hich left the legs and neck and
arms very bare, she said:

"Isn't our Mary a little lady? But she will always look like a lady,
whatever she is dressed in."

And then my father laughed still more contemptuously and replied,

"Her grandmother weeded turnips in the fields though--ninepence a day
dry days, and sixpence all weathers."

My mother was deeply religious, never allowing a day to pass without
kneeling on her prayer-stool before the image of the Virgin, and one day
I heard her tell my father that when I was a little mite, scarcely able
to speak, she found me kneeling in my cot with my doll perched up before
me, moving my lips as if saying my prayers and looking up at the ceiling
with a rapt expression.

"But she has always had such big, beautiful, religious eyes, and I
shouldn't wonder if she becomes a Nun some day!"

"A nun, eh? Maybe so. But I take no stock in the nun business anyway,"
said my father.

Whereupon my mother's lips moved as if she were saying "No, dearest,"
but her dear, sweet pride was crushed and she could go no farther.

FOURTH CHAPTER

There was a whole colony on the ground floor of our house who, like my
father, could not reconcile themselves to my existence, and the head of
them was Aunt Bridget.

She had been married, soon after the marriage of my mother, to one
Colonel MacLeod, a middle-aged officer on half-pay, a widower, a Belfast
Irishman, and a tavern companion of my maternal grandfather. But the
Colonel had died within a year, leaving Aunt Bridget with one child of
her own, a girl, as well as a daughter of his wife by the former
marriage. As this happened about the time of my birth, when it became
obvious that my mother was to be an invalid, my father invited Aunt
Bridget to come to his house as housekeeper, and she came, and brought
her children with her.

Her rule from the outset had been as hard as might have been expected
from one who prided herself on her self-command--a quality that covered
everybody, including my mother and me, and was only subject to softening
in favour of her own offspring.

Aunt Bridget's own daughter, a year older than myself, was a fair child
with light grey eyes, round cheeks of the colour of ripe apples, and
long yellow hair that was carefully combed and curled. Her name was
Betsy, which was extended by her mother to Betsy Beauty. She was usually
dressed in a muslin frock with a sash of light blue ribbon, and being
understood to be