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 LILLIESLEAF: 
 
 BEING A CONCLUDING SERIES 
 
 PASSAGES IN THE LIEE OE 
 
 MRS. MARGARET MAITLaND, 
 
 OF SUNNYSIDE. 
 WRITTEN BY.HERSELE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GBEAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1855.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 0J15/J 
 
 LILLIESLEAF 
 
 ^ . CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 5 " Ay, Aunt Margaret," said my niece Mary 
 
 -^ to me, as she rose from where she was sitting 
 
 ^ by me, and went to get some work out of 
 
 her little table, with a heavy sigh, " ay, Aunt 
 
 T^ Margaret, these w^ere but the troubles of om- 
 
 youth, and it is life we have come to now." 
 
 And I did not say a word to her, though 
 
 ■^ my heart was sore for my dear bairn. When 
 
 the troubles of youth were upon my niece 
 
 Mary, I would have had no peace till she had 
 
 ^ trusted them to me; but now 1 durst but 
 
 ^^ VOL I. B 
 
 4
 
 2 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 look at her, and sigh a weary sigh, that was 
 scarce as bitter as her own. She was a 
 married wife, and the mother of four 
 bairns. There were troubles in her lot, 
 that I might not put my hand into. We 
 kept silence, her and me, with our hearts 
 heavy within us, and syne began to speak 
 of other folk, and things that moved us not. 
 Now it is not in my heart to think that 
 stranger folk can mind what plain stories I 
 once telled about my niece Mary, and my 
 own bairn Grace, and the bits of struggles the 
 young things had before they were married, 
 when their fortune (so to speak, as the world 
 speaks, but never forgetting the Lord's kind 
 hand in Providence, that has been ever 
 bountiful to me and mine) was in their own 
 hands, and all their lives before them ; and it 
 will not take me long to tell who Mary 
 Maitland was. She was my brother Claud's 
 one daughter, come of a godly house and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 3 
 
 name, and she was married upon Allan 
 Elphinstone, of Lilliesleaf, a young gentle- 
 man of the country, well esteemed in 
 this world, of an honourable family, and a 
 good estate. Divers doubts and troubles 
 had come before the two were married, 
 but at last their hands were joined together 
 in the fullness of hope. It was now ten years 
 since that time, and four bairns had come 
 into the house, every one bonnier than the 
 other. Cosmo, that was called after his 
 father's father — Claud, my brother's name- 
 son ; and little Mary and Susan ; also there 
 were other two, sweetest of all to my Mary's 
 heart, and they were in heaven. 
 
 For me I kent but little for my own hand, 
 of what my dear bairn meant when she said 
 Life. The troubles of youth were known to 
 me, and I had lost my father and my mother, 
 but that was nigh upon thirty years ago, and 
 I had been long at rest. If I fathomed what 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Mary meant, it was only because she herself 
 was in my very heart — for Sunnyside had ever 
 been a most quiet habitation, and Oakenshaw, 
 where my bairn Grace was dwelling, was 
 scarce less peaceful, though it might be 
 more blythe than my own house; which, 
 maybe, was one reason that I kept silence, and 
 did not say even to old Mrs. Elphinstone that 
 Mary was white and worn, and looked not 
 like herself But Lilliesleaf was a great house, 
 and there were many servants in it, and to 
 rule it well cost care — and my niece Mary, 
 though ever a gentlewoman, had been, as it 
 was right, used to quiet ways in the Manse, her 
 father's house, and was, doubtless, the more 
 encumbered with her daily burdens here; 
 and the mother of bairns has ever cares upon 
 her head ; and, truly, I marvel at myself that 
 I should make a wonder about it, as if my 
 dear bairn needed to have some secret grief 
 upon her spirit, when, doubtless, it was only
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 5 
 
 the sober mind that became a woman, guiding 
 her house and her servants well. 
 
 We were sitting in a pleasant parlour, 
 where Mary aye sat in the mornings, where 
 all the furnishing was plain, and did not 
 need to be taken care of, and where the 
 bairns might come at their will. The windows 
 were towards the east, and the outlook was 
 very bright and lightsome from one of them, 
 where the trees were thinned, and you could 
 see a far way, past the very outer gate of 
 Lilliesleaf, to where the roofs of the cottages 
 at the Knowe were shining in the sun ; they 
 were mostly red tiled, and they made a glow 
 in the light, glinting through the green trees ; 
 and the view was aye warm and kindly to 
 me for their sakes. Summer and winter, 
 Mary had her seat in this window; Mr. 
 Allan, I minded well, had caused build these 
 bits of houses before he was married upon 
 my dear bairn, and the place had been called
 
 b LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Mary's Knowe. It might be that that was 
 the cause why Mary favoured it — though 1 
 have also seen her turn her chair about, so that 
 she might not see them, with her old spark 
 of anger in her eye — for Mary was not to 
 call a subdued woman, but had some of her 
 old temper about her still. 
 
 A very big and soft easy chair with pillows 
 in it stood aye by the fireside in this room, 
 and here old Mrs. Elphinstone sat when she 
 was able to come down the stair, early in 
 the day. She was not here this morning, 
 and it was a bonnie spring morning, sunny 
 and blythe, and we had let out the fire. I 
 was stitching white linen collars for the 
 bairns, and Mary was busy at something, 
 for I do not very well mind what it was. I 
 had only come to Lilliesleaf the day before, 
 and her and me had got but little time for 
 our own cracks till now. 
 
 " And, mv dear," said I, " Grace would
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 7 
 
 very fain have you and the bairns to see her 
 yonder. She whiles complains to me how 
 you two are parted, and wonders if she 
 would be as much taken up as you, if she 
 had as many bairns." 
 
 " The bairns make a great difference, aunt," 
 said Mary with a little faint smile that came 
 and was gone in a moment. " I have always 
 something to do for them." 
 
 " But many a poor man's wife has every- 
 thing to do for them, Mary," said I, half 
 meaning to reprove her ; for surely the Laird 
 of Lilliesleaf s wife had little occasion to com- 
 plain of what she had to do. 
 
 *'Ay, aunt," said Mary, and she looked 
 up into my face with a strange smile, that 
 was not what I liked to see. " Do you know 
 I think I would have made a very good 
 poor man's wife, aunt," she said, trying 
 to be blythe, " that was what I was 
 intended for — to take care of all my
 
 8 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 curly heads in one of the cottages on the 
 Knowe." 
 
 " My dear, Providence kent best what you 
 were intended for," said 1. " Is Mrs. 
 Elphinstone very frail, Mary? she's very 
 sore failed since I saw her last." 
 
 " She is just like the rest of us, aunt," 
 said Mary, " she has begun to trouble her 
 mind, and she is not young enough, nor 
 strong enough to bear much thinking, and 
 care frets her spirit and disturbs it. I see 
 you will not ask me what care she can have," 
 said Mary, glancing up at me with the 
 colour rising on her brow, " and I thank you 
 for it, aunt ; but she is disturbed because she 
 thinks that Allan — because she supposes we 
 are exceeding our means. Well, it is serious 
 enough if it should be so. That is what 
 troubles Mrs. Elphinstone, aunt." 
 
 *' And yet she tells me you are such a 
 grand manager, Mary," said I ; for the
 
 LILLIESLEAF. y 
 
 moment I did not understand the 
 bairn. 
 
 Mary laughed and turned away ; she made 
 me no answer, and I was not long before I 
 came to see the truth, and asked no more 
 questions about that. 
 
 " But, my dear, its a comfort to me to see 
 your mother," said I, " she never was bon- 
 nier to me in all her days." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Margaret, is she not too bon- 
 nie ?" cried Mary, coming back to me so 
 quick that I was taken by surprise. "I 
 dare not think of that. I nurse Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone, and I leave my own mother to stran- 
 gers, and it makes me crazy to think of it. 
 Oh, aunt, aunt, do not go away !" 
 
 " My dear bairn," said I, " wherefore are 
 you troubled ? You are doing what God 
 has put in your hands. Mary, Mary, is this 
 like you ?" 
 
 "Yes, aunt," said Mary, drying her wet 
 
 B 3
 
 10 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 cheeks, and lifting up her face from the table, 
 where she had leant it upon my hands ; 
 " indeed it is very like me ; everything that is 
 impatient and unreasonable is like me ; — but 
 nobody ever sees it. I have only betrayed 
 myself to you, and I will promise to be good, 
 like little Susie, and never do it again. 
 But tell me about my mother, aunt? Do 
 you think she is as strong as she was ? 
 Do you think she is well ? Don't deceive 
 me. Aunt Margaret ; but if you can, say 
 *^ere is nothing to fear." 
 
 " My dear, if anything ails my sister Mary, 
 it is seeing you look white and dwining ; 
 there is nothing else," said T. 
 
 " Then, I wiU look well, aunt," said 
 Mary, in an eager voice, " you may be quite 
 sure 1 wiU look well. My mother, surely, 
 is not anxious about me — why should she ? 
 You see, aunt, how very well and comfort- 
 able I am."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 1 
 
 My poor bairn ! my poor Mary ! and 
 with the quiver in her lip, and the tear in 
 her eye, and the flutter and trouble in her 
 face, she insisted with me how well she was. 
 I said not a word, except to quiet her ; but, 
 truly, my heart was very sore. 
 
 From her earliest days, my niece Mary 
 was of a quick and wayward spirit, and out 
 of her griefs and her troubles, the bairn had 
 come unchanged. But we were both blythe 
 when the door opened, and all the bairns 
 came in, dancing and jumping over one 
 another, and a very decent woman with 
 them, that was their maid. And every one 
 had its own story to tell ; and truly it was a 
 pleasant sight to me, to see the wee things 
 crowding about my bairn, and to think that 
 they would arise and call her blessed, when 
 they were of years to ken what a good 
 mother was. 
 
 " But Claud broke Susie's doll, mamma,"
 
 1 2 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 said little Mary, who was an uncommon 
 serious bairn ; " and I said I would tell you, 
 because it was wrong. Mamma, I said 
 Claud might break his ain drum, but he 
 should not break Susie's doll." 
 
 " But he said he was very sorry," said 
 little Susie, shaking her head. 
 
 And these were the common ways of the 
 two little woman bairns — the one with her bit 
 serious face, because it was wrong ; the 
 other sweet thing with a tear in her eye, and 
 aye an excuse in her mouth. Susie was 
 but an infant when I was last at Lilliesleaf, 
 and my heart yearned to the bairn, now. 
 
 "Mamma, may we go to the Manse?" 
 said Claud. " Robie was to make me a 
 wheel for my mill. I didna want to break 
 Susie's doll, I wanted to see how it was 
 made." 
 
 "Mamma, 1 want my pony," cried Cosmo, 
 and because the laddie was older and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 3 
 
 Stronger than the rest, and had a bigger 
 voice, I could not help but start and turn 
 around to look at him, " and they will not 
 do what I bid them, because papa is going 
 to the Castle, and they're all waiting on him. 
 Will you order Findlay to get me my pony, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 Such a bold boy he was ! but he was 
 over bold for a bairn ; though, when I 
 looked upon his shining e'en, and his flushed 
 face, and the manly look he had, I scarce 
 could wonder that Mary was slow to see 
 him wrong. When Cosmo spoke, she 
 stopped from answering the other bairns, 
 and when he said the Castle, there came a 
 red glow over her brow, and syne,it faded to the 
 saddest whiteness I ever saw. She had to 
 stop to take breath before she spoke. 
 
 " You shall have your pony, Cosmo," she 
 said, in a quiet tone, but one in the which I 
 was sore afraid the very bairns, as well as me,
 
 14 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 could read the quietness of indignation, and 
 pain, and offence that were scarce to be 
 controlled, "and you shall all drive over to 
 the Manse, little ones, with Aunt Margaret and 
 me ; but you must not trouble me any more 
 just now. Stay here, all of you, till I come back." 
 
 And she went away, and left me and the 
 servant-woman, the bairn's maid, looking at 
 each other. I began in a great hurry, when- 
 ever Mary was gone, to ask questions about 
 one and another of the family, that the maid 
 might not think I had any doubts in my 
 mind about what her mistress meant. But I 
 saw in her face that she kent all was not 
 well. I read it in the wistful looks of the 
 little things, and the bold face of Cosmo, 
 that was more witting than face of bairn 
 should be. My Mary, my simple-hearted 
 bairn! what was this that had come upon 
 her. 
 
 When she came back, I was mostlv what
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 5 
 
 you might call disappointed — such selfish folk 
 are we ! — to see that there was no vexation 
 on her face, hut only her ordinary look. And 
 she said, Mr. Allan was away with Lord 
 Burrowstoun and some strangers that were at 
 the Castle, and would, maybe, not be at home 
 again this day. " So we will go away to the 
 Manse and see my father and my mother, 
 Aunt Margaret," said Mary, with a quiver 
 of her lips, and a sigh that she did not want 
 me to hear. " And Cosmo will ride all the 
 way beside us, and be our cavalier; and 
 everybody will smile to see us in the Manse 
 — every one : we always carry pleasure there." 
 I wished, and yet I feared to know what 
 Mary might mean ; but I asked not a single 
 question. She told me Mrs. Elphinstone was 
 keeping her ain room, but would be down at 
 night. And I was blythe to give my consent 
 to go to the Manse ; and we had the carriage 
 brought, and all the bairns put in it, and
 
 1 6 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Cosmo on his pony waiting, as proud and 
 glad as a boy could be. But wherefore did 
 both his mother and me turn back to look 
 at LiUiesleaf ? For my own part, indeed, I 
 cannot tell.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 7 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 It was as sweet a spring day as ever I 
 saw ; and sure am I, I never went upon the 
 road in sweeter company. The trees were 
 beginning to loose out their young leaves 
 from the bud, and the horse-chesnut boughs 
 were rich above us, with their big leaves 
 half folded, and no a sign of blossom, 
 except here and there on the sunniest branch 
 of all. It was early May, and the very air 
 was sweet, and when I looked upon the 
 three bonnie bairns in the carriage beside me,
 
 1 8 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 and minded where I was going, and lookit 
 out upon this road I kent so well, I could 
 not keep my heart from rising. Truly, I am 
 a woman in years, and have kent tribulation ; 
 but I seldom can refuse to be blythe when 
 spring is about me, and bairns by my side. 
 
 But, when I looked to Mary, I could not 
 but catch a shadow of the cloud that was 
 upon her face. Though Susie's bonnie 
 hand was holding her, and all their blythe 
 voices round, Mary's brow was knitted, and 
 her eyes were travelling along a turn of the 
 road. What she saw there in her spirit, I 
 cannot tell. There was nought to be seen 
 by me but the sunshine lying upon the path, 
 and the shadows of the trees ; but it was 
 the road to the Castle, where, may be, Mr. 
 Allan was not long past, and woes me but 
 she had little pleasure in it, if that was what 
 she thought. 
 
 But I was blythe to see what a pleasure
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 9 
 
 it was to all the bairns to go to the Manse, 
 from Cosmo, prancing on his brisk little 
 pony, to Susie that aye nestled like a birdie 
 between her mamma and me. The new 
 Manse was well placed for seeing the country, 
 and they saw us coming for long before we got 
 there; so that Mary, my sister, and the 
 minister, and Robie, the minister's man, and 
 one of the maids, forbye, were all waiting at 
 the door ; and truly it was a jubilee. It 
 seemed to me, as if the house was lying 
 sleeping all its life, but just when Mary and 
 the bairns came; but at sight of them 
 it wakened up, and was like itself again. 
 They were dwelling their lane, as in the first 
 days of their youth, my brother and my 
 sister. Their hopes had come to pass, and 
 were departed from them. Their bairns had 
 entered into their own life ; and truly, it is 
 but a sad thing for the father and the 
 mother of a bonnie family to look forward
 
 20 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 to, that in the natural course of time, the 
 young things will all depart from them, and 
 the nursing birds be left their lane. 
 
 The very maids were moved as if it was 
 a ploy ; and there was a tray set already in 
 the parlour, with fine scones and butter of 
 Bessie's own making, and more than one 
 kind of jam for pieces to the bairns ; and it 
 is many a long day since T have seen Mary, 
 my sister, look so like herself. "Now," 
 said she, " if we had but Claud, and Grace, 
 and little Maggie here ;" and, for myself, I 
 was very nigh being jealous, that the little 
 bairn at Oakenshaw, my Grace's one child, 
 would be forgotten among the family of 
 Lilliesleaf. Mary, my niece, threw off her 
 shawl and her bonnet, and sat down with a 
 dreary look, that every one of us old folk 
 took note of; and when her mother came to 
 ask how she was, she first said she was very 
 well, and then that she was no very well,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 21 
 
 and then she laughed, and looked at 
 me. 
 
 " I like to complain, when I come home, 
 aunt," said Mary, " even though it makes 
 my mother anxious. I like to be ill, and 
 to be petted and taken care of, and to mind 
 that I was once young. Mother, indeed, I 
 am quite well — it is only for the pleasure of 
 having your hand about me, that I pretend 
 to complain." 
 
 I did not hear what Mary, my sister, 
 answered to that ; for the tears came in my 
 eyes, and I turned away to the little things 
 who were gathering about the table. Little 
 Mary had climbed up upon her grandpapa's 
 knee, and was lifting up her little serious 
 face to him, and telling him some story ; 
 though I kent not what it was about ; and 
 Cosmo was mounting Susie high up upon a 
 bairn's chair — a new chair, that was right 
 enough for a nursery, but strange here ; but.
 
 22 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 to tell the truth, my brother and sister cared 
 more for the pleasure of these bairns, than 
 for anything else in the world. They told 
 me Mary was Claud's pet — I doubt not 
 because of her name. 
 
 "We will stay and dine, if you like, 
 mother," said my niece Mary; "for Allan 
 has gone out — 1 mean, he will be at the 
 Castle. There are a great many people 
 there now ; but I suppose Lord Burrowstoun 
 will soon go away again, and he is always 
 seeking Allan — so, we are alone to-day." 
 
 " When were you there yourself, Mary ?" 
 said her mother. " Not since the first time ? 
 But it would be little pleasure to you." 
 
 " It was no pleasure to me," said Mary, 
 very quietly. " I do not wish to go 
 again." 
 
 '' Mary, come and do your duty," said the 
 minister. " Cosmo is not bold enough to 
 meddle with the jams. My boy, is there
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 23 
 
 anything else in the world you would be 
 afraid to do ?" 
 
 " Yes ;" said Cosmo, readily. " I'm some- 
 times very feared, grandpapa. When I fell 
 into Sedgie Burn, and when I broke my arm, 
 and when they left me at night in the old 
 tower at Lochlee — I was quite as feared as 
 Susie. Now it's true." 
 
 "And what might you be feared for, 
 Cosmo ?" said I. 
 
 "I was feared mamma would be angry," 
 the callant said ; and he took time to say no 
 more, for he was busy with one of Bessie's 
 beautiful scones, and it was just wonderful to 
 see the way it disappeared. They were all 
 very good at that, and, by the time they were 
 done, the jam and the bread were done too, 
 and no very much milk left in the big china 
 jug. So they all went away out to the garden, to 
 their own plays, and we were left in quietness. 
 
 " When are you to have a tutor for
 
 24 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Cosmo, Mary ?" said the minister. " He is 
 old enough to be a good scholar. I spoke 
 to Liliiesleaf about young Richard Blythe. 
 Have you heard him speak of it again ?" 
 
 " I — I can scarcely tell you, father," said 
 Mary, looking down. " Allan was to see 
 about it; but somebody mentioned to him 
 some one from Oxford — and — and, I suppose 
 there is nothing settled. He has so much to 
 do." 
 
 '* Well, my dear, Liliiesleaf is the best 
 judge," said my brother, rising up, not with- 
 out anger, as I thought ; " and they do 
 attend more to the classics in England — but 
 — well, well, Mary, never mind. I thought 
 I might have been able to do something for 
 young Blythe." 
 
 " Father — father ! I cannot help it ! Do 
 not be displeased," cried Mary, " I will speak 
 to Allan again ; he will have more time when 
 these people are away."
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 25 
 
 " And 1 wish with all my heart they, were 
 away," cried the minister, and he went away 
 to his study, still with a gloom upon his 
 brow. 
 
 "My father does not quite understand, 
 mother," said Mary, turning to us with a 
 pleading voice. " xVllan is so kind, and so 
 good-hearted himself, he would like to help 
 everybody — and somebody had spoken to him 
 at the Castle — and he has so many friends there 
 — and it is difficult for him to refuse to help 
 any one, or do a service. You understand, 
 mother?" 
 
 " Yes, Mary, yes," said my sister. 
 The bairn turned to me with her eyes 
 full of tears. " Oh, aunt ! will you help 
 me with my father and my mother," she 
 cried. " My mother only says ' yes,' to 
 please me. She is not satisfied — she is 
 never satisfied. Aunt Margaret, you sec 
 what I mean." 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 The Lord help and bless my poor 
 bairn ! She was not satisfied herself, but 
 far, far from that — and what did she mean 
 insisting with her mother and me ? Were 
 we to be pleased, when she was not pleased 
 herself? Woes me ! but it is hard to ken 
 the secrets of the heart. 
 
