the scullion's answer
and what Irma had done. Well also, on the whole, for us that she had
refused to keep us company. For having been only once in a great city in
her life, and never likely to be there again, Mary Lyon made the most of
her time. She had had two trunks when she came to our gate. Four would
not have held all that she travelled with on her way back. And when we
remonstrated on the cost, she said, "Oh, fidget! 'Tis many a day since I
cost anything to speak of to the goodman. He can brave and weel afford
to pay for a trifle o' luggage."

Accordingly she never passed a fruit stall without yearning to buy the
entire stock-in-trade "for the neighbours that have never seen siccan a
thing as a sweet orange in their lives--lemons being the more marketable
commodity in Eden Valley."

She had also as many commissions, for which she looked to be paid, as if
she had been a commercial traveller. There were half-a-dozen "swatches"
to be matched for Aunt Jen--cloth to supply missing "breadths," yarn to
mend the toes of stockings, ribbons which would transform the ancient
dingy bonnet into a wonder of beauty on the day of the summer communion.
She had "patterns" to buy dress-lengths of--from the byre-lasses brown
or drab to stand the stress of out-of-door--checked blue and white for
the daintier dairy-worker among her sweet milk and cheese.

Even groceries, and a taste of the stuff they sell in town for "bacon
ham"--to be sniffed at and to become the butt for all the goodwives in
the parish--no tea, for Mary Lyon knew where that could be got better
and cheaper, but a _Pilgrim's Progress_ for a neighbour lad who was
known to be fond of the reading and deserved to be encouraged--lastly,
as a vast secret, a gold wedding-ring which could not be bought without
talk in Eden Valley itself. Grandmother did not tell us for whom this
was intended. Nor did we know, till the little smile lurking at the
corner of her mouth revealed the mystery, when Agnes Anne came home from
the kirk and named who had been "cried" that day. It was no other than
our sly Eben--and Miss Gertrude Greensleeves was the name of the
bride--far too young for him, of course, but--he had taken his mother
into his confidence and not a man of us dared say a word. Doubtless the
women did, but even they not in the hearing of Mary Lyon.

But now we were at rest, and quite ten days ago grandmother had arrived
with her cargo. The commissions were all distributed.