s Mrs. West,
who had quarrelled with Mr. Somerled yesterday for some reason he
wouldn't explain, but probably because she couldn't be bothered with me.

"Poor thing, she looked ready to cry!" sighed Mrs. James. "By this time,
I dare say, she's sorry for what she did, and praying for a chance to
make up."

It would be Christian to pray for it too; but if making up means having
her in this car, I should have to pound the prayer into my heart like a
nail.

There was no luggage in the other car, so I guessed that they were
trying it, to see whether they might like to hire it for their trip.
And, in spite of Mr. Norman being so kind and different from his sister,
I couldn't help hoping that they might begin with another part of
Scotland from ours.

I kept on thinking of them as we wound through the traffic, though dear
Mrs. James continued to talk in an approving way, suited to my
intelligence, about Carlisle, and what a wonderful place it was, and how
proud we ought to be of it. How wide and well-built the new streets
were, and how interesting the old ones! How good for the complexion were
the winds that blew from the great moorland spaces beyond the town! I
hadn't thought much about all that myself, but certainly Carlisle is
romantic as a city, because in history you see how it has always been a
solid bulwark of the English, against which tides of invasion dashed
themselves in vain--a sort of watch-tower, whence England gazed out
across the border where danger lay in wait. I can't help turning my mind
to the romantic side of things, though it may be silly; but, after all,
it's just as real as the other side. Both are _there_, and you can
choose which you like to have for your own, as I said to Mr. Somerled.

By and by we came to the Cathedral. I had to confess that I'd never been
in, but I didn't mention Grandma's prejudice against cathedrals. I'd
never pined to see the inside as I should if the outside were tall and
graceful and gray, instead of dumpy and red--an ochre-red colour which
is interesting only when the sun shines on it, or when wet and sparkling
with rain, in the midst of its lovely old trees. I almost gasped with
joy and surprise, however, when we entered, for the interior is
wonderful. It is as if the builders had had in mind an allegory about a
plain body and a glorious soul.

Who would have thought that Mr. Somerled would remember so much history
of this northern country, after living, since he grew