eight of his sixteen stone. At the next moment,
Aunt Bridget, jingling her keys, went tripping after him.

Hardly had they gone when my mother broke into a long fit of coughing,
and when it was over she lay back exhausted, with her white face and her
tired eyes turned upwards. Then I clasped her about the neck, and Father
Dan, whose cheeks were wet with tears patted her drooping hand.

My darling mother! Never once have I thought of her without the greatest
affection, but now that I know for myself what she must have suffered I
love best to think of her as she was that day--my sweet, beautiful,
timid angel--standing up for one brief moment, not only against Aunt
Bridget, but against the cruelty of all the ages, in the divine right of
her outraged motherhood.

ELEVENTH CHAPTER

My mother's submission was complete. Within twenty-four hours she was
busy preparing clothes for my journey to Rome. The old coloured pattern
book was brought out again, material was sent for, a sewing-maid was
engaged from the village, and above all, in my view, an order was
dispatched to Blackwater for a small squirrel-skin scarf, a large
squirrel-skin muff, and a close-fitting squirrel-skin hat with a feather
on the side of it.

A child's heart is a running brook, and it would wrong the truth to say
that I grieved much in the midst of these busy preparations. On the
contrary I felt a sort of pride in them, poor innocent that I was, as in
something that gave me a certain high superiority over Betsy Beauty and
Nessy MacLeod, and entitled me to treat them with condescension.

Father Dan, who came more frequently than ever, fostered this feeling
without intending to do so, by telling me, whenever we were alone, that
I must be a good girl to everybody now, and especially to my mother.

"My little woman would be sorry to worry mamma, wouldn't she?" he would
whisper, and when I answered that I would be sorrier than sorry, he
would say:

"Wisha then, she must be brave. She must keep up. She must not grieve
about going away or cry when the time comes for parting."

I said "yes" and "yes" to all this, feeling very confidential and
courageous, but I dare say the good Father gave the same counsel to my
mother also, for she and I had many games of make-believe, I remember,
in which we laughed and chattered and sang, though I do not think I ever
suspected that the part we played was easier to me than to her.

It dawned on me at last, thoug