eyes.

I tried to do it last night, and made my eyes feel so queer that I was
not sure they would get right by morning.

"Well, I suppose it is," said I; "I am not quite seventeen yet."

"You dear little thing!" said Cecilia, imprisoning my hand. "What is
Miss Drummond's father?"

"A minister," said I.

"A Scotch Presbyterian, I suppose?" she said, turning up her nose. I
did not think she looked any prettier for it.

"Well," said I, "I suppose he is."

"And Mr Angus--what do they mean to make of him, do you know?"

"Flora hopes he will be a minister too. His father wishes it; but she
is not sure that Angus likes the notion himself."

"Dear me! I should think not," said Cecilia, "He is fit for something
far better."

"What can be better?" I answered.

"You have such charming ideas!" replied Cecilia. She put in another
word, which I never heard before, and I don't know what it means. She
brought it with her from the South, I suppose. Unso--unsophy--no,
unsophisticated--I think that was it. It sounded uncommon long and
fine, I know.

"I suppose Scotch ministers have not much money?" continued Cecilia.

"I don't know--I think not," I answered. "But I rather fancy my Uncle
Drummond has a little of his own."

Cecilia darted another look at me, and then dropped her eyes as if she
were studying the grass.

"And Mr Keith?" she said presently, "is he a relation?"

"I don't know much about him," said I, "only what I have heard Flora
say. He is no relation of theirs, I believe. I think he is the
squire's son."

"The squire's son!" cried Cecilia, in a more interested tone. "And who
is the squire?--is he rich?--where is the place?"

"As to who he is," said I, "he is Mr Keith, I suppose. I don't know a
bit whether he is rich or poor. I forget the name of the place--I think
it is Abbotsmuir, or something like that. Either an abbot or a monk has
something to do with it."

"And you don't know if Mr Keith is a rich man?" said Cecilia, I thought
in rather a disappointed tone.

"No, I don't," said I. "I can ask Flora, if you want to know."

"Not for the world!" cried Cecilia, laying her hand again on mine.
"Don't on any account let Miss Drummond know that I asked you such a
question. If you like to ask from yourself, you know--well, that is
another matter; but not from me, on any consideration."

"I don't understand you, Miss Osborne," said I.

"No, you dear little thing, I believe you don't u