om the
other end of the table; and he put some words before it which I would
rather not write. "I can't think," he went on, looking round, "wherever
Kezia can have picked up such mad whims as she has. For a sister of
mine to say such a thing to a clergyman--I declare it makes my hair
stand on end!"

"Your hair may lie down again, Brother. I've done," said my Aunt Kezia,
coolly. "As to where I got it, I should think you might know. It runs
in the blood. And I suppose Deborah Hunter was your grandmother as well
as mine."

Father's reply was full of the words I do not want to write, but it was
not a compliment to his grandmother.

"Come, Mrs Kezia," said Mr Bagnall, "let us make it up by glasses all
round, and a toast to the sweet Puritan memory of Mrs Deborah Hunter."

"No, thank you," said my Aunt Kezia. "As to Deborah Hunter, she has
been a saint in Heaven these thirty years, and finely she'd like it (if
she knew it) to have you drinking yourselves drunk in her honour. But
let me tell you--and you can say what you like after it--she taught me
that `the chief end of man was to glorify God, and to enjoy Him for
ever.' Your notion seems to be that the chief end of man is to glorify
himself, and to enjoy him for ever. I think mine's the better of the
two: and as to yours, the worst thing I wish any of you is that you may
get mine instead of it. Now then, Brother, I've had my say, and you can
have yours."

And not another word did my Aunt Kezia say, though Father stormed, and
the other gentlemen laughed and joked, and paid her sarcastic
compliments, all the while breakfast lasted. There were two who were
silent, and those were Angus and Mr Keith. Angus seemed too poorly and
unhappy to take any interest in the matter; and as to Mr Keith, I
believe in his heart (if I read it right in his eyes) that he was
perfectly delighted with my Aunt Kezia.

"The young ladies did not honour us by riding to the meet," said Mr
Bagnall at last, looking at that one of us who sat nearest him--which,
by ill luck, happened to be Flora.

"No, Sir. I do not think my aunt would have allowed it; but--" Flora
stopped, and cast her eyes on her plate.

"But if she had, you would have been pleased to come?" suggested Mr
Bagnall, rubbing his hands.

He spoke in that disagreeable way in which some men do speak to girls--I
do not know what to call it. It is a condescending, patronising kind of
manner, as if--yes, that is it!--as i