my heart good to go and see dear
Granny's tombstone, as I cannot ever set eyes on her kind face again."
When I asked about Aunt Bretta, Miss Rundle bridled up a little, I
thought.

"Well, she was my friend," said she; "and she was a very good woman, and
I used to have a great respect for her. Nobody made orange marmalade
better than she did, or raspberry jam; and as for knitting, there was no
one equalled her in all the country round. I have several of the bits
of work she gave me, and I value them; but still I don't see what right
one's friends have to go and demean themselves."

Rather astonished at these remarks, I asked what had happened.

"Why, young man, she went and got married," said Miss Rundle, drawing
herself up.

"I don't see any great harm in her doing that," remarked the old lady.

"No, marm, not in marrying," answered Miss Rundle, somewhat sharply.
"It's a very lawful state to get into, I dare say; but I find fault with
her in respect to the person to whom she got married. I don't want to
offend the feelings of this young man, her nephew; but what was he but a
common sailor, and more than that, he had a wooden leg."

"Aunt Bretta married to a common sailor with a wooden leg!" said I,
scarcely knowing what I was saying, yet not thinking that there was
anything very shocking in the matter. "What sort of a man was he, marm?
and can you tell me where they are gone, and where I shall find them? I
long to see Aunt Bretta again."

"I won't deny that he was a pretty good-looking man enough, and as we do
now and then exchange letters, I can tell you where she is to be found,"
answered Miss Rundle, softening down a little. "They live at Southsea,
near Portsmouth. Her husband was an old shipmate of one of her
brothers--your father, perhaps--and that is the way they became
acquainted. His name is Kelson; you'll find them without difficulty."

"Aunt Bretta hasn't any family?" said I. "I should like to have a dozen
little cousins to play with when I go to see her."

Miss Rundle looked very much shocked at the question, and said that as
she had not been married much more than a year, that wasn't very likely.

Well, though all Miss Rundle's talk had for the moment driven away my
sad thought, as soon as we were silent I felt very low-spirited and
melancholy. I said that I would go up and have a walk through the
churchyard, and the old lady begged that I would come back and take tea
with her, when her