 To make a divert, I began to ask about 
 old neighbours, and the news of the coun- 
 tryside — the new^ bairns, and who was 
 married, and who had departed into the 
 better country. Truly, there were but few 
 of our age abiding in these borders, that 
 had been young when we w^ere young ; and 
 my sister Mary and me grew quiet as we 
 spoke, no to call sad, but taking thought of 
 what lay near to us both in the natural 
 course of time. But this was far from 
 pleasing my niece Mary ; she would not let 
 us be still and quiet, and commune in a 
 serious way. She was restless her own self,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 27 
 
 and it seemed to fret her spirit more to see 
 us o'rave. She would have in the hairns 
 again, and when they were dancing about 
 the room, she drew a chair to the window, 
 and took up her mother's seam, and was more 
 like wdiat it was my desire to see her ; but, 
 poor bairn, she was never at rest. 
 
 It may seem strange to folk that know 
 us not, to hear me calling her a bairn that 
 had a house and a f^imily of her own ; but 
 Mary, my niece, was aye young to me. I 
 could see care upon her bonnie brow, 
 and have a sore heart to see it there ; but 
 I could not see the mark of years upon 
 her; though whiles she would smile and 
 look in my face, and tell me she was older 
 than me. Ay, T would not say; maybe her 
 hands were full of troubles, that were 
 unkent in the quiet life the Lord had 
 granted to me ; but I smiled back again 
 and said nought, but kent full well the 
 
 c 2
 
 28 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 difference — the strong spring that was 
 welling up in her heart, and the still waters 
 that lay subdued in mine. 
 
 We took our dinner at the Manse in the 
 middle of the day, the bairns being with 
 us ; and I w^as well pleased when Mary 
 went out to see a school near at hand, and 
 left my sister and me our lane. But still 
 we did not speak of her, though our 
 hearts were full of nothing else ; and when 
 we did come to mention her name, it was 
 all what a good mother she w^as, and how 
 she cared for her bairns, and how she was 
 aye our own bairn to us, notwithstanding all. 
 
 "They were alw^ays different," said Mary, 
 my sister, in a thoughtful way ; " but 
 what think you now-, Margaret? Mary and 
 Grace — is there a great difference between 
 them now ? They are both young mothers 
 — both in their own house. Are they any 
 way like each other?"
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 29 
 
 " It is not so long since you saw Grace 
 yourself, Mary," said I. 
 
 " Yes ; but I have not lived with her, 
 I have not — I want your opinion, Marga- 
 ret," said my sister, in a very hasty manner. 
 It was the same way with all of us ; we 
 were aye wanting each to persuade the 
 other that all was well with our dear 
 bairn. 
 
 " They were aye different," said 1 ; " but 
 Grace is married upon Claud, and you 
 ken what your son is." 
 
 My sister's eyes grew bright, and then 
 she sighed. Claud was an honoured man, 
 happy and beloved in his own house, and 
 in the countryside. But Mary, Mary ! — 
 the one that was in trouble, was nearest to 
 our hearts. 
 
 " Grace has a lighter heart ; but then 
 she bas less care. And Mary, with her family, 
 has so many things to think of," said I.
 
 30 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " That is it, Margaret !" cried my sister. 
 " I always say that is it ; and Lilliesleaf is 
 of a gayer temper, you see, and the respon- 
 sibility is left upon the mistress of the 
 house. We have every reason to believe 
 he is a very kind husband. Do you not 
 think so ? Only, you know, he was brought 
 up in a worldly way, and he's a young 
 man yet; and it is all perfectly innocent, 
 though it is not what we have been used 
 to. I blame myself for being so anxious 
 about Mary ; but I am sure, Margaret, you 
 don't think there is any cause." 
 
 "I see her in the garden herself — she is 
 coming back," said I, "and she looks full 
 blythe among all these bonnie bairns. The 
 little things ken already what she is. What 
 should we be anxious for ? Look at them 
 all, and be thankful, Mary. God will take 
 care of her, as he has taken care of us ; and 
 truly he has blessed her now."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 3 1 
 
 And my sister came to the window beside 
 me, and looked forth upon them, and was 
 comforted. It was as pleasant a sight as 
 eye could look upon — the littlest one of all 
 holding her dress, and httle serious Mary, 
 the third of the name, clinging to her hand, 
 and little Claud sitting on the grass at 
 her feet, minding nothing but the wood 
 he was whittling with his knife ; and that 
 bonnie bold Cosmo standing by his mother 
 as if he was as proud of her as we were, to 
 whom she was a bairn. And so bright, 
 and young, and womanlike she was herself 
 — our Mary ! I could not see that sight, 
 and be heavy at my heart. 
 
 By and bye we went back again, when the 
 afternoon shadows were lengthening, and 
 Susie w^as wearied, being but delicate, and 
 fell asleep on my knee. This quiet day had 
 been good for Mary — she was not restless 
 now, and spoke cheerily and blythe about
 
 32 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Grace, and began to plan with me how we 
 could wile the family from Oakenshaw to the 
 Manse, to meet all together. But she did 
 not say she wanted them to come to Lillies- 
 leaf; and that was very strange to me. 
 Whatever secret care she had, she was feared 
 even for her dearest and nearest to find it 
 out; and I saw, though I marvelled, that 
 there was not one that she would let so far 
 into her heart as me. It is, maybe, a wrong 
 to Mary's mother to say that ; but I was a 
 solitary gentlewoman myself, and what I 
 saw would not pass from me ; and they had 
 aye come to me in all their troubles. That 
 was the reason that Mary could trust to me ; 
 but even to me she did not say a word of 
 anything that grieved her, only she kent well 
 that I could not choose but see.
 
 LTLLIESLEAF. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The next day after that, was one of Mrs. 
 Elphinstone's well days, and she came down 
 to her breakfast, which was an uncommon 
 thing for her. She was now a woman of 
 seventy, failed and frail, and even in her 
 mind far different from what she used to be. 
 She had fallen into the restless state that is 
 common for some old folk, and was aye 
 finding fault, and taking note of everything 
 from her chair where she sat ; and being 
 scarce so quick of hearing or of seeing, and 
 even of understanding, as was her wont, was 
 
 c 3
 
 34 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 aye taking it into her head, that something 
 was doing that she kent not of. Her voice 
 was sharp by reason of her age, and truly 
 peace was not in her heart. 
 
 " So, Allan has not come back," she said, 
 when she was settled into her easy chair, and 
 propped up with her pillows, my Mary serving 
 her with a tender hand, like a dutiful bairn. 
 " And what might be the reason of that, 
 Mary ? — if, indeed, he let you know." 
 
 '^ He did not expect to return last night," 
 said Mary, in an anxious way. " Indeed, I 
 begged him not to think of returning ; for 
 the road is very lonely, and it must have been 
 late before he could get away." 
 
 " Just so — ^just so," said the old lady ; 
 " and you really thought the company at the 
 Castle was as safe as any chance passenger 
 he might meet with on the road ?" 
 
 Mary's face flushed for the moment. 
 " Grandmamma has no great opinion of Lord
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 35 
 
 Burrowstoun, you perceive, aunt," said she, 
 turning to me with a doubtful and trembling 
 smile. " But 1 am always nervous about 
 that ford on the Sedgie Burn — especially, late 
 at night." 
 
 " Yes ; one understands what an anxious 
 wife means by Mate at night,' when her 
 husband is coming home from a dinner- 
 party," said Mrs. Elphinstone, with some- 
 thing like a sneer. " Mary does not call 
 things by their proper names, as she used to 
 do, Miss Maitland." 
 
 Mary rose at that moment quick, and with 
 a start, and brought Mrs. Elphinstone's cup of 
 tea to her, T was sitting close by, and, so when 
 the bairn bent down her head close to her 
 good-mother, I could not help but hear. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Elphinstone," said Mary very 
 earnestly, and with pain and trouble in her 
 face, " you forget the children are at table, 
 and they hear all you say."
 
 36 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " My dear, there is no chance of my for- 
 getting that the children are at tahle," said 
 Mrs. Elphinstone, loud out, " when Cosmo 
 sits there and stares at me, as if he had never 
 seen me before. That boy's manners are 
 shocking, Mary ; but to be sure, poor thing, 
 you cannot attend to everything. Cosmo, is 
 it the stable-boy who learns you to gape and 
 stare as you do ? That's not hke a gentleman." 
 
 Cosmo muttered something under his 
 breath. I heard not what it was, but it was 
 something he ought not to have said — I could 
 see that by the gloom on his brow ; but Mrs. 
 Elphinstcne minded it not. 
 
 " They had much better have breakfast in 
 the nursery," said the old lady. " You have 
 very httle consideration, Mary; of course, 
 your aunt and I, being old friends, have 
 many things to talk of, and if you don't want 
 the children to hear, you ought to send them 
 awav."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 37 
 
 "They are going instantly," said Mary, 
 and she went away to whisper anaong them, 
 and tell them what they were to do ; but Cosmo 
 never took his eyes off his grandmamma. 
 That bold rascal bairn ! there was not one of 
 them but the callant would have foughten 
 with for his mother's sake. 
 
 However, at last, the little things went 
 their way, and whether, after all, she was not 
 minded to cross Mary, or if it was but a turn 
 of her own will, I cannot tell, but Mrs. 
 Elphinstone kept silence till they were all 
 away. Then she turned again to me. 
 
 "Mary is foolish. Miss Maitland," she 
 said, " she thinks she can deceive the 
 children, and prevent them knowing that 
 their father neglects them ; but I think it is 
 my duty to tell the truth. If he had been 
 an unencumbered man, of course, it would be 
 quite indifferent ; but I should like to know 
 what he will have left to provide for his
 
 38 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 family, if Mary sits quietly and looks on, and 
 suffers him to be drawn in more closely every 
 day by young Burrowstoun and his set. Thank 
 heaven ! I see better what it all would lead to 
 — and if Mary continues to hold her peace, I, 
 at least, will do my duty, and remonstrate 
 with Allan. He means no harm, poor boy, 
 but he must be warned. My dear, you need 
 not contradict me." 
 
 " But these are private matters — entirely 
 private, and belonging to our own house," 
 cried Mary, starting up, and then curbing 
 herself, and sitting down again, as if she 
 thought shame of having so little patience. 
 *' A mother often has something to disapprove 
 of in her son ; and there are few wives so 
 blind as never to see a moment's imprudence 
 in their husbands ; but that is all between 
 ourselves ; and you see, Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 that even my dear aunt Margaret, who has 
 sympathy for everybody, is troubled and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 39 
 
 uneasy when you speak of this, that only 
 concerns us." 
 
 " You are a very simple girl, Mary," said 
 Mrs. Elphinstone, "a good wife, my dear, 
 and a good mother ; and I do you the justice 
 to 'say, a very attentive child to me. But you 
 do not know the world. If you did, I should 
 think you quite inexcusable, suffering iVllan to 
 go day after day to the Castle, without a word 
 of remonstrance, when you know who is there." 
 
 At these words, my Mary's face became of 
 a burning red. There was shame, and trouble, 
 and anger in the flush ; but I think I never 
 saw such a one on a woman's face before. 
 She rose off her chair now, steady and de- 
 termined, so as I had never seen her look. 
 " Anything but that 1" she said. " I will bear 
 anything but that. I will not listen to it — 
 it is not fit to be said to me. Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone, let us not discuss what Allan does; 
 he is able to account for himself."
 
 40 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 The old lady was subdued by my bairn's 
 look. Truly, I doubted sorely Mary had been 
 learning in a hard school ; but Mrs. Elphin- 
 stone, to my content, straightway left 
 speaking about Allan, and began to find 
 fault with the bairns and the servants, and 
 her ain maid, who doubtless had a hard 
 life, poor thing, waiting on all her fancies. 
 Woe's me ! how this aged woman was 
 changed ! For a while after Mary was 
 married, I thought Mrs. Elphinstone was 
 learning what it was to have love about her, 
 and looking once more hke her I had kent in 
 my youth ; but I had been three whole years 
 without being at LiUiesleaf, for Grace had 
 been but delicate, and likit my hand aye 
 about her, and I had my abode at Oakenshaw ; 
 and Mrs. Elphinstone had failed greatly, and 
 had worn into a fretting, carping, restless old 
 woman, neither lovely to see nor to hear, by 
 that time. Care had ever been upon her
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 41 
 
 brow ; and it had always been a doubt with 
 me, if she had learned right to cast all her 
 burden upon the Lord, which made me the 
 more troubled now, when I saw she was trying 
 still to carry it herself. 
 
 When her maid had come for her, and 
 taken her back to her room, where she aye 
 rested awhile before she was wheeled out in 
 her chair, Mary came quick and anxious up 
 to me. " Aunt," she said in such haste, that 
 she was out of breath, " I will make no more 
 pretences with you. Do you see now why I 
 cannot ask Grace here — why I am afraid to 
 have anybody staying in the house ? Mrs. 
 Elphinstone is always commenting on Allan. 
 Her mind is not what it was, though she 
 speaks so clearly, and she does not keep her 
 anxieties in her heart, like me." 
 
 " Then, Mary, my dear, you have cause to 
 be anxious, too ?" said I. 
 
 "Aunt," said Mary, holding by my arm
 
 42 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 for a moment, to keep herself up, " aunt, I 
 am not very happy — but it is not Allan's 
 fault. We have never had any quarrels^ — 
 he is always very good to me, and I have 
 not a word to say against him ; but I wish 
 — women will aye be wishing, aunt Mar- 
 garet — never mind that. Sometimes, Mrs. 
 Elphinstone's fears and suspicions make me 
 half crazy ; and sometimes — I beseech you 
 never listen to her, aunt ! — sometimes," said 
 Mary, her face lighting up again with that 
 red glow, hke a flame, " she says things 
 which Allan Elphinstone's wife should never 
 hear. And if even my mother heard her 
 speak, she would think Allan — my Allan, 
 Aunt Margaret ! — to be an evil-hearted man ; 
 which he is not, and never will be, J know — 
 I know !" 
 
 " My dear bairn, I am sure of that," 
 said I. 
 
 She kissed my hand, and let fall a tear
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 43 
 
 upon it, in her thankfulness ; and then she 
 said, " What troubles me most, is when their 
 grandmamma speaks before the children, 
 and they sit and hear; and Cosmo gets 
 fancies in his head ; and it grieves me. 
 Cosmo thinks a great deal, though you would 
 not fancy it, aunt ; and his grandmamma 
 never seems to fear letting the boy hear. 
 Aunt, think what a dreadful thing to have 
 a boy grow up, sitting in judgment on his 
 father ! And Mrs. Elphinstone is very fond 
 of them alJ, too, though she blames me 
 about them. She has altered strangely in 
 the last year." 
 
 " And you have plenty to learn you pa- 
 tience, Mary, my dear," said I. 
 
 " Whisht, aunt," said Mary, " we will not 
 speak of that." 
 
 But her mind seemed easy when she had 
 told me this, though this was but a part of 
 her burden, as I kent full well. For, if
 
 44 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Mary had been as well-pleased with Mr. 
 Allan, in her own heart, as she wanted me 
 to think she was, what other folk said would 
 have made little matter to her. And I kent 
 she was trying to keep secret from her very 
 self, her own distrust and fear, that were 
 the sorest pang of all. But it may be 
 thought I was but ill-content after that, when 
 Mrs. Elphinstone called upon me, to go out 
 with her, and walk by the side of her chair, 
 as she was wheeled down the long avenue. 
 Truly, I wanted none of her expounding. 
 The mysteries of the house were sore enough 
 to me without that. 
 
 I said it was a fine day, and the country 
 was beautiful to look upon ; and syne though 
 I was very anxious to find converse to keep 
 us from one subject, the which T was feared 
 for, I stoppit in my speech, and found no 
 more to say. For it is ill feigning, when 
 folks are little used to it ; and I had a full heart.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 45 
 
 '* At our age, Miss Maitland," said Mrs. 
 Elphinstone, " the country loses much of its 
 attractions. Spring is not what it used to 
 be. But T need not say so to you, who are 
 so active always. It is otherwise with me." 
 
 I could not help but marvel within myself, 
 whether the lady minded that she was nigh 
 ten years older than I was ; but I said 
 nothing, except that Providence was aye 
 kind, though age made a great odds in this 
 world. 
 
 " Yes, you have little care," said Mrs. 
 Elphinstone ; *' and as you are now so closely 
 connected with our family, I need not hesitate 
 to say to you how anxious 1 am about my 
 son, Miss Maitland. Mary is an excellent 
 creature ; but she is not calculated to amuse 
 an active- minded young man like Allan ; 
 and she has all her old-fashioned, precise ways 
 still — so, you see, he is driven to seek enter- 
 tainment away from home."
 
 46 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 It was an ill thing in me, but I was sore 
 ang:ered a2:ainst this unwise woman — so 
 much, that I felt my cheeks glow — me, that 
 should have kent better ! — with wrath against 
 her ; but I commanded myself, and only 
 said : " Mrs. Elphinstone, the man will hear 
 as well as me." 
 
 " Who ? Robert ?" said she, pointing at 
 the man who was drawing her chair. " He 
 is deaf, and he is busy. You need not fear 
 for my discretion, Miss Maitland. But this 
 is how matters are ; and, actually, though 
 I am sure you would scarcely believe it, 
 Mary never even remonstrates, so far as I 
 know ; and Allan goes day after day to the 
 Castle, and dangles about Lady Julia. There 
 was an attachment between Lady Julia and 
 my Allan, as you may recollect. Miss Mait- 
 land, before he thought of making proposals 
 for your niece." 
 
 Oh, my Mary ! my innocent bairn ! This
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 47 
 
 was what, she said was not fit for Allan's 
 wife to hear ; and truly it was not — nor even 
 for me, a single gentlewoman, that never had 
 troke with scandal makers, nor spread evil 
 about my neighbours all my days. I made 
 no answer to his mother — woes me ! was 
 it fit for her to say ? 
 
 " It is ^iperfectly natural. I really do not 
 wonder at it at all," said Mrs. Elphinstone ; 
 " and I do not mean to say there is any harm in 
 it. Mary is a good wife — an excellent wife — 
 but sometimes she is only a dull companion, 
 Miss Maitland ; and, indeed, out of the highest 
 circles, you seldom find that vivacity and 
 delicate wit, which attract men. So, of 
 course, Allan goes to amuse himself where 
 he can be amused ; and Lady Julia is not 
 very happily married either, I believe ; and I 
 really wish you would advise Mary to try and 
 acquire a little more knowledge of the 
 world."
 
 48 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 *' It would ill set one of her race to ken 
 this world better, Madam," said I ; and I 
 scarce could speak to her, I was so moved in 
 my spirit — in a special manner, because she 
 should dare to say to me that Mr. Allan was 
 unhappily married upon my bairn. " I ken 
 no such world myself," said I again, when I 
 had better mastery of my speech ; " and 
 little insight into its evil ways could I give 
 to my dear Mary. The Lord preserve her 
 and her bairns !" 
 
 " Amen I" said the old withered woman, 
 looking up, with a laugh, into my face. 
 " But there is not the least occasion for 
 being tragical ; nor for being offended, either, 
 Miss Maitland — for my meaning is a very 
 simple one. Mary ought to bestir herself 
 to make his own home more attractive to her 
 husband. That he should have conformed 
 to her manners so long is the real wonder, 
 and not that he should return to his natural
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 49 
 
 sphere now. I do not approve of Lord Bur- 
 rowstoun ; he is a gambler, and a sporting 
 man, and his character is damaged. I believe if 
 Allan is not delivered from his influence, he will 
 be ruined ; for I know, by experience, what fol- 
 lows such a course. I take you into my confi- 
 dence because I think you may do them service. 
 Miss Maitland, and you ought to advise Mary 
 to consult her husband's tastes more than she 
 does — you have influence with your niece." 
 
 " I will use it all I can, madam," said I, 
 with a trembling in my speech; and we 
 walked in silence till we came back to 
 Lilliesleaf ; and syne I went to my chamber, 
 and shut to my door, and groaned and was 
 abashed at the sight of my own spirit. For 
 I was in no Christian frame of mind, woes 
 me ! — passion and anger might have been 
 chastened out of me in all these years that 
 the hand of the Lord had been dealing with 
 our house ; but the carnal man was in me still. 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The next day after that, partly because 
 I behoved to go, and partly to ease them of 
 my company till Mr. Allan came home, and 
 got his flyting over — if flyting there was in 
 store for him — I said to my niece Mary, that 
 I would go to my own house of Sunnyside, 
 and tarry with my maid Jenny, for a night. 
 Mary, poor bairn, made a pretence that she 
 would not have me go ; but I saw, in her 
 heart, she was well content I should be away 
 from Lilliesleaf at this time. So she had 
 out the little carriage with the two ponies,
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 51 
 
 that she aye used herself; and, with a decent 
 lad from our own parish, whose father and 
 mother I had kent well in my young days, 
 driving me, I went away upon my travel 
 to Sunnyside. 
 
