sked my Aunt Kezia.

"'Deed, and what ails a fule onie day?" said Sam, always more honest
than soft-spoken. "He's just as ill as a bit lassie--fair frichtened o'
his auld uncle, now he is deid, that ne'er did him a bawbee's worth o'
harm while he was alive. My mither says she's vara sure he'll be here
the morn, begging and praying ye to tak' him in and keep him safe frae
his puir auld uncle's ghaist. Hech, sirs! I'll ghaist him, gin' he
comes my way."

"Now, Sam, keep a civil tongue in your head," quoth my Aunt Kezia, "and
don't let me hear of your playing tricks on Mr Parmenter or any one
else. You should be old enough to have some sense by this time. I will
come out and speak to your mother in a moment. Yes, I suppose we must
let you go. What cuckoos there are in this world, to be sure!"

But Mr Parmenter did not wait till to-morrow--he came up this
afternoon, just as Sam said he would. Father was not at home, and to my
surprise my Aunt Kezia would not take him in, but sent him on to Farmer
Catterall's. I do not think the tawny eyes liked it, for though they
were mostly bent on the ground, I saw them give one sidelong flash at my
Aunt Kezia which did not look to me like loving-kindness.

I feel to-night what I think Angus means when he says that he is flat.
Everything feels flat. Fanny is gone--she was married on Saturday.
Amelia, Charlotte, and Hatty set forth on Tuesday, and they are gone. I
thought that Ce--Miss Osborne would have gone with them, and have
returned by-and-by; but she stays on, and will do so, I hear, almost
till my Aunt Kezia goes, when Mrs Hebblethwaite has asked her to stay
at the Fells Farm for the last few days before the wedding. It is
settled now that my Aunt Kezia and Sophy stay here till the day before
it. It does seem so queer for Sophy to be here till then, and not be at
the wedding! I don't believe it is Father's doing. It is not like him.
Flora, Angus, Mr Keith, and I are to start to-morrow; but Mr Keith
only goes with us as far as Carlisle--that is, the first day's journey;
then he leaves us for Newcastle, where he has some sort of business
(that horrid word!), and I go on with my cousins to Abbotscliff. We
shall be met at Carlisle by a Scots gentleman who is travelling thence
to Selkirk, and is a friend of my Uncle Drummond. He goes in his own
chaise, with two mounted servants, and both he and they are armed, so I
hope we shall get clear of freebooters on the Borde