BY this time Priscilla was so much better she was able to go for short walks and, best of all, for drives with her father. She loved these better than anything, for she had her father all to herself, and it was to sit up with cushions, and with no around her to keep her from falling out, and so to drive Betsy up the hills, for she could manage that with her one hand, while her father read to her.  
One day they drove to Lady Carey’s house. Priscilla did not like that very well, for she had not seen Lady Carey since that dreadful day when she had caught her the drawing-room. But Lady Carey was not very well, and Dr. Carlyon had been sent for, and as she had been very kind to Geoffrey and Priscilla while they were ill, and had sent them fruit and flowers and picture-papers, he thought Priscilla should go herself and thank her for her kindness, if Lady Carey was well enough to see her.
 
Lady Carey was well enough, and after the doctor had paid his visit, he came out to the carriage for Priscilla, who had been sitting there feeling very nervous all the time, and half hoping, though she would not have liked any one to know it, that Lady Carey would decide that she felt too unwell and too tired to see visitors.
 
She looked as grave and nervous as she felt when her father lifted her down from the dog-cart, and straightened her hat and her frock, and led her through the big, cool, flower-scented hall to the pretty, shady room where Lady Carey sat in her big chair by the open window looking out on the flower-garden.
 
“Priscilla has come to thank you for all your kindness to her, and to say good-bye before going to Porthcallis,” said the doctor; and Priscilla walked up to the pretty , shook hands, and, after only a second’s nervous , put up her face to kiss her.
 
Lady Carey returned the kiss very , and pulling a little low chair close to her, told Priscilla to sit on it.
 
Priscilla did so gladly; it was such a charming little chair, with legs and back and a cushioned seat of a delicate grey silk with roses worked all over it.
 
“Oh, how pretty—” she began, then stopped as she remembered Nurse’s directions that it is not polite to remark on what one sees, and at the same moment she noticed that her father had gone away and left her alone with her hostess.
 
But before she could feel alarmed by this, Lady Carey had begun to talk to her, and to ask her questions about her arm, and her illness, and her coming visit to the seaside, and then about Loveday; and very soon Priscilla was telling her all about Loveday and her bucket, and Aaron, and Miss Potts, and all sorts of things; and Lady Carey told Priscilla of how she used to stay by the sea when she was a little girl, and all kinds of other interesting tales; and Priscilla felt that she could stay there and listen to her and talk to her for ever so long. But presently Dr. Carlyon put his head in again.
 
“Lady Carey, I think your visitor has stayed long enough for one day. Will you tell her to go, please?”
 
Lady Carey laughed. “I shall tell you to go for just five minutes longer,” she said brightly. “I have something I especially want to say to Priscilla before we part.”
 
“I suppose I must, then,” said the doctor, laughing, as he turned away.
 
“Will you ring that bell for me, Priscilla, please?” said Lady Carey, as soon as he had gone.
 
Priscilla went over and pulled very, very carefully at a pretty silk bell-pull which hung beside the fireplace. It was a very gentle pull, but it answered all right, for in a moment a very neat and smiling maid appeared.
 
“Sanders, will you go to my room and bring me down that parcel you placed on the table at the foot of my bed this morning.”
 
“Yes, ’m,” said Sanders; and away she went, and in a moment or so was back again with a big paper parcel in her hand, which she handed to Lady Carey.
 
Priscilla looked on with interest, wondering what it all meant.
 
“I have something here,” said Lady Carey, the string, “that I have been making for you and your little sister; and I want to give you yours now, and I will ask you to take Loveday’s to her, for I think you may both find them useful by the sea;” and, unwrapping the paper, Lady Carey took out and shook out a pretty warm cloak, big enough to cover Priscilla to the of her skirts. It was made of a soft blue cloth, bound with ribbon, and it had a lined with silk of the same shade.
 
Priscilla was so delighted and surprised when she saw it, and heard that it was for her, that she could hardly speak.
 
“Now try it on,” said Lady Carey; and Priscilla was soon in the cloak, with the hood over her curls, and her grey eyes and pretty pale face looked up at her kind friend so gratefully that Lady Carey drew her to her, and held her very close as she kissed her affectionately.
 
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” cried Priscilla, finding her voice at last. “I love my cloak; I think it is beautiful!”
 
Then Lady Carey the other parcel, and took out a red one made in the same way.
 
“This is for Loveday. Do you think she will like it?”
 
Priscilla was again almost speechless with delight.
 
“She will love hers too,” she cried at last rapturously. “And she looks so pretty in red. Thank you, Lady Carey, very much indeed. Oh, I want Loveday to see them both, now, at once, and I want mother to see, and father. O father,” she cried, running to him as he came into the room again, “do look at what Lady Carey has made for Loveday and me!”
 
Of how she got out of the house, of her good-byes, and her drive home Priscilla remembered nothing. Of course, she wore her blue cloak—it would have been too much to expect her not to—and when she got home she flew into the house to tell her mother her news. But the next thing that clearly stood out in Priscilla’s mind when she thought it all over afterwards was her father’s coming into the room with a letter in his hand. Mrs. Carlyon was sitting with Loveday’s red cloak in her hands (Priscilla always remembered that); her own she was still wearing, and was feeling it rather warm, when her father drove all other thoughts out of her head by saying: “Just listen, dear, to this extraordinary letter that I have had from Loveday,” and he read it aloud.
 
“My dear Daddy,—Plese will you come at once, I am in great truble I wassent nawty reely but mr. winter sais we are and he was going to get a polisman, but he diden, he let us go home whil he thot what he shud do to punnish us I he won’t send us to prissen, Bessie lost us and cride and took us home. Do come quik, I am very sory, we were piskies. How is prissy.—Your loving
 
“Loveday. Do come quik.”
 
As she listened to this letter Priscilla thought she should have fainted with fright. Policemen! and prison! and Loveday perhaps with handcuffs on, and oh, so frightened! She looked with a white face and terrified eyes at her mother, who was still holding the red cloak, and, somehow, the sight of that made it all seem more dreadful.
 
“O father, what can we do?” she cried piteously.“Loveday shan’t go to prison; she mustn’t! She can’t have been naughty enough for that.”
 
But to her surprise her father, instead of being frightened and angry, looked almost as though he were amused about something—at least, until he glanced at Priscilla; but when he saw her white face, he grew grave at once.
 
“Don’t be foolish, darling,” he said, drawing her to him. “You surely aren’t really frightened. It canno............