 Now, sitting by John Glend inning's side 
 in the bit small carriage, for an hour and 
 a half or so, it is no to be supposed that I 
 did not speak to him, seeing he came of kent 
 folk ; and when I had asked about his father 
 and mother, and his young sister that was 
 married upon a lad out of Lothian, and 
 settled in the parish of Dourhills, near 
 Oakenshaw, we came, in course of nature, 
 to have converse concerning the neighbours, 
 and w^hat was doing in the countryside. The 
 road went by the bit little village on the 
 Knowe; and well-doing, comfortable houses 
 they looked, the which 1 was blythe to see ; 
 but it was but small parcels of land that 
 were won out of the black moss, where Mr. 
 
 D 2 

 
 52 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Allan thought to make grand corn land, and 
 great harvests. For this had been one of 
 his grand plans at the time he was married. 
 It was good land, the most of our parish — 
 bonnie, broad, arable fields, with the hill sides 
 for the sheep ; but Malcolm's Moss (which 
 was the name of it) was a black spot upon 
 the country side — no to say that it was un- 
 seemly to look upon : for heather and whins, 
 in their blossoming time, are very bonnie 
 things to the outward eye, though small 
 pasture to ought but the bees, that aye 
 were very keen to gather here. A bit small 
 burn ran out and in, through the very midmost 
 of the moss ; and bits of low birches and 
 rowans gathered about the banks of it. But 
 in this present season, when the whins were 
 black, and the heather out of bloom, there 
 was little to gladden the eye in a sight of 
 the Moss; and, for my part, it w^as not 
 pleasant to see how little land had been won
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 53 
 
 out of it, for the seed and the bread, that 
 are the life of man. 
 
 " I see the land is little diiferent from 
 what it used to be, John Glendinning," said 
 I ; " and well I wot it is hard to change 
 nature ; and the moss will aye be the moss, 
 let Mr. Allan try all he can. Young folk 
 are aye hopeful. They telled me it was in 
 the power of art to bring corn out the black 
 rigs yonder, though 1 ever had my own 
 doubts, all the time." 
 
 " It takes lang working, Mem, to make 
 a great change," said the young man. 
 
 " Ay," said I, " but John, there are changes 
 that neither working nor the hand of man 
 can make." 
 
 I know not wherefore it was, but the lad 
 lookit as if he fain would have said me nay, 
 for he was an opinionated lad. 
 
 " The hand o' man has a long grip, now/* 
 said John, " mony a thing's done, that folk
 
 54 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 durstna dream of in the auld times ; but it 
 takes pains, and it takes time." 
 
 Now he was but a country lad, and I see 
 not why I should have given thought to him, 
 and truly, he was far more like to be wrong 
 than his master was ; but I could not help 
 but ponder on his words, minding all Mr. 
 Allan was wont to say. 
 
 So truly, finding little pleasure in this con- 
 verse, I held my peace, and there was little more 
 between us. He said no evil, yet 1 was angered 
 in my heart, because the lad's words helped 
 on my own thoughts, and I could not but 
 have vexation in my ow^n spirit to hear every 
 person, some in plain words, and some that 
 you could just guess at, reflecting on Mr. 
 Allan ; and, truly, it was no business of 
 theirs; but folk are aye better pleased to 
 mend their neighbour's manners than their own. 
 
 When I came to Sunny side, the place 
 looked strange to me. There it was upon its
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 55 
 
 quiet brae, looking down upon Burrowstoun, 
 with the thorn hedge grown up high about 
 it, and the ash trees midway down the road 
 arching over to meet one another, and the 
 very apple trees and currant bushes grown 
 high and big like the bairns that once 
 played about the gate. It made my heart 
 sad to look upon this house, I knew not 
 wherefore. It minded me of the days when 
 I was in my middling age, and when Grace 
 and Mary, my dear bairns, with their young 
 pleasures and their young troubles were the 
 joy of my heart. Woes me ! I was an aged 
 woman now, and had little help to give me to 
 them, that aye were used to come to me for 
 counsel, and life was upon their bonnie heads 
 with all its weights and its burdens ; and I 
 thought in my heart upon this lone house of 
 Sunnyside, and the past that dwelt in it, and 
 kent it was even like my old age and me. 
 My maid Jenny, was aged like myself; but
 
 56 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Jenny was ever a cheery body, and aye was 
 able for her canny work, and her crack with 
 her old neighbours, and it was a comfort to 
 see her kindly face again. She made a great 
 outcry at the sight of me ; and Lilly, her 
 sister's bairn, who always abode with her, 
 being grown into a discreet young woman 
 now, ran in before to light a fire in my own 
 parlour, and to put the room right for me. 
 For my own part, I tarried at the door, look- 
 ing down upon the tow^n ; truly change comes 
 upon us, but the heavens and the earth change 
 not. It might still have been that day twenty 
 years ago when I came here with my mother, 
 for all the difference that was in the place, or 
 in what I lookit forth upon. It was a pleasant 
 day ; the young ash leaves were loosing out 
 from the branches, and there was a chirp in 
 the air of all the birds of spring — and, truly, 
 I was both cheered and cast down in my own 
 spirit, and I knew not which most.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 57 
 
 When I went in, it was still the same — 
 the old things that aye put me in mind of 
 old days, all standing as they used to stand, 
 a nd my own very chair drawn to the new-kin- 
 dled fire, as if Grace herself had put it there. 
 I laid down my bonnet upon the table, and 
 sat at the lone fire-side, from the which both 
 life and pleasantness had passed away : and 
 I could not send back the tear from my eye 
 that came at the thought of what was gone ; 
 for truly the fire-side of Claud, my brother, 
 was as deserted as mine. 
 
 "Jenny," said T, "it is an eerie thing to 
 think upon. Do you mind what a pleasure 
 it was to do everything for the bairns ? and 
 now the bairns are sober men and women, 
 and have their ain fire-sides, and their ain 
 troubles ; truly nature and the course of life 
 are hard upon old folk." 
 
 " But, Miss Marget, they're a' so weel," 
 said Jenny, who was at the fire, rousing up 
 
 D 3
 
 58 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 the new-lighted coals with the poker to make 
 a blaze. " If ony ane of them was in dis- 
 tress, I would mak my maen ; but just to 
 look at that bonnie bairn-time at Lillies- 
 leaf — it's enough to make ony heart 
 rejoice." 
 
 " Ay, Jenny, but the mother of a family 
 like that has many cares," said I, for I 
 was, without doubt, in a thankless and repin- 
 ing frame. 
 
 " And what would ye have, Miss Marget ?" 
 said Jenny, " as lang as they're a' thriving, 
 what's care but joy? Bless their bonnie 
 faces every ane ! I would like to ken wha 
 daur be wae for Miss Mary, with yon four 
 darhns at her fit. If it was the Minister 
 himsel, he suld never say sae to Jenny." 
 
 " And who is wae for Miss Mary ?" said I, 
 " truly, I ken little reason any man has. I 
 was thinking of my sister and my brother, 
 and even of this eerie house of Sunnyside ;
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 59 
 
 but I thought not of any mortal having cause 
 to pity my dear bairn at Lilliesleaf." 
 
 Thus I spoke, as folk speak that have a 
 secret at their heart ; if I was grieved for 
 her myself, I could not thole that another 
 should think her in trouble ; and I wanted to 
 hear what Jenny would say. 
 
 "And that's just my ain very thought, 
 Miss Marget," said Jenny, " and what I aye 
 say when John Rasp, the baker, or Miss 
 Janet Selvage, or ony idle folk about the 
 town come with their clavers to me. What 
 if LilHesleaf is fond of his pleasure? He's 
 young, and he's the biggest gentleman in 
 the countryside ; and, wherefore, when the like 
 of that puir cheeping Lord Burro wstoun 
 keeps the crown of the causeway, should 
 Mr. Allan bide, Hke an auld wife, at hame ? 
 But them that says he's mair heeding about 
 his pleasures than about his bonnie leddy and 
 a' thae precious bairns, says lees. Miss
 
 60 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Marget. It's no such things ; it's for the 
 credit of hame-born folk, and no to let a 
 fremd family get it a' their ain way. Na ! I 
 ken better ; he may gang through with his 
 siller — mony a gentleman does that — but 
 there's nae harm in his heart." 
 
 And Jenny was moved when she was 
 speaking. I could not have thought she had 
 that spirit in her at her age ; but she never 
 would put up with a word against Mr. Allan, 
 and she was aye a brisk body, and would 
 have her ain way. She held aye the 
 poker in her hands, and turned about as 
 if she would have foughten even with me ; 
 and truly I was comforted, and smiled to 
 myself — though it was but very little she 
 could have kent about it, right or wrong. 
 
 " Does Mary come whiles to see you, 
 Jenny ?" said T. 
 
 " Whiles ? Every single time she's in 
 Burrowstoun, Miss Marget," said Jenny,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 6 1 
 
 crying out with very pleasure ; " and if you 
 could but see them at the scones ! When 
 the French maid came — weel now, that was 
 an antic ! I marvelled at Lilliesleaf for that — 
 and a' to please the fuil folk at the Castle — 
 no a' her airs, nor her wiles could win wee 
 Miss Susie frae Jenny. The bairn kent, as 
 discreet as an eldern woman, wha it was that 
 likit her best. I wouldna have brought the 
 like of yon gipsy into a decent house, Miss 
 Marget, if I had been Lilliesleaf." 
 
 " I never heard of that, Jenny," said I. 
 
 Jenny put down the poker, and sweepit in 
 the fireside, and then, maybe, seeing that I 
 would like to ken — though truly I was not 
 sure in my own mind if it was right to 
 hearken — she turned about to me, and took 
 up her apron, and folded the hem of it be- 
 tween her fingers, all the time she spoke. 
 
 " It's nine or ten months byepast," said 
 Jenny ; " for it was in the height of summer,
 
 62 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 before the weans got the play at the schule — 
 and the first I heard o't was from Maister 
 Cosmo, and he said he would do what his 
 mamma bade, but he wouldna have Lady 
 Julia's maid to learn him. What for suld 
 bairns learn outlandish tongues, Miss Marget ? 
 Where's the marrow of the kindly Scots 
 that's born with them ? And then I came 
 to hear that Lady Julia was to send a woman 
 a' the gate from London, to be a bairns'- 
 maid at Lilliesleaf, and speak French to the 
 bairns. Janet Scot tauld me the mistress 
 had given her consent, but wasna very well 
 pleased ; and you may think, Mem, it was 
 nae pleasure to Janet, being a decent eldern 
 woman, that has charge of everything in the 
 LilUesleaf nursery. Weel, the woman came 
 — a black-haired gipsey, far grander than ony 
 lady about Burrowstoun — and she was three 
 months in the house. I canna tell for a 
 certainty what happened then; but Miss
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 63 
 
 Mary — the mistress, as I ought to say — ^put 
 her away. For all so young as she is, she 
 has a grand spirit, our Miss Mary; and, 
 without a word to any person, she sent the 
 woman away. There was an awfu' clash 
 about it, Miss Marget, and everybody said 
 Miss Mary had her reasons ; but you're no to 
 think I give ony faith to that — only Miss 
 Mary keepit her ain counsel, and at an hour's 
 notice sent the ill-doer out of Lilliesleaf " 
 
 This story took away my breath ; I could 
 make nought of it; for more was meant 
 than was said in words. 
 
 " And what did Mr. Allan say, Jenny f 
 said I. When 1 had spoken, I was wroth 
 at myself What kind of question was that? 
 
 " You're no to think ony ill of Mr. Allan, 
 Miss Marget," said Jenny in a kind of com- 
 manding way. " Mr. Allan said the mistress 
 kent best, and whatever she did was right. 
 It's all clavers what folk say about Mr. Allan ;
 
 64 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 he's a good lad, and a kind lad, and 111 no 
 hear ill of him; if it was my last breath, 
 it's a' lees, Miss Marget." 
 
 I did not ask what it was that was 
 " a' lees ;" but I marvelled at myself that 
 did not check Jenny, and bid her be silent, 
 and never to mint such things to me. To 
 speak the truth, it dumbfoundered me. I could 
 not tell what to say ; but when she went to 
 get me my dinner, and I was left by myself, 
 and had time to think, I was much vexed 
 and angered at myself. For the like of this 
 story did not bear thinking of; and 1 kent 
 very well whatever the French gipsey had 
 done, Mr. Allan could have no hand in it ; 
 and I was sore displeased to hear my bairn's 
 name in idle clavers like that. Also, it 
 troubled me to think that, maybe, Mary was 
 not dealing wisely ; and that she ought to 
 have told plain out the why and wherefore ; 
 but truly it is easy to be wise behindhand.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 65 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1 ABODE at Sunnyside for three or four 
 days after that. Many folk in Burrow stoun 
 were blythe of a word with me, to outward 
 appearance, being an old neighbour, and well 
 kent in the place; and I cannot say but 
 what it was a comfort to have certain days 
 to my own self, to meditate upon all that had 
 befallen our house and kindred, and about 
 the shadow of trouble that was upon us. 
 Also, there were many changes in the place 
 itself; the old folk, many of them had 
 passed to their rest, and the son sat in the
 
 66 LILLTESLEAF. 
 
 father's seat; but truly, I minded them all 
 when they were bairns ; and young folk have 
 ever been pleasant to me, all my days. I 
 both marvelled, and was blythe to hear how 
 every one spoke of my Mary. She was no 
 bit young thing now, dwelling under the 
 shadow of her father's house ; but was kent 
 as a righteous woman, ruling her own, and 
 no without a measure of self-will, and her 
 own w^ay, either, as I came to learn — but 
 very well liked, and well thought of, both 
 by gentle and simple. As for Mr. Allan j 
 few folk mentioned him to me ; no that he 
 was in ill repute, for every one had a kind 
 thought of him ; but, either they had a 
 fancy that I w^as not pleased, or that I had 
 reason so to be; for it was only now and 
 then that one would speak of Lilliesleaf. 
 There was some horse-racing nigh at hand, 
 1 heard here, and that was the reason why 
 Lord Burrowstoun and his friends had come
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 67 
 
 hither at this season — and, truly, no person 
 thought well of them. 
 
 As for Mr. Allan's works about Cruive End 
 they w^ere stoppit a year ago ; and the im- 
 provements had made little speed since I left 
 the place. Mr. Allan had been a great man 
 for improvements, at the season of his mar- 
 riage ; but his good thoughts had been but 
 unstable — poor man ! truly I was grieved in 
 my heart concerning him many a day, as 
 I lookit forth from my parlour window, or 
 took my walk into the town ; for he was not 
 a strong tower in the country side, as it had 
 been my hope to see him; and when folk 
 spoke of any good work, it was his wife that 
 they named, and no him — the which was 
 a grief to me, and small pleasure to Mary, 
 as I kent well. 
 
 Also, by the means of Jenny, I heard 
 many idle stories that were throng in the 
 countryside, the which I put no faith in, as
 
 68 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 neither did Jenny ; but they still showed to 
 me how fremd folk made a speech of it, 
 and gossip was about the house — my dear 
 bairn's house that should have been sacred ! 
 For me, it was hard to refrain and no blame 
 Mrs. Elphinstone ; for we are evil folk in 
 our hearts, and aye blythe to lay blame on 
 somebody, and truly I could not be content, 
 but that whiles she put ill in folk's heads. 
 
 The Sabbath I spent in peace and quiet- 
 ness at Sunnnyside, there being two diets 
 of worship in our own kirk, and faithful 
 serving of the Word in both ; and, also, I 
 had much converse with Lilly Robb, Jenny's 
 niece, and found her to be a very well-disposed 
 young woman, that had thought upon the 
 things that concerned her peace, and was 
 likewise going to be mamed ; and though she 
 had but little to say, I could see that the 
 root of the matter was well grafted in her, 
 which was a great comfort to me, seeing I
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 69 
 
 had been out of my house so long, and had 
 lost opportunities of guiding this young 
 thing aright ; but, truly, the Lord is never 
 distant, and there had been no lack for the 
 like of me. I gave her an advice, being at 
 such a season of her life ; and also promised 
 to speak to Jenny about her providing, and 
 a gown to be married in, — the which things — 
 forbye being a custom in our house — both 
 Jenny herself and the young woman were 
 well worthy of, being faithful and leal 
 servants to mine and me. 
 
 On the Tuesday morning, hearing a 
 skriegh of pleasure out of the kitchen, 
 where Jenny had been humming bits of 
 tunes in to herself, as she did her work — for 
 she would take no rest, let me say as I might — 
 I lookit forth from my window to see what it 
 might be ; and, truly, it was Mary and the 
 bairns in the little carriage, and Cosmo upon 
 his pony, all come to take me back to
 
 70 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Lilliesleaf. I was blythe to see them, without 
 doubt ; but it likewise gave me a stound and 
 tremble at my heart, for I had made up my 
 mind, when I went back, to speak plain to 
 Mary, and warn the bairn what wisdom she 
 needed to guide her way, and how it behoved 
 her to consider what she could do, to set 
 Mr. Allan right, even if it should be by 
 conforming to his ways in everything that 
 was not sin. So, when I saw her bonnie 
 fresh face at the window, to speak the truth, 
 my heart failed me ; for I kent she would 
 not bear to hear either friend or foe 
 blame Mr. Allan ; and, truly, it is ever a 
 thankless thing to interfere between married 
 folk. 
 
 I did not go to the door, but stood at the 
 window watching them. And in they came — 
 all the bairns, skipping through the shadows of 
 the trees, and running into the blythe morning 
 light that was like themselves, so bonnie, and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 7 1 
 
 fresh, and innocent. They all gathered close 
 about Jenny on the door-steps; and every 
 one had a word to tell her; and Jenny was 
 so fain and so pleased that she was nigh to 
 greeting; and I saw what a delight these 
 little things were to every old person that had 
 a right to them. Truly, there is nothing in the 
 world so sweet or so blessed as the heritage 
 of bairns. Susie, for all so genty and quiet 
 a bairn as she was, was mounted up upon 
 Jenny's shoulder ; and that was how she came 
 in to me, to the parlour where I was waiting. 
 Jenny had on a short gown made of a thrifty 
 print, and a checked apron tied about her as 
 was right in the morning; and truly the 
 strings had need to have been well sewed on, 
 for the strain Claud gave them, tearing at the 
 apron ; though what the laddie wanted with 
 it, except just mischief, I know not. 
 
 Cosmo was behind them all with his 
 mamma. He was a big callant of his years,
 
 72 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 strong and well-grown ; and it was his pride 
 to be aye beside her, like a grown-up man, 
 taking care of her. Doubtless, Mary w^as 
 proud of him, such a fine, bold, bonnie boy 
 as he was ; but I could not help thinking that 
 there was aye a glance in Cosmo's eye, which 
 meant that his father should have been here, 
 and defied every body to think less of his 
 mother than of the queen upon her throne. 
 It was not good for the bairns to hear old 
 Mrs. Elphinstone, how she spoke. 
 
 " We've a' come to take thoo home," said 
 Susie, riding upon Jenny's shoulder. " Grand- 
 mamma at the Manse wants thoo, Aunty, 
 and mamma and Susie ; and thoo're never to 
 go away any more." 
 
 "And aunt, Janet says Claud would be 
 good if you would come and tell us stories," 
 said little Mary ; " but he's broken Susie's 
 carriage, and my skipping rope; and the 
 mill that played music that you brought us
 
 LTLLIESLEAF. 73 
 
 from Oakenshaw — he's broken them a' since 
 you were away." 
 
 " But I made another one, aunt," said 
 Claud. " She's telling lees on me. I made 
 a grand mill that could grind things; and 
 Robbie at the Manse helpit me; but papa 
 took it away to let somebody see it, and never 
 brought it back again. It wasna my blame." 
 
 " Papa has come home, aunt," said Cosmo. 
 The bairn spoke so suddenly, that his voice 
 startled me, coming so close after the bits of 
 pleasant voices of the other little things ; and 
 I aye felt it behoved me to answer Cosmo, 
 for he was far different from the rest. 
 
 "And you'll all be very glad of that, my 
 dears," said I. 
 
 Cosmo looked into my face — straight into 
 it, as if he wanted to see what T meant ; and 
 then he said, " Yes ;" aye keeping his eye 
 upon me. Truly, he was a strange callant. 
 I could not fathom him. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " I'm glad !" said little Mary, " papa lets 
 me and Claud ride upon ponies as big as 
 Cosmo's ; and grandmamma aye scolds papa 
 when he's at home, and never minds us ; and 
 you'll be pleased, aunt, for papa likes to see 
 you at Lilliesleaf." 
 
 " And mamma's glad," said Susie, whis- 
 pering in close at my cheek, for she was on 
 my knee by this time, " for papa's aye so 
 good when he's at home." 
 
 I was blythe it was only me that heard 
 what little Susie said. I could have broken 
 my heart if 1 had thought it was Mary's 
 blame that a little bairn should speak like 
 this ; but it was not their mother's doing, 
 poor thing ; it was old Mrs. Elphinstone — 
 and this was what made Mary so feared for 
 them hearing what her converse was. 
 
