not an easy task begging a favour from Miss Hepsy, and she seems determined to keep them at home.  I have to take Lucy by main force when I want her at the parsonage.”

“I hope they’ll come, anyway,” put in Minnie, “because I never have anybody to speak to.  One grows tired, even of the Peak, when there’s nobody but grown-up people to go on to.  That’s why I want Mopsy and Ted and Silver Tail.  It wouldn’t be so lonesome.  But they can stay at home if Lucy comes.”

“Poor Minnie,” said her father, laughing with the rest at the child’s aggrieved tone.  “We must do all we can to persuade them, then, to spare you the necessity of frightening the cats out of their wits.”

“I’ll go up to Thankful Rest to-morrow and extract permission from Miss Hepsy,” said Carrie, “though I am not very hopeful of the result.—­Come, Frank, we must be off; it is nearly eight.”