r,
ha'e ye e'er suppit muggins in May? 'Tis the finest thing going for
keeping a lassie in gude health, and it suld be drinkit in the spring.
Atweel, what's her name wi' the copper-colourit e'en?"

"Cecilia Osborne," said I. "What did you think of her, Elspie?"

The iron went up and down the Vicar's shirt-front, and I saw a curious
gathering together of old Elspie's lips--still she did not speak. At
last Sophy said,--

"Couldn't you make up your mind about her, Elspie?"

"I had nae mickle fash about _that_, Mrs Sophy," said Elspeth, setting
down her iron on the stand with something like a bang. "And gin I can
see through a millstane a wee bittie, she'll gi'e ye the chance to make
up yourn afore lang."

"Nay, mine's made up long since," answered Sophy. "I shall see the back
of her with a deal more pleasure than I did her face a month ago. Won't
you, Cary?"

"I don't like her the least bit," said I.

"Ye'll be wiser lassies, young leddies, gin ye're no ower ready to say
it," said Elspie, coolly. "It was no ane o' _your_ white days when she
came to Brocklebank Fells. Ay, weel, weel! The Lord's ower a'."

As we went down the road, I said to Sophy, "What did old Elspie mean, do
you suppose?"

"I am afraid I can guess what she meant, Cary."

Sophy's tone was so strange that I looked up at her; and I saw her eyes
flashing and her lips set and white.

"Sophy! what is the matter?" I cried.

"Don't trouble your little head, Cary," she said, kindly enough. "It
will be trouble in plenty when it comes."

I could not get her to say more. As we reached the door, Hatty came
dancing out to meet us.

"`The rose is white, the rose is red,'--
The sun gives light, Queen Anne is dead:
Ladies with white and rosy hues,
What will you give me for my news?"

"Hatty, you must have made that yourself!" said Sophy.

"I have, just this minute," laughed Hatty. "Now then, who'll bid for my
news?"

"I dare say it isn't worth a farthing," said Sophy.

"Well, to you, perhaps not. It may be rather mortifying. My sweet
Sophia, you are the eldest of us, but your younger sister has stolen a
march on you. You have played your cards ill, Miss Courtenay. Fanny is
going to be the first of us married, unless I contrive to run away with
somebody in the interval. I don't know whom--there's the difficulty."

"Well, I always thought she would be," said Sophy, quite
good-humouredly. "She is the prettiest of us, is Fa