 When Mary herself came in, she was 
 looking so fresh and fair, and the cloud was 
 so lightened off her bonnie brow, that I took
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 75 
 
 heart again. She said they had come to take 
 me home — that Mr. Allan would have come 
 himself but for being busy ; and that she was 
 going on to Burrowstolm to the shops, and 
 I was to put my bonnet on and come with her. 
 
 " For, of course, the bairns have told you, 
 aunt," said Mary, with a mother's smile at them 
 all. " You will hear of nothing else till it is all 
 over, and we have to give our orders now." 
 
 Not kenning what it was, I lookit from 
 one to another, and Claud cried out : 
 
 " We didna tell you, auntie ; — a' the folk in 
 the country are coming to Lilliesleaf. There's 
 to be a grand party, and we're a' to get leave 
 to be there." 
 
 *' It's on my birthday, aunt," said Mary, 
 half with a smile, and half with a sigh, 
 " that is in a fortnight — do you mind ? — and 
 Allan thinks it will please me. It is very 
 kind of him — he thinks it will be a pleasure 
 to me." 
 
 E 2
 
 76 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 My dear bairn ! she was wistful and 
 anxious for all she said of pleasure ; and yet 
 she was pleased too, and was blythe to think 
 that he meant it for a compliment to her. 
 Little things please women-folk, if they look 
 like love at the heart. 
 
 So I went to put my bonnet on straight- 
 way, and when I came back, Jenny had the 
 table spread, and the bairns were all busy with 
 her scones and her jam and milk, and Mary had 
 a glass of our own elder wine. I would not 
 take upon me to say that Mary likit, in any 
 bye ordinary way, the elder wine that Jenny 
 made at Sunnyside, though it used to be 
 a great treat to Claud and Grace and her 
 when they were bairns ; but she keeped it 
 before her on the table, and put it to her 
 lips as she spoke to Jenny — for Jenny, 
 truly, abode in the room the whole time, 
 being so fond and so proud about the bairns 
 that she forgot her manners, even when J
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 77 
 
 myself came down the stair. So, at last, 
 we got away ; and though our bit garden at 
 Sunnyside was nothing to Lilliesleaf, nor 
 even to the Manse garden, Jenny laboured 
 to gather all the primroses for little Susie, 
 and I believe the body would have been fain 
 to cut down the trees or the berry bushes, if 
 the bairns had but wished for them ; and truly 
 I do not know if 1 was much wiser myself. 
 
 We went away down the road first of all 
 to Burrowstoun, to Ralph Plane, the joiner's, 
 and to Mrs. Rasp, and to the mantua-maker, 
 for the bairns were to have new frocks, and 
 there was to be some grand tent made with 
 canvass, that all the little things were wild 
 about. When we had done our errands, we 
 turned the ponies' heads to go home. It was 
 a very cheery bonnie day, and both the mother 
 and the bairns were blythe about me. I could 
 not let any shadow be in my heart, and truly 
 it was hard to think of grief and trouble
 
 78 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 in Mary's lot, and her surrounded by such 
 bonnie faces. My dear bairn ! if she had 
 the cares of this world, she likewise had the 
 best joys of it, and I gave thanks in my 
 heart for her, for there were not four such 
 bairns — that I could see — in the whole 
 country side.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ten years had made but little difference, 
 so far as the outward eye could see, upon 
 Mr. Allan. He had the same kindly happy 
 look, almost the same youthfulness as he 
 was wont to have, and being scarce in his 
 prime yet, the odds was less upon him than 
 even upon Mary, who, doubtless, having the 
 troubles and toils of the mother of a family, 
 was less like what she was, though she was 
 not less bonnie than she used to be. When 
 1 saw Mr. Allan first, the day I came to 
 Lilliesleaf, his face was clouded ; but now he 
 was at peace with himself, having come back 
 to his own house again, and truly I marvelled
 
 80 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 how any mortal could think ill of him, seeing 
 how fond he was both about Mary and the 
 bairns. 
 
 '* Were they very tiresome company, aunt, 
 when I was away ?" he said to me. " I take 
 it as a personal compliment that you left 
 Lilliesleaf in my absence. Aunt Margaret 
 does not prefer your company to mine, 
 Mary, as she used to do — and I shall prize 
 the distinction." 
 
 " But Aunt Margaret went to see Jenny, 
 papa," cried little Mary, " and she likes 
 mamma and us best — it was not because you 
 were away." 
 
 "Hush, httle ones," said Mr. Allan. 
 " Come and show Aunt Margaret where 
 our tent is to be. Where are you going, 
 Cosmo ? Come and explain all our business 
 to Aunt Margaret. Do you hear me, sir ? 
 where are you going ?" 
 
 " I am going with mamma," said Cosmo.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 8 1 
 
 The laddie's voice was low, and not to call 
 pleasant in its tone, and he lifted up his 
 head, and stood in a defying way before 
 his father, as truly I was grieved to see him, 
 for the Gallant was aye brooding upon what 
 Mrs. Elphinstone said, and had not the sense 
 to know how much of it was but the com- 
 plaining of a fretful spirit. Mr. Allan's tace 
 grew red up to the hair, and there was both 
 anger and shame in his eye ; and the look that 
 passed between the two was not such a look 
 as ought to be between a father and a son. 
 
 "This boy tries my patience, Mary," said 
 Mr. AEan in a haughty and reproachful way, 
 turning away from him, and making me take 
 his arm. Woe's me! one ill aye leads to 
 another. She was distressed at Cosmo's 
 look, and yet half angered with his father 
 for blaming him ; and the callant clung 
 closer and closer to Mary, and looked as if 
 he was set for her defence against the whole 
 
 E 3
 
 82 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 world. The whole of this was grievous and 
 sore to me. 
 
 And we went forth upon the bonnie green 
 sod, with the trees over us swelling and 
 quickening with the coming summer, and 
 went on our way to the bonniest spot in 
 all the grounds of Lilliesleaf — little Claud 
 and Mary, that were nearest each other in age, 
 running on before us, and Susie holding fast 
 by her mother's hand behind, and Cosmo 
 walking proud by her side. Mr. Allan's 
 face was discomposed as he went with me, 
 but the cloud abode not long, and when we 
 came to the place, he was quite himself 
 again, only that I noticed he would not speak 
 to Cosmo. It was a hollow in the ground, 
 with bonnie natural banks sloping up, and 
 trees here and there, where nobody would 
 have planted them, but where the winds had 
 sown the seed, and where it was far bonnier 
 than the skilfuUest art to see them grow
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 83 
 
 at their own will. At one end, raised a little 
 upon a brae, was a bonnie level of green sod, 
 a bit of table land among all the slopes, 
 with trees behind and round about it, but 
 quite clear of w^ood itself; and there the 
 great tent was to be. A pleasanter place 
 could not have been for any innocent re- 
 joicing, and truly I was blythe to think of the 
 bonnie sunshine, and the long summer day 
 that would make this festivity more innocent 
 and seemly — to my way of thinking, being 
 an aged woman — than those weary nights at 
 the Castle that vexed the spirit of my Mary, 
 and wiled Mr. Allan away. 
 
 " And all the folk are to dance here, aunt," 
 cried little Mary, who was in the heart of 
 the hollow, skipping about upon the grass, 
 " and the music's to be in yonder among the 
 trees, where nobody can see it ; and mamma 
 and you are to sit up in the tent, and look at 
 a' the folk — and the ladies will have a' such
 
 84 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 bonnie dresses on. Oh, Susie ! — and papa 
 says we're a' to get leave to come, and have 
 some wine to drink mamma's health. I 
 wish I had a birthday like mamma." 
 
 " Be as good as mamma, little Mary,'* said 
 Mr. Allan, going back to the side of my 
 Mary with a smile that rejoiced my heart, 
 " and somebody will think as much of your 
 birthday as 1 do of mamma's." 
 
 I saw the tears come to Mary's eye, half 
 in sorrow, half in pleasure; and truly they 
 were standing warm in my owm— but through 
 it all, 1 could not but perceive the dark glance 
 of the callant Cosmo ; the laddie understood 
 nothing of his father — how should he, being 
 but a boy ? And though he was far before 
 his years in most things, he w^as too young 
 to know what inconsistent folk we are, and 
 how Mr. Allan might cherish his wife in 
 his heart, above every other earthly thing, 
 yet give many a light hour and careless day
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 85 
 
 to other folk, and grieve her he liked best. 
 Truly it was strange to myself to think upon 
 it ; and my true thought is that auld age and 
 youth, the one of which has not begun the 
 sore work of life, and the other is resting 
 from it, are the hardest judges, and seek 
 perfectness ever, even when they ken it is not 
 to be found. 
 
 Truly, it is easy for us to speak, that have 
 come safe out of the world, and its snares and 
 temptations, and have come to our aged days, 
 and have our hearts quieted within us ; but 
 so far as I can see, we are mostly hard judges 
 of them that are fighting for their own hand 
 in the sore wrestle of life. For, in my way, I 
 was even as thoughtless as other folk, and 
 said ofttimes to myself, with his bonnie wife 
 and bairns, and his good estate, what could 
 the longing heart of man crave more, than 
 the Lord had given to Mr. Allan ? I minded 
 not what was in man's heart, and how it ever
 
 86 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 desires what it hath not, more than what it 
 has. 
 
 When we returned back, httle Susie was 
 mounted up on Mr. Allan's shoulder, and 
 Mary went by his side. Little Mary and 
 Claud aye ran on before, and Cosmo, (his 
 papa had never spoken to him) was with me. 
 Such a bonnie, bold boy he was, like a man, 
 for all he was a bairn in years. I did not 
 wonder Mary was proud of him. I was even 
 proud to look upon him myself. 
 
 " But Cosmo," said T, *' my dear bairn, 
 what makes you gloom The face of a 
 young callant like you should never be clouded 
 like that." 
 
 " I am not a baby, aunt," said the bold 
 laddie. "I cannot aye be smiling like Susie. 
 I look like what 1 feel." 
 
 " Ay, Cosmo," said I, " but a boy like you 
 should never feel as if he would like to gloom. 
 A young spirit should aye be a blythe spirit ;
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 87 
 
 and you're only a bairn. And truly you're a 
 favoured bairn, with many a good thing in 
 your lot that other folk cannot get. And to 
 see the like of you discontented is not a 
 seemly thing to look upon; and I like not 
 to see it, Cosmo, my dear." 
 
 " I'm no discontented," said Cosmo, in 
 a sullen way; and then he looked up 
 at me quick. " Are you pleased with 
 papa, Aunt Margaret? For grandmamma 
 says — " 
 
 *' Cosmo," said I, in a troubled way — for I 
 did not want to say an ill word of Mrs. El- 
 phinstone — " do you know what your papa is, 
 and what you are ? You are a little callant 
 that kens not truth from lees ; and your papa 
 is a man, and knows what life and the world 
 are ; and do you think there ever was in the 
 Bible, a bairn that asked other folk, if they 
 were pleased with his father ? I would be 
 blythe to see your mother's son a bairn of
 
 88 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 grace, Cosmo ; and no one that goes against 
 the Word can be that." 
 
 The Gallant hung his head for a space ; but 
 he was not content. " You did not tell me, 
 aunt," he said, in a kind of breathless way, 
 half-angered at me, and half-thinking shame 
 of himself. 
 
 " My dear," said I, " when your papa was 
 a young lad, and no the man he is now, I 
 likit him well ; and I'll like him well all his 
 days, Cosmo ; and I pray for the blessing of 
 the Lord upon him and his, and I am no 
 feared for what any mortal says." 
 
 " Aunt Margaret," said Cosmo, in a very 
 earnest manner, with the water in his eyes, 
 poor bairn ! " I like papa ! there's no a gentle- 
 man like him in the county ; and Lord 
 Burro wstoun is not fit to speak to my father. 
 But then grandmamma says — " 
 
 " She never said it for you, Cosmo," said 
 I, " nor meant you should hear. Whiles your
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 89 
 
 mamma tells me stories of her ill bairns, that 
 she would not like me to say o'er again ; and 
 your papa was once grandmamma's bairn, and 
 maybe as ill-willy as you are, Cosmo. But 
 she never means you to think less of him for 
 all that. How long is it since you learned 
 the fifth command ?" 
 
 " I don't forget it, aunt," said Cosmo, 
 holding down his head, and turning very red. 
 The laddie was not so ill a bairn, but he kent 
 when to think shame. 
 
 " Well, my man, let me see," said I, " and 
 mind, I like not a winter sky in spring. Put 
 you away that gloom of yours, and your 
 mamma will be better pleased, as well as me." 
 
 " I will. Aunt Margaret — indeed, I will," 
 cried Cosmo. I have seen few callants like 
 him. He was more thoughtful than became 
 his years ; but there was much good in the 
 bairn, and a hopeful spirit, though as proud 
 and dour as ever was, when he was roused to
 
 90 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 keep his own part, or thought another meant 
 not true. 
 
 We went back to the house, in better con- 
 tent with one another; and Susie's bonnie 
 bit face looking over Mr. Allan's shoulder 
 brought lightness in my heart. When we 
 went into the house, he made me sit down in 
 the big chair, and came close beside me, and 
 name over to me all the names of the folk 
 that were to be invited ; and truly there were 
 grand folk among them ; and I could not 
 but be pleased at the thought that they were 
 all to come together to do honour to my 
 niece Mary, who was doubtless come of as 
 creditable a stock as any of them, but no so 
 great according to the counting of this world. 
 
 " I wonder if we could induce Claud to 
 come, and Grace," said Mr. Allan ; " then, 
 Mary, your party would be complete; and 
 we could crown all her friends and well- 
 wishers, as the country-folk say, with a closer
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 9 1 
 
 circle of people who love her, Aunt Margaret. 
 What do you think ? Would Oakenshaw 
 be persuaded, and come ?" 
 
 " But, Allan, you do not call these my 
 friends and well-wishers ?" said Mary, looking 
 over his shoulder. " I am not so ambitious. 
 There are some of these ladies who will never 
 forget that I was born in the Manse of Pas- 
 turelands. They are very civil and polite 
 acquaintances, and like to make me feel un- 
 comfortable, aunt. We wish each other 
 well after a very restricted fashion. They 
 are the great people of the country-side, and 
 not my friends." 
 
 " That is their bad taste, or your hauteur ^^^ 
 said Mr. Allan, but not with a pleasant tone. 
 " Notwithstanding, Mrs. Elphinstone of Lillies- 
 leaf has a great many admirers, aunt. The 
 great people are not so indifferent to her 
 attractions as she says they are." 
 
 " Truly, Mr. Allan," said I, " if she has
 
 92 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 one to admire her, now she is a married wife, 
 it will be all she is minding about ; though 
 she ever had many to wish her well, all the 
 days of her youth." 
 
 " Never so many as now, Aunt Margaret," 
 said Mr. Allan. " There, we won't discuss 
 the subject ; but would Claud and his family 
 come, do you think ? Mary, have we ever 
 had them in Lilliesleaf ?" 
 
 " No," said Mary, with a momentary falter 
 in her voice, '^ except once, for a day or two. 
 They are always at the Manse or at Sunny- 
 side. My mother has the best claim ; and 
 Grace is so fond of her old home. I like 
 to go there myself, aunt ; there is only one 
 Sunnyside in the world to Grace and me." 
 
 " Order !" said Mr. Allan, striking upon 
 the table with a bonnie little ivory ruler that 
 came out of Mary's desk. " We are not 
 speaking of Sunnyside, but of Lilliesleaf. 
 I have my associations, too, with your house,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 93 
 
 Aunt Margaret ; but we will not enter on so 
 wide a subject. ' Will Claud come here to 
 Many s fete? What does Aunt Margaret say?" 
 
 I looked in Mary's face, and it was trou- 
 bled; and I saw that in her secret heart, 
 though she yearned for them, the bairn was 
 feared for their coming. So I said, " Mary 
 and me will consult about it, Mr. Allan ; but 
 Claud has aye his duty ; and Grace is far 
 from strong. We will lay our two heads 
 together, and see what is most fitting. They 
 would be blythe to come, if they could but 
 win, right." 
 
 *' I suppose Claud's position makes no 
 difference in these duties of his," said Mr. 
 Allan, with something like a sigh ; " and I 
 suppose you would think it wrong, aunt, if 
 it difJ. Yet, I wonder he endures the bondage 
 ' — it must be a great restraint upon him." 
 
 " He thinks it is the best work between 
 this and heaven, Mr. Allan " said I ; "and
 
 94 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 truly a man must do something, and cannot 
 spend his strength on nought. Wherefore 
 should it be a bondage ? It is far easier to 
 Claud, than idleset would be." 
 
 " Still breaking your lance against ' idleset,' 
 Aunt Margaret," said Mr. Allan, rising up 
 with a smile upon his kindly face ; " but I 
 am a confirmed idler, I fear. I will leave 
 you now to your consultations ; and I hope 
 you will decide that Claud and Grace must 
 come. You will find me in the library when 
 you want me, Mary." 
 
 And so he went away; and the bairns 
 having been sent away before, Mary and me 
 were left our lane — and truly it put me in 
 a tremble ; for I was very doubtful whether 
 I ought to speak to her, or what I should 
 say.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 95 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 We sat, for a while, looking at each other, 
 not knowing what to say ; and, at last, when 
 I saw^ she could not bear it any longer, Mary 
 pushed away her chair, and went to the other 
 end of the room to get her seam, that she 
 might hide her face from me ; and when she 
 was there at a distance, and only looking at me 
 sideways, she spoke in a hesitating, breathless 
 way, that it grieved me to hear, 
 
 "I think, aunt," said Mary, "that, per- 
 haps, considering all the circumstances, and the 
 difference between their ways and ours, and 
 all the time they have been away — I think, 
 aunt — do not be displeased at me — that,
 
 96 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 may be, it would be as well if Claud and 
 Grace did not come to Lilliesleaf." 
 
 " Very well, Mary, my dear," said I ; for, 
 in my weakness, though I kent the bairn's 
 motive so well, I was angered for the moment, 
 " very well, Mary ; they were looking for no 
 invitation ; and truly I see no reason that 
 they should ever ken what Mr. Allan said." 
 
 "Aunt, you ought not to misunderstand 
 me," said Mary, coming back again, with a 
 flush upon her face, and some water in her 
 eyes ; " you know what I mean — you know 
 why it is that I am straitened in my own 
 house — you, at least, ought not to be dis- 
 pleased." 
 
 "And that is true, Mary," said I. "I 
 ought to know better ; but we're all frail — 
 and I like not a slight to any one of my 
 bairns — and that was just my first thought." 
 
 " And what do you think is my first 
 thought, aunt?" said Mary, with a little
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 97 
 
 bitterness. " What do you think my opinion 
 of myself is, when I say such a thing ? — 
 only, aunt," — and the bairn stood before me 
 with her bonnie face shining, and the clear 
 red colour rising in it, like what I had seen 
 her many a time in the days of her youth — 
 *' only Mrs. Elphinstone's fault-finding is for 
 no ear but mine ; and I wnll not have any 
 one deluded to believe things that are not 
 true. Claud is a minister, aunt," she went 
 on, sitting down upon her chair ; " and there 
 are many things innocent enough for other 
 men, that would not suit him — and — they 
 have had no clouds upon their life ; they have 
 never learnt to make allowance for the habits 
 or the infirmities of others. Aunt, will you 
 understand me? or must I speak plainer, and 
 show you all my heart ?" 
 
 " My dear," said I, " it might be no harm 
 if you showed all your heart to the like of 
 me, that like you well — but I ask not for it, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Mary. I will understand you, my poor bairn. 
 I ken what you mean." 
 
 But she was not content with thatj either 
 — she would have me understand her, 
 and yet not understand her. I ever said 
 either too little, or too much. 
 
 " You are not to pity me, aunt," she said, 
 with a strange smile upon her face. " I am 
 not poor Mrs. Elphinstone, whatever any one 
 may say. I have nothing to regret — nothing 
 to find fault with. Allan may be imprudent, 
 but he never forgets either himself or me." 
 
 " I never thought he did, Mary, my dear," 
 said I j "I ken his nature, and what a plea- 
 sant nature it is ; and I ken it is not in him 
 to do the like of such evil, or to think of it. 
 You need not be feared for me." 
 
 " What have you heard, aunt ?" said Mary, 
 looking in my face, as if I had stricken her 
 a blow. 
 
 " Truly, my dear," said I, " I have heard
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 99 
 
 what Mrs. Elphinstone, kenning the evils of 
 this world, took upon her to say — and I put 
 no faith in it, Mary ; but, my bairn, if you 
 will bear with me, I was thinking of a word 
 of counsel — will I tell you, Mary ?" 
 
 " Yes, aunt, yes," she said, leaning over 
 to me, in an eager way, with light burning 
 in her bonnie blue eyes, that was not natural 
 there. Poor bairn ! it was not the advice 
 she wanted, but to hear what I had heard. 
 
