tired to rest the last of the family.

CHAPTER SIXTH.

--Many great ones
Would part with half their states, to have the plan
And credit to beg in the first style.
Beggar's Bush.

Old Edie was stirring with the lark, and his first inquiry was after
Steenie and the pocket-book. The young fisherman had been under the
necessity of attending his father before daybreak, to avail themselves
of the tide, but he had promised that, immediately on his return, the
pocket-book, with all its contents, carefully wrapped up in a piece
of sail-cloth, should be delivered by him to Ringan Aikwood, for
Dousterswivel, the owner.

The matron had prepared the morning meal for the family, and,
shouldering her basket of fish, tramped sturdily away towards Fairport.
The children were idling round the door, for the day was fair and
sun-shiney. The ancient grandame, again seated on her wicker-chair by
the fire, had resumed her eternal spindle, wholly unmoved by the yelling
and screaming of the children, and the scolding of the mother, which
had preceded the dispersion of the family. Edie had arranged his various
bags, and was bound for the renewal of his wandering life, but first
advanced with due courtesy to take his leave of the ancient crone.

"Gude day to ye, cummer, and mony ane o' them. I will be back about the
fore-end o'har'st, and I trust to find ye baith haill and fere."

"Pray that ye may find me in my quiet grave," said the old woman, in
a hollow and sepulchral voice, but without the agitation of a single
feature.

"Ye're auld, cummer, and sae am I mysell; but we maun abide His will--
we'll no be forgotten in His good time."

"Nor our deeds neither," said the crone: "what's dune in the body maun
be answered in the spirit."

"I wot that's true; and I may weel tak the tale hame to mysell, that hae
led a misruled and roving life. But ye were aye a canny wife. We're a'
frail--but ye canna hae sae muckle to bow ye down."

"Less than I might have had--but mair, O far mair, than wad sink the
stoutest brig e'er sailed out o' Fairport harbour!--Didna somebody say
yestreen--at least sae it is borne in on my mind, but auld folk hae weak
fancies--did not somebody say that Joscelind, Countess of Glenallan, was
departed frae life?"

"They said the truth whaever said it," answered old Edie; "she was
buried yestreen by torch-light at S