 '' My dear," said I, " you ken you were 
 aye brought up in a very quiet way; and 
 there is many a thing in the world that never 
 comes into a minister's family, that's innocent 
 and right enough, when folk do it in a right 
 spirit ; and, if you will take an advice from 
 me, Mary, you'll take share of Mr. Allan's 
 pleasures ; and that will take the handle from 
 ill-willy folk, and they will have nothing to 
 speak about more. I am no feared for your 
 own spirit, my dear bairn; you'll neither 
 
 F 2
 
 100 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 forget your right duty, nor where your bless- 
 ings come from ; and for all I warned both 
 Grace and you against the snares of pleasure, 
 when you were young things, it's different 
 now. Mary, my dear bairn, do not be feared 
 — where he goes, you should go ; and you'll 
 deliver him out of snares, and help him to 
 keep the true way, and put ill-speaking out 
 of folk's heads. It behoves you to be wise, 
 and take heed, Mary ; and you must not let 
 an ill report grow on Mr. Allan, whatever 
 you should do to keep it off." 
 
 " Oh, aunt, an ill report !" said Mary, in a 
 wild way — and then she stopped quick and 
 drew nearer to me — and lookit in my face as 
 if she would command me to her will. 
 " Whatever reports there may be, you will 
 not believe them, and you will never mention 
 them again. Say you will not, aunt ! Oh ! 
 they were not true 1" 
 
 I believed well in my heart that they were
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 101 
 
 not true ; but I saw also that Mary, for all her 
 anxious words, was not near so sure as me. 
 
 " My dear," said I, " you are no to speak 
 as if I thought Mr. AUan needed to be ex- 
 cused ; he maun be excused to nobody, Mary, 
 and you must not look as if he was to blame. 
 But if he'll no take your ways, try his, my 
 dear, and please him his ain way, and make 
 it right and innocent; for his sake and 
 Cosmo's, Mary, my bairn." 
 
 Her face lighted up with a gleam, like as 
 of surprise and joy — as one might look that 
 had found in a moment what they had long 
 been looking for and then the shade came 
 over it again. " Mrs. Elphinstone ?" she said. 
 
 " Mrs. Elphinstone is Mr. Allan's mother, 
 and thinks, like all the rest of us, that she 
 may say what she will of her ain bairn," said 
 I, " and her mind's failed, Mary. She's a 
 sore failed woman from what she was when I 
 saw her last. She's fallen into age, and her
 
 102 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 mind's decayed : she maun e'en say her say, 
 and never be disturbed by you." 
 
 Mary made me no answer, but pondered 
 long in her own mind ; and then she spoke 
 suddenly at last, as if I had not been waiting 
 silent all this time for what she was to say. 
 
 " Aunt," said Mary, " I see it quite well ; 
 it is all true. It is I who have been to blame. 
 I have never forgotten that I was a minister's 
 daughter, and I have treated things gravely 
 that should have been passed over with a light 
 hand. J have been wrong — help me, aunt !" 
 
 She held out her hand to me, and I took 
 it within my two hands. It was bonnie, and 
 white, and small, but thinner than it ought to 
 be ; and there was the one ring upon the 
 finger that telled of aU the troublous lot, and 
 cares of this hfe. She was past the time for 
 many tears, my Mary ; for she was now a 
 woman of a sober age, and it is only given to 
 youth to ease its heart and weep. But she
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 103 
 
 turned her face away from me, and put the 
 other hand over her eyes, and it is my hope, 
 at that moment, that she was putting up a 
 word of supplication, and craving a blessing 
 in her heart. 
 
 " And what will my mother think of me ?" 
 said Mary, then. " You must stand by me, 
 aunt — and if you do, perhaps I might give 
 myself one pleasure, and ask Claud and 
 Grace here. If I once begin," and she made 
 a little stop and looked up to me with a ghnt 
 of mirth and mischief in her face, like the 
 look ^that once made little Mary's the blythest 
 face about the Manse of Pasturelands. " If I 
 begin, aunt, there is no saying where I may 
 end ; and even you yourself may misunder- 
 stand me, and think me led away. But, Aunt 
 Margaret, promise — you will always remember 
 the advice you have given me, and keep my 
 part. Promise, aunt ! I see — I see ! I 
 may save it all yet !"
 
 104 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 I promised her, scarce knowing what she 
 meant — and truly it was hard to ken it was 
 the same Mary, so full of spirit as she was 
 now. She went to write a letter to Claud, 
 — as blythe a letter as I ever saw — and then 
 she sat apart in the window working fast at 
 her seam, with a smile coming and going 
 upon her face, pondering her own thoughts. 
 Truly, if I had not been pleased, I would have 
 been troubled, marvelling what had come over 
 the bairn. 
 
 It was a bonnie May-day, and the weather 
 was warm, so we gathered to the low windows 
 of the big grand drawing-room, about six in 
 the night, after the dinner was past, and 
 before the bairns went to their beds. Mr. 
 Allan, he was out upon the bonnie slope of 
 grass before the window, lying all his length 
 upon it, with Susie at his shoulder, and little 
 Mary at his knee, whiles telling them a story, 
 whiles singing, whiles rising up to jump them
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 105 
 
 high in his arms ; and, truly, I saw not a sign 
 about him, that his mind was straying to 
 other pleasure, or that he had a thought that 
 was apart from his own home. Further down, 
 upon the gravel path, was little Claud with 
 his knife and a bit of wood ; for he was an 
 awful callant for mechanics, and doubtless was 
 making something that was very clever in its 
 way, for he had not time to say a word, and 
 was very ill-pleased when Mary came, pulling 
 at him, to play with papa. Then, within the 
 open window, was my Mary, the mother of 
 the bairns, in a bonnie light shining silk gown, 
 finer than what she had for common wear, 
 and rich fine lace about her white neck, and 
 her bonnie wrists and hands. She was as 
 fair to look upon as a woman that was no 
 more in her first bloom could be, and far 
 bonnier than she herself was in her ain youth ; 
 and when the sun came glinting in upon 
 her, and lighted a gleam in her shining hair, 
 
 F 3
 
 106 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 and syne sank down to her gown, and painted 
 it all into a brighter colour, my heart was fain 
 to look upon my bairn. Cosmo was sitting 
 on the ledge of the window, with his head in 
 and his feet out, learning his lessons, like a 
 wise callant, and very steady and thoughtful 
 like, and I was in the big chair behind. Mrs. 
 Elphinstone keepit her room being feared for 
 * draughts and cold air ; and, truly, we were like 
 unto a pleasant family — greeing well, and good 
 to one another — to every mortal that saw 
 us then. 
 
 The bairns did what they would with Mr. 
 Allan ; he played with them like a happy 
 callant, as blythe as any one there, and sure 
 am I, all the Lady Julias in the world were 
 nought to that young man, compared to his 
 httle bairn Susie, and his bonnie wife that sat 
 so cheery and so bright behind. I could not 
 help but marvel at the ill stories about him. 
 Who could credit evil of Allan Elphinstone,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 107 
 
 that saw him as I saw him ? But, woes me ! 
 that was the very thing that harmed the pleasant 
 young man. He was of that spirit that he 
 aye enjoyed whatever pleasure came in his 
 way ; and though it is hard to me to believe 
 that he could be as blythe at the Castle, as he 
 was here at his own house, yet truly I must 
 e'en credit, because it was even so. He was 
 like a bairn in his spirit, and meant no evil 
 wherever he went. 
 
 And when the Httle things went away to 
 their beds, and only Cosmo was left, we had 
 pleasant converse, them and me. The Lord 
 had blessed the poor word I said to my 
 Mary — it was as if new spirit had come into 
 the bairn ; and truly I was blythe to hear 
 Mr. Allan and her taking close counsel 
 together, and drawing nearer and nearer to 
 one another. All this time Cosmo stood 
 looking at them, his bright brown e'en glow- 
 ing out under his bonnie brow. He kent
 
 108 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 not, nor could understand, the spirit of his 
 father and his mother; but there was a 
 wistful young mind in the callant, and he 
 pondered what he saw. 
 
 When I went in from the window, where 
 the moon was gleaming out above the trees, 
 and the sough of the leaves, and the sighing 
 of the burn sounded nearer and clearer in the 
 quiet of the night, my heart was moved 
 within me for that house and the dwellers 
 there. Truly my prayer was for prosperity, 
 and the blessing of the Highest — but more 
 than all, that their feet might be guided out 
 of slippery ways, and the paths of pleasantness 
 bring them to wisdom and to the grace 
 of God.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Ay, Janet," said I, " I mind very well 
 the time you came here. It was when Claud 
 came first to this world, and that's eight long 
 years ago. You have made a long sojourn at 
 Lilliesleaf, and it's my hope you'll make a 
 longer sojourn yet, specially since your son 
 is gone from your hands and doing so weel." 
 
 " Yes, Mem, he's a weel-doing lad ; he was 
 aye a weel-doing lad," said Janet Scott, who had 
 charge of the nursery, putting up the end of 
 her apron to her e'en ; " but its a far way for 
 a mother to part with her one bairn, and 
 maybe never to see him more. I'm a real 
 unthankfu' person in my true heart, though
 
 1 1 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 folk may think better o' me than I deserve. 
 I canna get ower my complaining, Miss 
 Margaret, and I aye think I would be sae 
 blythe to see Alick, if it was but aince, for 
 he*s a' I have in this world." 
 
 " Na, Janet," said I, " you cannot say the 
 like of that, and you has your strength un- 
 failed, and many a way of serving the Lord. 
 I could not hear that, Janet ; and truly there 
 are times when I would be blythe to be you, 
 among all those bonnie bairns." 
 
 "Weel, they are a pleasure," said Janet 
 looking round upon them. " Weel-con- 
 ditioned bairns, and in grand order, though 
 I say it, that shouldna say it ; for the mistress 
 hersel, she mony a time brings them to me, 
 when they're a thocht wild, and no ane of 
 them will do a thing contrair when aince 
 I say no. They're very good bairns — but 
 eh, Miss Marget ! what think ye of Maister 
 Cosmo ? He'll be a grand man, if he's spared,
 
 
 
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 
 HI 
 
 and 
 
 I 
 
 never 
 
 saw his 
 
 marrow 
 
 for 
 
 discretion 
 
 now, 
 
 5> 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "Truly, Janet, I see not the discretion," 
 said I, shaking my head. I was in the 
 Lilliesleaf nursery, which was a big room 
 in one end of the house, with two windows in 
 the length of it, and one in the corner, where 
 there was a grand view over the country, and 
 reaching as far as the Manse, where Claud, 
 my brother, dwelt. Summer and winter it 
 was a bonnie view to me ; and I was sitting 
 in Janet's chair by this small window, and 
 before the table where Janet's wire, and the 
 stocking she was working, were laid. The 
 three youngest bairns were all in the room, 
 busy with their ain plays ; but Cosmo, he was 
 down the stair, for he was a big laddie now, 
 and likit not the name of the nursery. There 
 was but little furnishing in the room, that 
 the little things might have room to play, 
 and truly it was in bye-ordinary order, con-
 
 1 1 2 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 sidering how many bairns were in it. Also, a 
 decent young woman that was a helper to 
 Janet, sat in the far corner at her seam, and 
 everything was so right, and so quiet, that 
 it was easy to be seen that this was a 
 well-ordered house. 
 
 " Eh, Miss Marget, the like o' that !" 
 said Janet. " When Fm in ony trouble 1 
 aye ask counsel at Maister Cosmo. Naebody 
 kens the wisdom that's in that bairn, and 
 aye so concerned as he is when he sees a 
 look of trouble on ony kent face, and as 
 taken up about my Alick as if he belanged 
 to himsel. And there's Maister Claud — 
 did ever ye see as clever a laddie? Him 
 and Robbie at the Manse took down the clock 
 their twa sels and cleaned it ; but I'm feared 
 Robbie has nae talent, for the puir thing has 
 never ga'en an hour since. And Miss Mary's 
 sampler's beautiful; and as for wee Miss 
 Susie, she's the life of the house. They're
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 113 
 
 grand-mannered bairns, they're no like com- 
 mon folk; though 1 wouldna say but they 
 took an example from Loueese, and it's nae 
 credit to me." 
 
 "And who was Loueese, Janet," said I. 
 " Was that the French bairn's-maid, that there 
 was some story about ?" 
 
 " She wasna an ill cratur, Miss Marget," 
 said Janet, " far from that. 1 likit her weel 
 enough mysel, though she had strange ways, 
 but she didna tell she was married, and when 
 her man came about the house, folk thought 
 he came for nae good ; and then the maister 
 took her part, and that made things worse — 
 and that was how she gaed away. I woxildna 
 say the mistress was vexed for doing it ; but 
 whiles I think, if she had ta'en langer time to 
 ponder it, she never would have putten Loueese 
 away." 
 
 To hear this troubled me, and I durst not 
 ask more, because it was but an ill thing
 
 114 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 to speak to the servant concerning the doings 
 of the house ; but, bless me, what for did my 
 bairn make a mystery of a simple thing like 
 that, and give folk grounds to speak ? And 
 truly to think of Mary like a jealous woman, 
 ever fearing ill, made my brow burn. Her, 
 that kent nothing but truth and innocence in 
 ber young days — it went to my heart to think 
 that Mary was changed like this. 
 
 " Poor Loueese !" said Janet ; " she was 
 aye uncommonly handy. Miss Marget ; and 
 111 let you see a cap she made me — the 
 bonniest thing that ever was, only far ower 
 bonnie to put on ; and her man was a very 
 iU man, and spent the puir thing's siller, and 
 hurt her guid name ; and that was wherefore 
 she didna tell about him, thinking he ne'er 
 could find her out in a far away pairt like 
 this. But Satan learns his servants wit — 
 and here he came. The mistress wasna 
 very fond of her at the first, seeing she came
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 115 
 
 from that glaikit Lady Julia; but we were 
 winning on grand, if it hadna been for that 
 muckle vagabond, with his hairy face. Poor 
 Loueese !" 
 
 " And where is she now, Janet ?" said I. 
 
 " We never could hear that," said Janet ; 
 ** the blackguard vanished, like an evil spirit ; 
 and the mistress was angered, and wouldna 
 let Loueese stay — so the puir thing put up her 
 bits of bundles, and took her fit in her hand, 
 and followed after him. The mistress wasna 
 hersel that whole day — she had nae comfort 
 after the stranger left the house ; and vexed 
 she was in her ain spirit, for punishing the 
 innocent — she said as muckle hersel to me ; 
 and that, if ever she could, she would find 
 the puir thing out, and make her amends — 
 for Mrs. Elphinstone has a real kind heart, 
 Mem — but you ken that better than me." 
 
 " But you see, Janet, it's no aye easy to 
 judge what's false and what's true," said I ;
 
 116 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 "and young folk canna have old folk's ex- 
 perience. It's no to be expected of them." 
 
 " Oh, deed, Miss Marget ! I have nae broo 
 of auld folk's experience," said Janet, with a 
 nod of her head, and a sniff of disdain ; 
 " gie me an innocent thought, and a kind 
 heart, and I'm no wanting experience — auld 
 folk, truly ! It would be telling the like of 
 them to look to their ain ways, and no to 
 put ill in everybody's head, as I ken some 
 that do!" 
 
 " Janet," said 1, being angered, in a mea- 
 sure, '' that is no a way to speak to me." 
 
 " I ken it's no, Miss Marget," said Janet, 
 ''- but, whiles I canna refrain — and I humbly 
 beg your pardon, Mem — and if the young 
 mistress took but counsel of her ain guid 
 heart, or of the minister, she would never 
 gang wrang. But that's no to say that it's 
 weel enough kent in the house, wha it was 
 first raised an ill story against puir Loueese."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 117 
 
 '^ Janet, my woman, you're forgetting who 
 I am," said I, rising up from my chair ; " I 
 hav^e nothing ado with the stories of the 
 house, and they are not to be telled to me. I 
 hope you'll soon have good news of Alick; 
 and that he'll come home, and settle, and 
 comfort you for a' your trouble — and I'm 
 very blythe to hear he's turned out so well- 
 doing a lad." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Marget," said Janet, coming 
 after me to the door ; but I would not come 
 back, though she was troubled at vexing me 
 — and so 1 went to my own chamber, and 
 considered of it, and all the trials Mary had 
 found, and how much it behoved her to have 
 wisdom from on high. Also, I could not but 
 marvel at the quiet lot that had come to 
 Grace, and how different it was from the 
 nature of the two bairns — the one being more 
 fit for trouble to our poor vision than the 
 other ; and the spirit that was least strong to
 
 118 LILLE SLEAF. 
 
 bear, and least patient to thole, having come 
 to the hardest lot. But truly their lives were 
 in the hand of Him that kent far better what 
 was good for them, than the like of me. 
 
 It happened, then, that Cosmo came run- 
 ning up the stair, with a letter to me, from 
 Oakenshaw — the which was a long letter, 
 with much in it about little Maggie, who 
 was the bairn of my old age, and the sole 
 blossom of her life to my Grace. She was 
 an uncommon bairn, as everybody thought — 
 but this is no the place to teU about her, 
 seeing I am at Lilliesleaf, among Mary's 
 bairns, and no beside her black e'en. And 
 forbye that, Grace made mention to me of 
 divers things Claud was doing in the parish, 
 and of divers folk that were about Oaken- 
 shaw ; and at the end of aU, she wrote, in 
 a hurried way, that she had been having 
 many letters from her father. Now, he was 
 one that we had not heard tell of for years, *
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 1 9 
 
 being but an ill man, and having taken a 
 great anger in his spirit against Grace, seeing 
 she never would be guided by him, nor fall 
 into his evil ways; and was also greatly 
 vexed, when she was married upon my 
 nephew Claud, and called our family by many 
 ill names, the which put a great controversy 
 between him and Grace. 
 
 Now, I ought to say, at this place, to 
 stranger folk that never kent me before, that 
 Grace, my dear bairn, was no kindred by 
 blood to me, but was sent to me, when I 
 was a very lone woman, abiding my lane 
 at Sunny side, and her a Httle bairn, with no 
 mortal caring for her, to dwell and be brought 
 up by me. The bairn grew into my heart, and, 
 being a bairn of a most generous nature, she 
 hkit me, as I likit her, and was like one of 
 our race ; and after many troubles, she came 
 into her own inheritance, and was married 
 upon Claud, my nephew, that had been very
 
 120 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 fond of her all his days — the which was" a 
 sore disappointment to her father, who would 
 fain have keeped her out of her rights, if 
 that could have been. So, truly, I marvelled 
 when Grace wrote me word that her father 
 was seeking her now; and inquired, within 
 my own mind, what it could be for — the 
 which Grace said nothing about. 
 
 When I went down the stair again, Mary 
 was blythe to get a reading of my letter, 
 though, truly, I doubt not she smiled within 
 herself at all the little things Grace told about 
 her one bairn ; for, having many bairns her- 
 self, Mary noted not their little ways as we 
 did that had but one, and her a delicate thing, 
 and aye keeping us anxious about her. Mr. 
 Allan was in the room this morning, and so 
 was old Mrs. Elphinstone; and truly, I 
 marvelled at his patience, and such a 
 good son as he was, for she was of a 
 very fretful and restless spirit, and it was far
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 2 1 
 
 from a seemly old age that I was looking upon 
 now. 
 
 *' I suppose you have heard all about this. 
 Miss Maitland," said Mrs. Elphinstone. " I 
 have just been telling Allan that it is a great 
 piece of nonsense, and will put all the hpuse 
 in disorder, and I am quite sure Mary does 
 not care for it. No, no; be honest, Allan. 
 It is to please yourself : I am quite sure it is 
 not to please Mary." 
 
 " But, indeed, it will please me very much," 
 said Mary, in an eager way ; " and Allan's 
 position requires something of the kind, now 
 and then, and if we only have a good day, it 
 will please you, I am sure to look on. I think 
 it will be a very pretty sight." 
 
 " A pretty sight ! Do you know what you 
 are speaking of, child ?" said Mrs. Elphinstone. 
 '* Do you mean to ruin your husband and 
 your children with such displays ? You cannot 
 afford them — you know how much pains it 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 cost me to preserve your estate for you, 
 Allan; and now, in my old days, you will 
 leave me without a shelter, and make your 
 heir penniless. Mary, I am surprised at you !" 
 
 For a moment, Mary glanced between her 
 good mother and me, as if she was not quite 
 sure what she should do, but then her eye 
 brightened up again. " We will not be extra- 
 vagant," she said ; but she said nothing more 
 — and, tmly, I marvelled at Mrs. Elphinstone, 
 who, but a week before, had been complaining 
 to me that Mary was stricter than became 
 her, and did not humour Mr. Allan in his ways. 
 
 By and bye the old lady went back to her 
 own room, being in no sweet state of temper, 
 as it appeared to me, and we were by ourselves 
 again. All that forenoon was a very pleasant 
 time ; but I could not help marvelling how 
 the word I spoke to Mary had changed the 
 bairn. Mr. Allan behoved to be ever plan- 
 ning something ; it was in his nature, and he
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 123 
 
 had a grand plan now, as we soon came to 
 hear. 
 
 " Next year, Mary," he said, in a half hesi- 
 tating way, as if he knew not how she would 
 take it. " Next spring, I was thinking, I 
 ought to spend some time in London. I have 
 almost pledged myself, indeed ; and you will 
 not miss me, with the children." 
 
 There was a trembling over Mary's face, like 
 a wind passing upon it, and I saw from the 
 way Mr. Allan spoke, that he expected either 
 a remonstrance, or that she would just say 
 " very well," in an offended way, and it would 
 make a breach between them ; and, truly, I 
 waited, scarcely drawing my breath, and very 
 anxious to hear what Mary would say. In 
 another moment, she lookit up in his face. 
 
 " I will miss you very much, Allan. Had 
 we not better go together ? For even the chil- 
 dren do not make amends for you." 
 
 And the young man was greatly taken by 
 
 G 2
 
 124 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 surprise. He lookit at her for a rtioment 
 with an astonished look. " Would you go 
 Mary — you ?" he said, in a kind of laughing, 
 unbelieving way. " I never thought of that. 
 I never supposed you would like it. I do not 
 mean a flying visit ; that would be quite a 
 different thing. I mean to stay three or four 
 months in London." 
 
 " Well, Allan, I should like it," said Mary 
 in a quiet steady way, that showed me she was 
 not to be discouraged, but had made up her 
 mind. 
 
 The colour rose high upon Mr. Allan's 
 face; his brow grew red to his very hair. 
 He glanced at her in a quick way ; and then 
 he cast down his eyes, and played with a pencil 
 in his hand. At last, he lookit up again. 
 
 " My dear Mary, of course it would in- 
 crease my pleasure," he said, in an impatient 
 tone ; " but have you considered the incon- 
 venience — the trouble — yes, not to mince the
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 125 
 
 matter, the expense. A family in London is 
 very different from a single individual." 
 
 "I have not had much time to con- 
 sider anything," said Mary ; " but I like the 
 plan very much, Allan. We will leave the 
 bairns at Lilliesieaf I can trust Janet ; and 
 grandmamma here, and grandmamma at the 
 Manse will look after them. And you and I 
 will go forth on our adventures, and be young 
 people again. I should like it, Allan." 
 
 She put her little white hand upon his, 
 and bent across the table to him with tears 
 in her eyes, and a loving look on her bonnie 
 face. Mr. Allan took her hand into his for a 
 moment, and lookit at her, steadfast and 
 amazed. Then he said : " Well, Mary, since 
 you wish it to be so — " and then he rose, and 
 made some excuse, and went away. 
 
 Mary could not keep her tears within her 
 e'en when he was gone, and I turned from her? 
 and went to the window that she might not
 
 126 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 think I saw them ; but, in a very little while 
 she came up to me, and lookit in my face. 
 " Aunt," said Mary, " I have made a be- 
 ginning — and not without a sacrifice, either. 
 How shall I do for three m^onths without the 
 bairns r 
 
 " God will take care of them, my dear ; 
 and you will be doing what you should do, 
 and striving against the enemy," said I ; and 
 truly, to hear me speak, any mortal would 
 have thought I was sending forth my dear bairn 
 among the heathen, instead of advising her, 
 as many good folk would think was a sin, to 
 enter for her own hand into the pleasures and 
 vanities of this world.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " But, Mary, my dear," said I, " what 
 will Mr. Allan do in London ?" 
 
 This was two or three days after the 
 time I told about on the last page, and just 
 within a week of the great party. Mary 
 was very full, in her own mind, about going 
 to London ; and every time it was mentioned, 
 I saw by the secret smile that came into her 
 face, that she had more thoughts about it 
 than were telled to any one of us ; though, 
 truly, what pleasure it could be to her, leaving 
 all the bairns, I could not divine, and it 
 troubled me in my own mind. 
 
 " What will he do, aunt ? indeed, I can-
 
 1 28 LILLIESLEAF, 
 
 not tell, till we get there," said Mary, *' it 
 will all be perfectly new to me, you know ; 
 and I suppose we shall do what other people 
 do, w^ho go to London with no object but 
 pleasure. Pleasure 1 we will be very gay, 
 you may be certain ; what else can people 
 be, that have nothing to do ?" 
 
 I lookit at her with a moment's dubeity, 
 and it was not easy to ken whether it was 
 excitement for a pleasure, or strong resolution 
 that was in Mary's face. 
 
 " My dear," said I, " it's my steadfast hope 
 you'll not be led away by the like of such 
 vanities, nor find enticement in them ; for 
 it's a world of temptation, Mary, and, truly 
 we have all deceitful hearts." 
 
 " Are you beginning to suspect me already, 
 aunt?" said Mary, in a quiet, sorrowful 
 way. " Well, I know I cannot escape sus- 
 picion, and neither can I explain myself to 
 any one ; but, aunt, you at least are pledged
 
 LILLIESLEAF, 129 
 
 to keep my part. Do not fear — the things 
 that keep me away from my bairns, and my 
 mother, and home, will not tempt me very 
 greatly. My mother, Aunt Margaret — she 
 is sure to disapprove, though I will tell her 
 all I can ; you will try to satisfy my mother ? 
 She wiQ trust you that I am doing right." 
 
 " My dear bairn," said I, " I bid you not 
 betray the counsels of your own heart ; but 
 you may weel trust them that Hke you best ; 
 and if you tell her all you can tell her, and 
 speak to her even as you have spoken to me, 
 my sister will want no warranty of mine for 
 her own bairn." 
 
 There was a silence between us after that, 
 for a space of time. Truly, I perceived well 
 Mary had more thoughts concerning this 
 matter than she told to me, or any mortal ; 
 and though I was anxious and troubled for 
 her, I yet had a measure of confidence, trust- 
 ing she would still be preserved in the right way, 
 
 G 3
 
 1 30 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " Aunt," said Mary, suddenly to me after 
 this, "we all ought to have some business, 
 especially men. Allan said, the other day, that 
 he wondered at Claud retaining his charge, 
 and fettering himself with all his parish duties. 
 Claud is very wise. Aunt Margaret. I wish 
 every man had a profession. Cosmo shall have 
 one, and a love^ for it, too, if I can have my will. 
 I dare say you will think me ambitious ; but 
 it is not ambition either. Do you know, 
 aunt, I would like very much if Allan were 
 in parliament." 
 
 •* Mary !" said I, in amazement, scarce 
 knowing what she meant. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I intend to aim at that," 
 said Mary, with a smile to herself; "and if 
 you see me very gracious to ever}^ body next 
 week, you will know what I mean. Aunt, 
 I think it is a very dismal thing to have no 
 great object in life." 
 
 " My dear," said I, " there are some that
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 131 
 
 God himself puts forth out of the tide, that 
 have no special thing to live for, as folk might 
 think ; but truly it is my thought that we all 
 have a great object, seeing the angels them- 
 selves ken nothing grander than the glory of 
 the Lord and to do his will, the which is the 
 chief end of man, as Susie said to me, out of 
 the question-book, this very day." 
 
 Mary shook her head, and* looked up into 
 my face. " When we learn that lesson, Aunt 
 Margaret, everything else is easy to us," said 
 Mary ; and the bairn said nothing more, and 
 the converse ended. Truly, that is the first 
 lesson for every man to learn : that God has 
 not made him for nought, but would have 
 use of him in this world ; also, it is the sole 
 way to win through the troubles of this 
 life; for the grief, and the sorrow, and the 
 pain, what are they but servants of the Lord, 
 even as we should be, and working to the 
 self-same end ?
 
 132 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Once more again that day, I had a letter 
 from my Grace ; and truly I will just copy 
 down the letter, and let it tell its ain tale. 
 This was what she said : 
 
 " My dear Aunt, 
 
 " I have just written to Mary, telling 
 her how sorry we are — for we cannot come 
 to her party, though we should have wished 
 very much — not for itj perhaps — but for a 
 look at Pasturelands, and Lilliesleaf, and Sun- 
 nyside, not to speak of our father and mother, 
 Mary and you. Claud is very much occupied 
 at present, and could not leave home to go 
 anywhere — and I — but, as my business is 
 not so agreeable as his, nor so satisfactory, I 
 must tell you of it in detail. You speak a 
 great deal of the troubles of life, since you 
 went to Lilliesleaf, aunt — are there troubles 
 in that halcyon country ? for I think I am 
 once more coming in to my early share of
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 33 
 
 them — and after all these quiet years, I fear 
 for my own patience a little, and am doubtful 
 whether I will bear them well. 
 
 " I have mentioned to you, once or twice, 
 my father's letters. He has become my 
 greatest correspondent for a few weeks. Ft 
 seems that he has fallen somehow out of his 
 customary good fortune, and has been living 
 at Boulogne, to keep out of harm's way, as 
 he says. He has nobody with him but one 
 person, who seems to have won into his 
 heart, though that is not very soft, nor very 
 easily moved. This is a girl whom he calls 
 my sister. My dear aunt, I reprove myself 
 constantly, yet am no better for it — I cannot 
 hear, without repugnance, this name applied 
 to a stranger ; it makes me impatient with 
 him, and angry at myself. I suppose he 
 has been married again, though we never 
 heard of it ; and his daughter, who is young, 
 only eighteen or nineteen years old, is de-
 
 134 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 pendent on him. He praises her very much, 
 and very warmly. He sometimes even — and 
 that pleases me — makes comparisons, very dis- 
 advantageous to myself, between her devotion 
 and my indifference to him ; and, altogether, 
 she seems the one person in the world for 
 whom this man of the world has both esteem 
 and affection. I ought to have been touched 
 by his constant references to her — by the 
 evident hold she has upon his regard, and by 
 the greater respect with which he speaks of 
 a well-ordered life, and a quiet home, and his 
 wish that Rhoda should have the advantage 
 of them. But all this, that ought to sway 
 me in her favour, has only the reverse 
 effect ; and I am dismayed to find how I dis- 
 like, instead of pitying and devising help for 
 this poor girl. 
 
 " I have sent him remittances, of course — 
 and have written to him, also, as kindly 
 and dutifully as I could— which it is not so
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 135 
 
 very hard to do, now that I have a bairn 
 of my own — and he has been most con- 
 stant and persevering in his letters to 
 me. T was astonished at first extremely, 
 but now I understand his motive, and though 
 it is an interested motive, it is not one to 
 blame him for. He has asked me, at last, 
 plainly, to receive his daughter at Oakenshaw. 
 "This idea is very distasteful to me, my dear 
 aunt. I cannot make up my mind to con- 
 sent, yet I cannot help pitying him for having 
 to ask. What am I to do ? Claud is per- 
 plexed as much as I am, and not more 
 willing than I to receive my father's daughter, 
 I have delayed writing, and will delay, unless 
 something occurs to decide us suddenly, till 
 I hear from you. I do wish you could come 
 home, but that would be a great disappoint- 
 ment to Mary, and I cannot ask it. A girl 
 brought up abroad, under my father's shadow, 
 the daughter of a Frenchwoman, entirely
 
 136 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 ignorant of our fashion of life— how can I 
 bring such an exotic to Oakenshaw ? 
 
 " It is not for a visit either, wiiich might be 
 endurable, but my father asks me, appeals to 
 me, to take charge of Rhoda. He says he 
 has no friend worthy of such a trust, and 
 that I, who am so much older, might be a 
 mother to the poor girl, and begs me very 
 seriously to save her from the evils of his 
 wandering life. How can I refuse ? How can 
 I consent ? For, after all, our own home-peace 
 and comfort are the first things to be con- 
 sidered, and whether my father's daughter 
 would be a safe companion for mine, is a 
 question I am slow to answer. 
 
 " You see what perplexity I am in, and how 
 much I want your counsel. I am half afi'aid 
 of myself sometimes, lest prosperity and 
 happiness have hardened my heart ; for, after 
 all, we are not doing much for anybody, only 
 helping a little our kindly neighbours, who
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 137 
 
 are quite as ready to help us. Come back 
 again, Aunt Margaret, if you can, as soon as 
 Mary's festivities are over, and, in the mean- 
 time, write me, and give this difficult question 
 your full consideration. 
 
 "Maggie asks anxiously every morning 
 about your return. There is great lack of 
 you in Oakenshaw — and if we have this 
 stranger thrust upon us, and a visit from 
 my father to boot — but, however, we will 
 not anticipate that. 
 
 "G. M." 
 
 This letter put me in a measure of pertur- 
 bation, not seeing any right reason that Grace 
 could have to deny her father what he asked 
 from her, or to send back the poor thing, his 
 daughter, who was her own nearest blood in 
 this world. AJso, it grieved me that Grace 
 should be so opposed in her mind to the 
 mention of this stranger, who, maybe, was
 
 13S LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 a very good bairn, and discreet young woman 
 for all we could tell, and truly my own mind 
 was moved towards her, thinking what a hard 
 lot it was for a young thing to have no 
 creature in the world to look to, but the like 
 of that reckless and ill-doing man. I went 
 down the stair, and there I saw Mary, who 
 also was reading a letter, and Grace had told 
 her likewise. Mary thought more with Grace 
 than I did, but she also thought with me, that 
 Grace could not say her father nay. Where- 
 upon I wrote a letter to Oakenshaw, saying 
 what I thought, and that Mary thought the 
 same, and that I hoped Grace would think 
 nothing but good of the poor desolate young 
 thing, that according to nature was, next to 
 her own bairn, her nearest friend. Also, I bade 
 Grace to mind what great mercies the Lord had 
 bestowed upon her, giving her a most quiet 
 habitation, and keeping deadly sickness, 
 trouble, and peril far from her gates — and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 139 
 
 how it behoved her to render thanks, as it is 
 the Lord's pleasure to be thanked and praised, 
 by love and kindness to them that were less 
 blessed, specially to one that was her own near 
 kin, and no better than an orphan, being a 
 woman-baii'n with only a man to take care 
 of her. When I had sent away my letter, 
 I was eased in my mind — and syne I made a 
 paction with Mary, that whenever the party 
 was bye, I was to go my ways home; the which 
 Mary was slow to give consent to, but yielded 
 when I promised to come back, and see how 
 she was coming on, before she went to London 
 with Mr. Allan in the spring of the year. 
 
 And, truly, that time before the great party 
 was just a divert to me. I ken not which 
 was busiest, Mr. Allan or the bairns ; and all 
 as taken up about the ploy, as if such a festi- 
 vity had never befallen before. It was all 
 to do Mary honour, Mr. Allan said, and so 
 it was ; but Mrs. Elphinstone said no lee
 
 140 LILLIESLEAF, 
 
 either, when she said, it was pleasure to him- 
 self. For all that he was of discreet years, 
 and the father of a family, he was still but a 
 guileless callant at his heart ; and, truly I 
 began to see what Mary meant, when she 
 spoke of folk having an object, and some- 
 thing sure and certain to do in the busy road 
 of this life.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 141 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was a bonnie sight as ever I saw. The 
 day was one of the kind of days, in early 
 June, that ever make my heart warm within 
 me — the air was so bright with the light of the 
 sun, and the trees put up their branches into 
 the midst of it, with the full broad green that 
 only belongs to the prime of the year. And 
 there was scarce any breeze to move them — 
 you would think they were crooning to 
 themselves, like living creatures basking in 
 the light ; and upon the blue sky was nothing 
 but a bit floating boatie of a cloud, here and 
 there, that might be the shadow of an angel 
 passing by — and the sound of the voices had
 
 142 LILLTESLEAF. 
 
 it 
 
 a soft sough, as if the sweet summer air 
 would let nothing harsh come through. And 
 truly, to see many folk taking pleasure, after 
 an innocent fashion, in the bonnie woods and 
 braes about Lilliesleaf, and them, for the most 
 part, folk comely to look upon, and well 
 attired, glancing in and out through the trees, 
 or resting on the soft green grass, or running, 
 — the youthful of them — from one brae to 
 another was a fair sight to me, and pleasant 
 to my spirit. Our own bairns had been astir 
 from the earliest light that morning, and there 
 they were, little Mary and Susie, in very 
 bonnie new white frocks, very grand with 
 sewed work, and Cosmo and Claud in their 
 best dresses running every place, and as busy 
 as could be, though the little things, as was 
 to be expected, only hindered other folk in 
 their business, and helped none. Then there 
 was my Mary herself, in a new gown, that 
 was not white, but very near it — a bonnie
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 143 
 
 glancing silk, and made far finer than Miss 
 Janet Selvage could have made it, with a bit 
 bonnet of lace and flowers upon her head, 
 and so many bonnie things about her, that I 
 scarce kenned my own bairn ; and then there 
 was Mrs. Elphinstone, dressed as rich and 
 fine as she well could be, and her man wheel- 
 ing her about in her chair, and Mr. Allan, 
 with his happy face, and the smile that aye 
 said welcome, and the kindly way he had that 
 no mortal could resist. I had on my silver 
 gray satin gown myself, and was attired like 
 as an aged gentlewoman should be, to my 
 own thinking, no to bring discredit on them 
 belonging to me, but soberly, as became my 
 years. 1 kent but few folk myself, in that 
 company ; here and there one came to mind 
 me, that I had kent their father or mother, 
 and there were two or three that I minded in 
 my youth ; but all greater folk that put state 
 upon them, with the like of me, which, truly,
 
 J 44 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 I was never very well pleased to put up with, 
 and that made us that we did not always 
 agree. However, I perceived that many a one 
 kent me, that I did not ken, and I went upon 
 my way with good pleasure, speaking a word 
 where it was meet, and ever coming by Mary, 
 or Mr. Allan, or some of the bairns, who were 
 aye clinging to me. 
 
 Then, when we went down to the dinner, 
 the grand tent, when it was laid, v^'as beau- 
 tiful to see — and truly I did not think there 
 were so many flowers for a dozen miles, as 
 were gathered on the table, and round about 
 it, and put through the tent, wherever a flower 
 could be. The dinner was all cold, it being 
 the height of summer, and that being the 
 fashion, as folk tell me, for dinners that are 
 made out-bye; — and very blythe the folk 
 were, and very bonnie it was to see the rib- 
 bons, and the flowers, and the bright colours — 
 and many a bonnie face among them, every
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 145 
 
 one brighter than its neighbour — and they 
 drank Mary's health, and praised her in a 
 speech, till I thought the bairn's head would 
 be turned ; and was ill-pleased at the man that 
 did it, seeing such phrasing could never be 
 aught but a pain to Mary ; though, when I 
 looked at herself, at last, and saw her with a 
 bit scornful smile upon her lip, looking down, 
 and patting with her foot upon the grass, 
 after an impatient fashion, I would mostly 
 rather she had been pleased, than distrusting 
 it all, as if folk meant not what they say. 
 Mrs. Elphinstone had some more around her 
 — aged ladies like unto herself, some of them 
 with fair faces, pleaasnt to look upon, and 
 some crabbed and fretful, as hers was — and 
 she was well taken up with them ; but I had 
 time to look about, and see all the folk. 
 
 And then, after the dinner, there was music 
 among the trees hid away in one of the little 
 glens — and very bonnie it was, and hushed 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 the clatter of the folk, and drew them forth 
 again, to sit upon the grass, and wander about 
 the Knowe. And then the bonnie green hol- 
 low below the tent was cleared, and they 
 began to dance — and, though it aye seems a 
 fuil pastime to me, for any but very young 
 folk, yet I am free to confess, it was a bonnie 
 sight, that dancing under the trees. The 
 bairns were just wild with joy and pleasure ; 
 and, truly, I was very well pleased to sit and 
 look at them myself. 
 
 But when the afternoon was near over, and 
 1 v\^as sitting at the foot of the long table, 
 that still had wine, and ice, and baskets of 
 flowers, and such like things upon it, looking 
 at the company, and marking the dancers, and 
 hearing the music, I marvelled to see Mr. 
 Allan near-hand me in the tent. At that 
 time, there were few folk in the tent — only 
 Mrs. Elphinstone and some of her friends, 
 with a carpet spread under their feet, sitting
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 147 
 
 far forward before the door of it, looking at 
 the dancers, and one or two folk in the place 
 itself getting bits of little saucers with the 
 pink ice in them from the serving-man, or 
 resting in the shade. The minister and Mary, 
 my sister, had been here for a space, but 
 w^ere gone away again ; and I was sitting 
 my lane, looking at all the folk, and 
 thinking my own thoughts in my heart. 
 
 When, truly, as 1 have said, I marvelled to 
 see Mr. Allan very near me, also his lane, and 
 not so well content in his looks as he had 
 been in the fore part of the day. He was 
 taking a glass of wine in a slow moody way, 
 looking down into it, as if he saw something 
 there, and giving aye the other glance out 
 at the company, with a keen look, as if he 
 was not pleased. When he saw 1 noted him, 
 he came to me, and sat down by my side ; and 
 it was not long before I saw the discontent 
 of his spirit, from his converse about the folk. 
 
 H 2
 
 148 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " Every body looks very amiable, aunt," 
 said Mr. Allan ; " you would not suppose 
 how many long-standing piques and bitter 
 little feuds lie under all those smilings. What 
 a set of hypocrites we are !" 
 
 " Whisht, Mr. iVllan," said I, " we whiles 
 say more than we think, and we whiles say 
 lees ; but I like not, in the very time of this 
 festivity to find fault with stranger folk." 
 
 " Would you rather find fault with your 
 friends, Aunt Margaret ?" said Mr. Allan, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Yes, truly," said I ; " I ken the infirmi- 
 ties of my ain folk, and, in a Christian way, 
 may reprove the same ; but 1 durst not think 
 ill of folk I do not ken, Mr. Allan. I think 
 not it is lawful or right." 
 
 "W^ell, aunt," said Mr. Allan, and this 
 time it was with a sigh, " I have never reached 
 to the heights of your philosophy ; but I ac- 
 knowledge its purity and its wisdom. See
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 149 
 
 how gay everybody is down there — even Mary 
 — do you see Mary, Aunt Margaret ?" 
 
 Now, truly, I had been doing little else 
 but note Mary ; and much I marvelled to see 
 her — for, wherever blythe folk were, there 
 was she, the blythest among them, ghding 
 about from one to the other, her bonnie face 
 full of light and smiles, the very spirit of all 
 the pleasure there — and the way she entered 
 into it, and the content she had in all, gave 
 me some wonder in my own spirit. 
 
 " Do you see Mary, Aunt Margaret ?" said 
 Mr. Allan, again, in a strange way — half 
 laughing, yet far from pleased ; " Mary's cha- 
 racter has quite reached a new development 
 to-day. She enjoys herself, at least, w^hoever 
 does not. She has quite taken me by sur- 
 prise. What do you think, aunt ?" 
 
 " I think she looks very bonnie, happy, 
 and content, as a woman should be, w^ith so 
 many blessings in her lot, Mr. Allan," said I.
 
 150 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " Happy and content are beautiful words ; 
 they do not suit a scene like this — they are 
 not adapted for parties of pleasure," said Mr. 
 Allan, with a dour look ; " they are words 
 for home. Aunt Margaret. Mary is gay — 
 elated — and I am such a selfish fellow, that 
 I confess I don't like to see my wife enjoy 
 herself so much among strangers — strangers 
 whom she does not like, either. I had rather 
 see her most happy in her own house, and 
 when we are alone." 
 
 " Are you most happy there, yourself, Mr. 
 Allan ?" said I, being, for the moment, 
 angered at him. 
 
 " Yes," he cried out, in an eager way. 
 " I am fool enough, sometimes, but never so 
 great a fool as not to acknowledge my happi- 
 ness. I am amused elsewhere, too often, 
 perhaps — but trust me, Aunt Margaret, my 
 true delight is always at home." 
 
 " And have you seen tokens of ought else
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 5 1 
 
 in Mary ?" said I, still being displeased, " truly 
 I have seen her many days at hame her lane, 
 wearying for your company, but making her- 
 self as content as she could with the bairns — 
 and the poor thing's blink of pleasure, that is 
 chief to see you pleased, it is ill to grudge her, 
 Mr. Allan. Her pleasure has ever been at 
 hame, as I can testify, and it is my thought 
 that few folk ken my niece, Mary, better 
 than me." 
 
 " Aunt, you are displeased," said Mr. Allan, 
 " and I deserve it, I do not deny ; but I like 
 to think of Mary as a bright particular star, 
 above all this nonsense and foppery ; tush — I 
 am a fool to say so — the truth is, simply. Aunt 
 Margaret, I am completely amazed by her 
 desire to go to London. Why does she wish 
 to go to London ? To leave the children here 
 and expose her own health, and mind, and 
 temper to the worry of a London season. I do 
 not understand it, I confess to you."
 
 152 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " And wherefore were you going yourself, 
 Mr. Allan ?" said I. 
 
 " That is a different thing," said Mr. Allan, 
 " In the first place I have some engagements 
 — then — but it is entirely a different thing ; 
 the question is, why does Mary wish to go ?" 
 
 " Truly, Mr. Allan," said I, " she has not 
 opened her mind to me, and I never thought 
 to ask her such a question ; but wherefore 
 should she not wish to go where you are going, 
 seeing her best pleasure, doubtless, is in your 
 company, and what is good for you, cannot be 
 ill for her. I see no marvel in it, for my 
 own self." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not," said Mr. Allan, slowly, 
 " but to tell you the very truth, Aunt Mar- 
 garet, 1 would rather cut off my hand, than 
 see Mary in any risk of being drawn into the 
 whirl of pleasure, as people call it — of party- 
 giving and party-going, and all the poor fri- 
 volities of second-rate fashion. I like to see
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 153 
 
 her pretty and bright, and the inspiration of 
 everything about her, as she is now — of course 
 I do — but when I think of her getting into 
 the habit of the thing— not being able to do 
 without it — I get at once alarmed and impa- 
 tient I have seen some specimens of late ; 
 and I really wish you would use your influence, 
 Aunt Margaret. I would much rather she did 
 not go to London." 
 
 " Truly, you must ken best, Sir," said I, 
 " but for my part, I fear nothing for my niece, 
 Mary Maitland ; she kens her duty and the 
 right way well, and I believe not any power 
 in this world will lead her away, so I am not 
 troubled concerning my bairn." 
 
 Mr. Allan's face brightened up, and he 
 laughed and lookit into my eyes, and held 
 out his hand to me. " Mary Elphinstone, if 
 you please. Aunt Margaret," he said, with his 
 kindly look, " I think of the old times when 
 I was fighting everybody for her when you 
 
 H 3
 
 154 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 speak so. Yes, Mary has not got a very 
 good bargain of me, aunt," he said with a 
 sigh and a grave look. " I have not fulfilled 
 all your kind expectations ; but Mary is every- 
 thing she was — all her sweet promise has 
 come to fruit — and I would not have the world 
 breathe upon my flower of grace. Do you 
 understand me, aunt ?" 
 
 " Partly, and partly no," said I. " Mary is 
 no bairn now, but a woman of an assured 
 spirit ; and truly, if I were you, and so feared 
 the world would harm her, Mr. Allan, I 
 would take good care to keep out of it mysel." 
 
 With that he laughed, and started up from 
 me. " That is a very far hit, aunt ; but Mary 
 wants me I see," he said, and so straight- 
 way left me, and went forth among the 
 company again, with all his blythe looks back 
 to him, and as proud about his bonnie wife 
 as could be. Truly he wanted steadfastness 
 in his spirit, and I was wae at my heart to
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 155 
 
 see that ; but, notwithstanding, he wiled me 
 with his kindly looks, and his mind that aye 
 revealed itself, both good and evil. He was 
 even like a laddie though he had more ex- 
 perience of the world (after his fashion) than 
 even the like of me ; but in his heart and 
 his spirit, he would ever be young.
 
 156 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The next day, I went away early in the morn- 
 ing with the bairns to the Manse, Mr. Allan 
 and Mary being trysted to come for us later in 
 the day. I was also to go the next day to Sun- 
 nyside to see Jenny, and then to go back to 
 Oakenshaw to Grace. So, as this was my last 
 day with my brother and my sister, I behoved 
 to go soon that we might have our private con- 
 verse among ourselves touching all the bairns. 
 When we got there, Mary, my sister, gave 
 me a letter to read from Grace, the which 
 she had got that morning — wherein Grace 
 wrote, that she had sent word to her father 
 that she would take his motherless bairn, and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 157 
 
 be good to her, and provide for her ; but I 
 am grieved to say that Grace's mind was 
 not changed concerning this poor young 
 thing, but she still confessed she was far 
 from glad of her coming, and liked not to 
 call her sister. Her name was Rhoda, an 
 out of the way name, but truly she could 
 scarce be said to be of any nation, poor thing, 
 having a French lady to her mother, and 
 living a wandering vagabond life all her days. 
 We had much converse touching Grace, 
 ..and divers little things that Mary, my sister, 
 had made, and was sending to little Maggie, 
 our one bairn, and the minister also told 
 me many particular matters about the parish 
 to tell to Claud. Likewise we made a paction 
 touching their visit to Oakenshaw, the which 
 was long promised, and Grace was very 
 anxious about it ; so I trysted them to come 
 in the month of September, after the harvest, 
 which they were content to do.
 
 J 58 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 *' And now, Margaret," said, Mary my 
 sister, to me, when the minister had gone 
 out to the garden to speak to the bairns, and 
 we two were our lane, "now I want to speak 
 to you about Mary ; she says to me she has 
 changed her plan, and that henceforward she 
 will go where Lilliesleaf goes, and take part 
 in all his extravagant ways. He is very 
 extravagant, Margaret. I am afraid to think 
 of what may happen, if they both get into 
 the same habits. Do you think Mary is right ?" 
 
 " Truly," said I, " she thinks she is right, 
 taking counsel in her own spirit, and I marvel 
 to see her discreetness and her wisdom ; and 
 she kens how things are, better than we do ; 
 and I think I can trust her, that she is right, 
 Mary." 
 
 " Well ! that is very true," said Mary, my 
 sister, the cloud clearing off her face. " Mary 
 has a great deal of sense, and even of wisdom, 
 Margaret, and I believe you are right. Still,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 159 
 
 I cannot help fearing for her. Did she tell 
 you she was going to London ? and all the 
 snares of that gay world, and the difference 
 from everything she has been used to, and 
 the change she will feel when she comes 
 home — do you think she can bear it? It 
 dismays me !" 
 
 " Whiles things are but a weariness to 
 some folk, which are great temptations to 
 
 4 
 
 others," said I, " and I am not feared for her, 
 Mary. She will come home as she went away ; 
 and, truly, we have the kind hand of Provi- 
 dence to trust in, that will preserve the bairn 
 from all evil. I am not feared.'' 
 
 " If it were not that it might be tempting 
 Providence," said Mary, my sister, in a low 
 voice, " doing evil that good might come ; 
 but she thinks it right, as you say, and I will 
 trust her, Margaret ; and I pray the Lord send 
 her unharmed home." 
 
 Now, it may be thought we were making a
 
 160 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 great speech of this, and it no greater a thing 
 than many godly folk do every year; but, 
 truly, we kent it would be gay company that 
 Mr. Man would seek unto, and for my own 
 self, I like not that folk should lose their own 
 fireside night after night, even for godly ends, 
 or meet in public places overmuch, though it 
 was to hear about the spread of the Truth, 
 and the good that was doing in the world — far 
 less for men dancing or singing, or hearing 
 of plays and music, or converse concerning 
 other folk, and about the vanities of the world. 
 I say not that there are few godly folk among 
 them that live so ; but I think it is ill for the 
 spirit of us that are set to dwell in families, 
 to be aye living in a crowd instead, aud, truly, 
 quietness and thought, and the common ways 
 of life, are what God has appointed us to, for 
 the most part. Yet was 1 bold, being 
 strengthened of providence ; though I will not 
 conceal that 1 whiles had a drither at the
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 161 
 
 thought, that it was me, and no other, who 
 was the one to send forth my bairn into the 
 snares and pitfalls of the stranger world. 
 
 When Mr. Allan and Mary came, w^e were 
 all blythe. I kent not how it was ; for their 
 manner towards one another differed nothing 
 from what it ever was — but there was a look of 
 kindness between the two that comforted my 
 heart; and there was no gloom now upon 
 Cosmo's face. The laddie had taken my 
 counsel — and truly there had been no cause 
 for either bairn or grown-up person to find 
 fault with Mr. Allan, or think he was not 
 caring enough about his own home. I was 
 blythe to see much converse also between him 
 and the minister ; and we had real comfort that 
 day of all our' troke together. The bairns 
 keeped close by me, and would not leave me, 
 seeing it was the last but one that I would 
 be among them ; and Cosmo stood by my 
 side as he had been wont to stand bv his
 
 162 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 mother, casting his bold looks round him, 
 as if he was wishful to hear somebody say a 
 word that might be displeasing to me. He 
 was a manful callant, though rather of a 
 warlike spirit ; and the first thought of the 
 brave laddie was to defend, and take care of 
 them he likit best. Truly, I will not advise 
 any ill-willy person to come nigh to me, or 
 speak an ill word of me, when Cosmo comes 
 to be a man. 
 
 The next morning early, I went forth again 
 upon my travels, and journeyed to Sunny side. 
 Truly, it was out of my way to be travelling 
 about after this fashion ; but it would have 
 vexed Jenny if she had not seen me again. 
 When I won to my own house, I took Jenny 
 apart into my bedchamber, and spoke a word 
 to her there. " Jenny," said I, " it is nothing 
 but falset and slander what ill folk say of 
 Lilliesleaf, and about your French maid that 
 there was the grand story about. She was a
 
 LTLLIESLEAF. 163 
 
 married wife, poor thing; and Janet Scott 
 has a warm heart to her ; and it was for no 
 evil, but because of her ill man that she went 
 away. And truly the other stories are just such 
 like, Jenny ; and you'll mind my word, and 
 let every body hear that I thought nought of 
 the ill stories in the countryside but clavers 
 and falset. Jenny, my woman, that was what 
 I wanted to say." 
 
 " You speak to me as if / put faith in 
 them — and you ga'en away !" said Jenny, in a 
 sorrowful way, putting her apron to her eyes, 
 " when I aye said they were a' lees, mysel, ilka 
 time T heard them minted at. You're ga'en 
 aw^ay, Miss Marget — and I'm auld and 
 feeble. I've served ye for five-and- thirty years 
 constant, and waited upon your mother that's 
 laid till her rest, and yoursel in the days of 
 your youth ; and now I wouldna say — I'll 
 maybe never look upon your face again." 
 "Truly, Jenny," said I, "we areboth old folk."
 
 1 64 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " Ay, Miss Marget, maybe, I'll never see 
 you again," said Jenny, wiping her eyes; 
 " and I wanted to tell ye aince, what a bien 
 end ye've given to me, and comfort in my 
 auld days. I might be a grand lady mysel, 
 for a' the trouble I have to be at," said Jenny, 
 with a little bit laugh to herself; " nought to 
 fash me from Saturday to Saturday, but the 
 divert of a stocking to work, or some bit 
 thing to do for the bairns ; but. Miss Mar- 
 get, when I'm called, and gang forth upon 
 my journey, ye'll cause write down if I was 
 a bad serving woman to you, and that I was 
 five and thirty year in the ae place. I'm no 
 proud, but I like an honest name — and truly, 
 if the young lasses thought it was a credit to 
 the family, it might put mair heart in them, 
 to put up with their ain sma' vexations, for 
 the sake of the hinder end. And there's Lilly, 
 puir thing, she's given her consent, and they 
 were cried in the kirk last Sabbath day ; and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 165 
 
 over kind ye've been to her also, Miss Mar- 
 get. I canna give ye right thanks. I never 
 great at phrasing a' my days; but it's a 
 comfort just to say, aince, how muckle I 
 think upon it, and that Vm thankful in my 
 heart — if I should ne'er see you again." 
 
 " Jenny," said I, " you and me will meet 
 one another again, though it be not in this 
 world; and truly it behoves us, being aged 
 folk, to turn our heart to the other country. 
 But, if I have served you, you have served 
 me likewise ; and we are but even ; and truly 
 it is my hope, Jenny, to see you yet again, in 
 this very place. Whatsoever the Lord's will 
 may be, it will come well. But I would be 
 blythe to be spared for a while in this taber- 
 nacle, to see His pleasure among the bairns." 
 
 To the which Jenny said " Amen," having 
 her ain anxieties as well as me — though, 
 doubtless, the Lord needed not our oversight, 
 to mark that He ordered all things well — 
 yet it pleased Him to bear with us, and even
 
 166 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 to give us our will, and suffer us of the elder 
 generation to abide even till this day. I was 
 some further time in my ain chamber, my 
 lane, having some things to look out from 
 my napery press, that I was minded to 
 give to Lilly, to help in her plenishing — and 
 also, I abode a space, holding communion 
 with my ain spirit, and with Him that gave 
 the same, pondering both on what was past, 
 and on what was to come, and craving a 
 blessing upon the young and the old that 
 were nearest to me. Surely, I was an aged 
 woman, past my threescore years, and win- 
 ning near to the farthest bound of mortal 
 life — and it behoved me to set my house in 
 order, and to think, as Jenny said, that I never 
 might see it again. 
 
 And it may be that my face was graver 
 than its wont, when I bade farewell to Jenny, 
 and lookit back upon the full green of the 
 summer trees round about Sunnyside, and 
 the quiet town lying down below in the
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 167 
 
 hollow, and the Heaven above, and the 
 countryside around. If I was not grieved 
 to think of my own departure thither, seeing 
 it would be to a better place, I was wae in 
 nQy heart to think how we would aU go home 
 one by one, and how many a dirl would be 
 at the heartstrings of the younger folk, before 
 their call came ; but, truly, that was in the 
 Lord's hands, and He is ever kind. 
 
 " You are sad, aunt," said Mary to me, 
 when we were driving away upon the quiet 
 country road, when there was not a sound 
 but the ponies' feet, and the carriage- wheels, 
 and the soft sough among the trees; and 
 Mary looked into my face with concern upon 
 her own. 
 
 " No sad — only thoughtful, my dear," said 
 I, " truly, it would set me ill to be sad when 
 I was thinking of the Lord's ain holy presence 
 yonder, and the blessed folk we wiU have 
 our dwelling with, when we win into the 
 kingdom to see His face."
 
 168 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Mary quickened the speed of the ponies, 
 and turned her eyes away from me with a 
 look of trouble. " Aunt, if it is joyful for 
 those who go, it is bitter tor those who stay," 
 she said so low that I scarce could hear. 
 
 " No bitter, Mary, my dear ; nought is 
 bitter but sin," said I, " but sore and heavy, 
 and forlorn, I'll no deny — and that was where- 
 fore I grieved in my spirit — for you will all 
 have that to bear." 
 
 She did not say another word, but closed 
 her lips firm, and drove the rest of the road 
 home as fast as we could go ; and all that 
 night, Mary clung to me so, as I could not 
 but marvel to see. She thought I boded 
 evil in my heart ; truly, I ken the Lord and 
 His mercies better, than to bode of ill, when 
 He has all the doing of it. I was but thought- 
 ful and grave, as beseemed me, parting, it 
 might be, for the last time, and at my years, 
 with the place where I had my abode the 
 most of my life.
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The next morning, having taken leave of 
 all the bairns, I went into her private chamber 
 to say farewell to Mrs. Elphinstone. She 
 was stiU in her bed, lying upon many pillows, 
 and a book nigh-hand her upon a little table, 
 for she was very wakeful. Her face was small 
 and withered, and drawn in by reason of old 
 age ; but her e'en then and ever, were wakeful 
 and sharp as e'en could be. She put out her 
 hand to me when I came towards her, and 
 said she was sorry I was going away ; and I 
 thanked her, and said, I behoved to go for 
 Grace's sake. 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 1 70 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " You are in great request, Miss Maitland," 
 said Mrs. Elphinstone, with a bit sneer at me, 
 which, truly, I heeded not. " And that is 
 just why I regret so much that you leave us 
 so soon. Your ward and niece, at Oakenshaw, 
 cannot want you so much, surely. There is 
 nothing the matter with her, I suppose ; and 
 really, Mary has the greatest need of a judi- 
 cious friend, especially now, with the 
 ridiculous notions she has got into her head. 
 What should she do in London ? You really 
 ought to advise her against it !" 
 
 " Truly, madam, I doubt not she kens best 
 hersel," said I. 
 
 " She does nothing of the sort," said Mrs. 
 Elphinstone. " She is jealous — that is the 
 whole truth of it ; and so 1 have told Allan. 
 Foolish creature ! as if a young man's fancy 
 was to be chained and arrested by such a 
 watch as that. You may be sure this will do 
 harm. Miss Maitland."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 171 
 
 " Truly, I ken nothing of it," said I, being 
 perplexed and troubled ; for wherefore should 
 we, though we were near to them, question 
 together what two other folk, being a man 
 and his wife, were thinking in their hearts. 
 
 " So — I see, you think it the best policy to 
 be neutral," said Mrs. Elphinstone, with a 
 smile that angered me, in spite of myself. 
 "Well ! farewell, Miss Maitland ! We are grow- 
 ing old ; perhaps we may never meet again." 
 
 She shook my hand lightly and let it fall, 
 and though I had a word upon my lips to say, 
 touching the better place, where it was my 
 hope we would meet, I was discouraged like 
 a foolish person, and said it not ; but turned 
 and went forth in silence from the room. 
 Her manner and her speech dautoned me — 
 that I should say so ! but, truly, she was ever a 
 woman hard to deal with, even in her best days. 
 
 The minister, my brother, was waiting for 
 me at the door ; and when I bade farewell to 
 
 I 2
 
 172 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 my dear bairn Mary, Mr. Allan came forth also 
 to see me away. Mary whispered I was to 
 come back soon again, and bade me trust 
 her, and mind all the converse that had been 
 between us, and then I went into the little 
 carriage, and Claud, my brother, and Mr. 
 Allan with me, and we drove away. We had 
 a long way to go to the railroad, which had 
 come into our quiet countryside since the 
 bairns were married, and I went to abide at 
 Oakenshaw ; and truly, it was not a long jour- 
 ney now from the south country to the east 
 country, where I was going ; so that early in the 
 afternoon, I came to the end of my travel, and 
 saw Grace waiting for me to take me home. 
 My bairn Grace was little changed from 
 what she was in her youth. She had ever 
 been thoughtful and discreet beyond her years, 
 though truly there was mirth and pleasant- 
 ness in her, forbye, that strangers kent not. 
 She was not to call bonnie, though I never
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 173 
 
 saw another face that had just the same wile 
 in it as hers had ; for if you saw it one time, 
 you wearied to look upon it again. She had 
 eyes that were wonderful to see, like as if 
 stars were shining in them ; not that they 
 were aye bright, or aye glancing, but would 
 wake up out of the depths, if you roused 
 them, and glow like the lights of heaven. 
 Besides this, she was not big in stature, nor 
 ever took command upon her; yet her bit 
 hand had the might to rule, and I ken very 
 few in this pairt that had the power to say 
 her nay. At this present time, as indeed it 
 was ever, her dress was very quiet and plain, 
 and mony a woman servant was grander to 
 look upon in her apparel. But my Grace 
 was ever like a gentlewoman ; and you saw 
 at a glance that she might be a princess, 
 but never could be a common person, how- 
 soever her array might be. 
 
 It was but a short road to Oakenshaw,
 
 1 74 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 and being a bonnie afternoon I was blythe 
 to walk thither, there being no greater 
 pleasure to my bairn and me than a quiet 
 walk our lane, after we had been a space 
 parted, when we had many things to say. 
 So we went on with glad hearts upon our 
 road, Grace telling me that all was well at 
 home, the which it was comfort to hear, and 
 then I questioned her concerning things that 
 had come to pass while I was away, and she 
 questioned me. 
 
 " And Grace, my dear," said T, " first of 
 all, have you written the letter to your father, 
 for I am specially concerned for that ?" 
 
 " Yes, aunt," said Grace, " I have written 
 to my father, and not only so, but received a 
 letter in return. There is no disposition on 
 his part to leave me time to reconsider the 
 matter ; he is perfectly willing to accept my 
 proposal, and settle it at once." 
 
 '* But my dear," said I, " what was your
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 175 
 
 proposal ? It is my hope, Grace, that it was 
 kind and Hke yourself." 
 
 " It was like myself, aunt," said Grace, 
 looking a little doubtfully at me, " though 
 how far that imphes that it was kind, I will 
 not venture to say. It was not like you — 
 and I confess I have a letter to show you 
 which makes me suspicious that my invita- 
 tion was not the most gracious one in the 
 world." 
 
 " Is it from your father, Grace ?" said I. 
 
 " No ; he is a man of the world. He is 
 only proud when it is convenient for him," 
 said Grace ; " he seems to have seen no un- 
 graciousness in my letter, aunt. This is 
 from the girl herself, and smites me with 
 something like remorse. I am very glad you 
 are here, and will be here from her first arrival, 
 for, if I am not what I should be — and poor 
 Rhoda, I perceive, will have no great expecta- 
 tions from me — she is sure to find out that
 
 176 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 your heart is open, Aunt Margaret. Poor 
 bairn ! I will say so much in your own very 
 tone." 
 
 " But wherefore should you not welcome 
 her aright ? — and what should make you un- 
 gracious, Grace, my dear ?" said I. 
 
 Grace shook her head. " I suppose only 
 perverse rebellious human nature, aunt," she 
 said. "I am not good, as the. bairns say. 
 I deserve to be put in the corner, and have 
 nobody to speak to me, for the worse of it 
 is, that I am perfectly conscious of being 
 wrong — and, to tell you the truth, I doubt 
 if Claud is much more amiable than I am. 
 I cannot tell you, aunt," said Grace, turning 
 to me with the spark lighting up in her eyes, 
 " how bitterly and deeply the sense of wrong 
 used to assail me when I was with my father. 
 I never could quite forget my resentment 
 and indignation ; — and then to have a stranger 
 thrust upon us thus — our private home in-
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 177 
 
 vaded by a girl who will scarcely be able to 
 bear the natural restraints of it, and all because 
 it is right and my duty — I confess, aunt — 
 it is very wrong — but I cannot submit myself 
 quietly to such a coercion as this." 
 
 " My dear bairn," said I, being troubled in 
 my spirit, " the ways of God must be no 
 coercion, or a blessing will not come upon 
 them." 
 
 Grace was silent, and did not lift her head ; 
 truly the bairn kent well that 1 bid to rebuke 
 her for her speech. 
 
 " A poor motherless bairn, and your own 
 nearest kin," said I ; '* and because it was 
 disturbing yourself, you would not put forth 
 your hand to succour her, and deliver her 
 out of unseemly company, and bring her into 
 the right road. I marvel at you, Grace, truly 
 such a speech as this is not like my bairn." 
 
 Grace looked up to me with a smile upon 
 her face. " 1 am afraid it is extremely like 
 
 I 3
 
 178 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Grace Maitland, aunt," she said ; " however, 
 it is wrong, and I am sorry, and we will 
 trust to time to make all right. You shall see 
 Rhoda's letter when we get home, and will 
 be still more moved in her favour, I am sure 
 — for to tell the truth, it is a very pretty 
 simple genuine letter, aunt, and gives me 
 many compunctions for my involuntary dis- 
 like to my father's child." 
 
 "You ought to say your sister, Grace," 
 said I. 
 
 But Grace looked up at me again, with the 
 smile in her eyes. " How Maggie will be 
 amused, aunt," she said, in her happy way. 
 " Maggie will admire to see mamma come in 
 for her share of admonition. Come, there 
 she is, looking out for you. And now for a 
 great race to welcome Aunt Margaret home." 
 
 And truly my sweet little bairnie had been 
 watching at the door of the lodge, and c-ame 
 flying forth, holding out her arms to welcome
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 79 
 
 me. She was my own special bairn, the 
 child of my old age, called by my own name ; 
 and though all the little things of our blood 
 were precious in my sight, I am free to 
 own I saw none like this one, that was like 
 the blossom of my own heart. 
 
 So with little Maggie holding fast by my 
 hand (she had but little to say, her bit heart 
 being moved) we went through among the 
 trees and the flowers, and over the bonnie 
 green lawn — the garden at that season 
 being beautiful to look upon — towards the 
 open window of the parlour, where we mostly 
 sat in the mornings, and where there was a 
 very grand picture of my Grace's mother, 
 which every stranger person took to be Grace 
 herself. And then, the mother and the 
 daughter loosed off my bonnet, and took my 
 shawl from me, that I might not be troubled 
 to go up the stair ; and little Maggie ran to 
 get me a cup of tea, kenning that was what
 
 1 80 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 I likit best ; and Grace went to her little desk 
 — the very same little desk she had when she 
 was a young thing at Sunnyside — and took 
 from it the letter she had told me about. 
 Truly I was moved when I read it, and like- 
 wise marvelled, it being out of the common 
 way of letters. This was what it said : 
 
 " Papa has told me, this morning, that my 
 sister will receive me in her great house, and 
 that I am to write and thank her, and say I 
 am very glad. But, madame, I am not very 
 glad. I love papa, and he is very kind to 
 me — and, though he says it is for his good, 
 and for my good, yet I would rather stay 
 with him, and do what I could for him, how- 
 ever poor we were, than come to be unwel- 
 come, and a stranger among strangers. You 
 are a great lady, papa tells me — and I am 
 old enough, now, to know what a very poor, 
 poor girl Rhoda is, without a friend in the
 
 LTLLIESLEAF. 181 
 
 world, except poor papa. But, madame,! would 
 not come to burden you, if it were not his 
 wish. I am very thankful to you, because 
 it is his wish — but I blush, that you will 
 think it is my fault, or that I wish to come. 
 I have often thought of you, madame, all my 
 life — when I was but a little child, and saw 
 every other child with its own friends, and 
 poor Rhoda alone, I wept, then, for my sister, 
 who would love me for papa's sake. But 
 now, I am old, and understand — you will 
 not love me. Madame, I will trouble you 
 very Httle. You shall never know I am in 
 your great house — and if you will believe 
 that T come only because it is papa's will — 
 though I would rather be his servant, or work 
 for charitable people, than be a burden upon 
 any one — I will be very thankful and con- 
 tent. I say farewell, madame, and pray you 
 may be happy. And I thank you very much, 
 papa bids me say. 
 
 " Rhoda."
 
 1 8 2 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 It was written in an unsteady hand, as 
 though she had been in great trouble when 
 she wTote it. And truly, I was much moved 
 myself 3 and Grace read it over my shoulder, 
 with a guilty countenance, kenning very well, 
 though she said nought, that she herself had 
 been unkindly, and to blame. I took the 
 letter away with me, when I went to my 
 chamber, that night, and read it over once 
 again ; and resolved, in my own heart, with- 
 out doubt, that whensoever this desolate bairn 
 might come to us, she should find one friend 
 waiting on her, in Oakenshaw.
 
 LILUESLEAF. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. ' 
 
 In the morning, when I came down the 
 stair, with little Maggie leading me — for the 
 bairn was in my bed-chamber before I was 
 up, and would not go from me, till I was 
 ready — she was a tender-hearted bit thing, 
 and Hkit me well, though I say it — it was 
 a fair sight that met my eyes when I came to 
 the parlour, where the household were ga- 
 thered. There was Claud, my nephew, sitting 
 at the table, with the Book before him, 
 ready to begin ; and the early morning light, 
 that ever is so fresh and gladsome, was 
 glinting upon the spread table, and the bread 
 and merciful provision for which we were to
 
 1 84 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 give thanks to our Maker, who is ever 
 mindful of us; and also upon divers fresh 
 and comely faces of the maid-servants, who 
 were all sitting by in their clean morning 
 wrappers, and the one lad that abode in the 
 house. My chair was set for me in the 
 place I aye sat, and my book that I aye read 
 out of, lying upon it ; and between me and 
 Grace was Maggie's little chair. My heart 
 rose within me as the bairn and me came in, 
 and took our place in the family ; and, truly, 
 I could not but give thanks to God for the 
 blessing that had come upon me according to 
 His promise, and that I w^as spared to see 
 children's children, and peace upon Israel, as 
 at this day ; though, likewise, I could not 
 but have thought of Mary in the house at 
 Lilliesleaf, which was not sanctified by the 
 word of God and prayer, in a daily ordinance, 
 which truly was a great and sore loss to her, 
 and to her bairns.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 185 
 
 " Well, Aunt Margaret," said my nephew 
 Claud to me when worship was past, and we 
 were sitting at our breakfast, *' you have not 
 told us half your news — what about Lillies- 
 leaf?" 
 
 " They were very blythe there, Claud, my 
 man, just before I came away," said I, " hold- 
 ing Mary's birthday as it never was held 
 before, all her days, to my thought — and many 
 great folk about the house, and a very bonnie 
 sight it was. Mary would have likit well, 
 if you had been there." 
 
 " Yes ! — and Mary is happy, I suppose," 
 said Claud with a questioning look at me. 
 Truly ill stories travel fast; and they had 
 heard a sough of the countryside gossip 
 and falset, as far as Oakenshaw. 
 
 " She has good occasion, Claud," said I ; 
 " and the bairn would be sinning her mercies 
 if she were aught but happy, with her good 
 estate in this world, and her bonnie bairns,
 
 186 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 and Mr. Allan that thinks there is not the 
 like of her. She has her bits of cares, like 
 other folk ; but her cares are no to be named 
 with her blessings ; and its my hope she 
 thinks that hersel." 
 
 " I am very glad you say so, aunt," said 
 Claud. But he said nought more ; and 
 Grace spoke not a word. I kent, at a glance, 
 they had heard the evil ; and truly I liked 
 not to suffer a reproach on Mr. Allan, and 
 held my peace with ill-will. 
 
 " And the Elders, and the Blythes, and all 
 our old friends," said Grace, " Aunt Margaret 
 has very little to say of them, Claud. And 
 we were quite jealous, Maggie and I, of the 
 Lilliesleaf bairns, and feared we would have 
 no chance against them. When is the Manse 
 coming to Oakenshaw, aunt? Maggie is 
 losing her lawful rights as the representative 
 of the Maitlands. She is only a little girl, 
 my poor wee Maggie 1 and I am afraid even
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 187 
 
 grandmamma prefers Cosmo Elphinstone for 
 the champion and hen*." 
 
 " Cosmo was very good to me when he 
 was here, mamma," said little Maggie, with 
 her shamefaced look. " He would not let 
 Claud meddle with me. And oh ! aunt, does 
 Mary mind me, I wonder ? and bonnie little 
 Susie that w^as just a wee baby then? I 
 would like to go to Lilliesleaf, if mamma 
 would take me; and I would like them to 
 come here. But, oh aunt ! will you tell me 
 what I am to do when the young lady comes ?" 
 
 " What young lady, my bairn ?" said T. 
 
 Maggie looked at her mamma, and then 
 at me, with the colour up in her bonnie bit 
 face. *' The young lady. Miss Maitland, that 
 mamma has the grand room ready for, aunt," 
 said the bairn. " Will she aye speak French ? 
 Will she be hke the French lady at Dourhills, 
 I wonder, and aye wear grand gowns ? I 
 would rather she was like you and mamma."
 
 188 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " It is Rhoda, aunt," said Grace, with a 
 little flush upon her cheek. " Maggie is 
 alarmed at the idea of the foreign princess ; 
 but I daresay she will be a very good simple 
 girl after all, though she will not understand 
 your Scotch, Maggie. You must learn to 
 speak very pretty, and be on your good 
 behaviour, in case the young lady should 
 think you a barbarian, an you must not 
 speak of grand rooms or grand gowns any 
 more. After breakfast, we will take Aunt 
 Margaret to see Miss Rhoda's room." 
 
 " I think she has a very bonnie name, 
 and I would like to like her; but I think 
 mamma is not pleased," said little Maggie, 
 reaching up to whisper to me. Maggie had 
 aye a little secret, every now and then for 
 my private ear. We were great friends, 
 my dear little bairn and me. 
 
 "Truly, I think you will like her, my 
 dear," said I, out loud, " and so will I, and
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 189 
 
 SO will mamma; for it's my thought she'll 
 be bonnie and good, and troubled at her 
 heart, poor bairn ! and we'll all be very 
 thoughtful, Maggie, and cheer her up 
 again." 
 
 And then I began to tell Claud, as the 
 minister bade me, about the parish at home, 
 and what was doing there ; and about 
 many humble folk that we all kent, and 
 were concerned about, dwelling in the cot- 
 houses and the small farm-steadings through 
 the parish of Pasturelands, and nigh-hand 
 the little village of Sedgie Burn ; but to go 
 over the like of the Glendinnings, or the 
 Kerrs, or Adam Murray's family, or the 
 widow Bessie Downie, and all her bairns 
 would be little interest to stranger folk, though 
 Claud and Grace were blythe to hear about 
 them. Also, I had to tell about Lilly Robb, 
 and that she was to be married, and the 
 lad's name that was to be her man, and
 
 190 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 who he belonged to ; and Grace said she 
 bid to fill a box with things for Lilly, and 
 Claud promised he would send the young 
 folk a big bible, for Jenny's sake, whereat 
 I was pleased, knowing it would be a great 
 pleasure to Jenny, and also for the sake of 
 Lilly Robb, who was a most discreet and 
 God-fearing young woman herself So, in 
 this converse, the hour of the breakfast 
 went by, and a pleasant meal time it ever 
 was, both to them and me ; and then seeing it 
 was late in the week, Claud, my nephew, went 
 to his ain study, and to his meditations — 
 for he had two diets of worship on the 
 Sabbath day, forbye, a small meeting 
 among the colliers, at Blackstone Brae, that 
 he aye went to on the Sabbath night, 
 hoping in good time to get out a probationer 
 to labour there, and syne to have it erected 
 into a charge, there being great need of it, 
 with many families growing up like heathens,
 
 LTLLTESLEAF. 1 9 1 
 
 and no mortal striving for them, that they 
 might win unto the light. 
 
 And then Maggie would give her mamma 
 no peace till they took me to the rooms 
 that were for the young stranger, and let me 
 see them. Maggie was very much taken up 
 about the young lady, as she called her, 
 and was aye whispering to me about her, 
 wondering if I would like her, and if she 
 would not understand our speech, and who 
 she would look Hke, and many more things. 
 To my great wonder I found that Grace had 
 been sorting a very grand room for her poor 
 young sister, one of the biggest bed-chambers 
 in the house, with a dressing-room off from it, 
 and furnished in a very pretty way, like as 
 if it was a guest of honour that was coming, 
 instead of a poor desolate bairn, and a 
 stranger, and no very welcome here. I was 
 troubled in my mind concerning this, and 
 scarce pleased with Grace, for I saw well
 
 192 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 that it was all to cover the want of kind- 
 ness in her heart, that she made this show 
 of honour to Rhoda ; and truly I would 
 have been better pleased that she had gotten 
 the empty room up nigh to the nursery, and 
 made to be one of the household, and taken 
 in among us, than to put the poor motherless 
 thing with her sore heart in a grand guest- 
 chamber, that would be but a mockery of her 
 puirtith and her solitude, and her orphan state. 
 
 " Well, aunt," said Grace, taking me into 
 the pretty bit dressing-room, and making me 
 sit down upon a bit neat little sofa, that 
 was new covered like all the rest of the 
 things, " I see you are displeased, and 
 yet I am sure it is not because I have 
 neglected Rhoda's comfort. Now, come and 
 give me my lecture. What is wrong ?" 
 
 Maggie stood at my knee, looking up into 
 my face ; and truly, 1 likit not to reprove 
 the mother before her bairn.
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 193 
 
 "My dear," said I, "if it was a woman 
 of sober years, that was coming to the house, 
 and of station in the world lik^ yoursel, even 
 though she was a distressed gentlewoman, 
 and had not riches like unto you, I would say 
 you had done very well — but this is but a 
 bairn, with a sore heart. Truly, I think it 
 would have been a kinder thought to give her 
 something that was not just a guest's cham- 
 ber, but one that was liker an abiding place." 
 
 " But, aunt," said Grace, with a smile at 
 me, " why should these rooms, because they 
 are pretty, be unlike an abiding place? I 
 am very much pleased with them, myself." 
 
 Now, it so chanced that, from where we 
 were sitting, there was to be seen a very 
 grand big wardrobe, standing at the other 
 end of the room, with its doors open, and 
 nothing in it. I think it was near the biggest 
 thing of the kind in the house. 
 
 " Grace," said I, " when you went out of 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 1 94 LILLIESLEAP. 
 
 Sunnyside, a friendless young thing, not 
 kenning what would befall you, do you mind 
 the bits of trunks you took, and the plain 
 things you had to put on ? If they were a' 
 hung up yonder, that you took with you, 
 Grace, do you think you would have been 
 pleased to see them in this grand big room ? 
 Truly, my dear, it is my thought, that, when 
 you lookit upon them, and the place you 
 were to put them, you would have thought 
 shame." 
 
 The colour mounted up high to my Grace's 
 brow. " You are very right, aunt," she said, 
 in a humble way ; " it is a homely argument, 
 but a strong one — it would have been a 
 mockery — ^and this poor child will be far 
 poorer than I was. Yes, Aunt Margaret, it 
 is very true." 
 
 " But, Grace, my dear," said I, " I 
 bid you not change the room. Truly, I 
 mind not where the room is, for my part;
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 195 
 
 it is the welcome I am minding about — and 
 I am assured, in my mind, that this young 
 thing would rather like a humble place, and 
 a kind look, than the grandest room in the 
 Queen's ain palace, no to speak of Oakenshaw." 
 
 " Well, aunt, wait till she comes," said 
 Grace. " I am beginning to be convinced, 
 you see. But we cannot give up all our 
 pretty preparations. Look at the books, aunt 
 — look at the writing-table — look at all the 
 pretty things. Maggie thinks that no young 
 lady in the world could refuse to be happy 
 here." 
 
 " But, mamma, I like a wee room, mysel. 
 I would be feared to be here at night, my 
 lane," whispered Maggie ; " and, maybe, 
 the young lady will be feared, too. But, 
 aunt, look how bonnie ! — and there's to be 
 flowers here, in this glass — and I'm to bring 
 a pin-cushion I made mysel — and, do you 
 think she will not like it, Aunt Margaret ?" 
 
 K 2
 
 196 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 The innocent bairn made me that I could 
 find no more fault with the place — truly, it 
 was a place where a princess might have 
 been content — but cold to the heart of a 
 poor young thing, that was coming like in 
 charity, kenning herself a dependent, and no 
 so welcome as she might have been. My 
 heart was sore for her, as I looked round 
 upon the damask curtains on the bed, and 
 the bonnie white broidered muslin fluttering 
 at the windows, and the grand plenishing on 
 every side, like as if for a guest of state. 
 Poor bairn ! I would have put her into Grace's 
 little room, at Sunnvside, if I had her there 
 — which was but a small room, opening out 
 of my own chamber, and no better in it 
 than white dimity, and a bit plain carpet, and 
 two chairs. And truly, if she was such a 
 bairn as I thought in my mind of her, it is 
 my belief she would have been far happier 
 there.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. i 9 7 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next morning, when the post came 
 in at breakfast-time, we all got some letters. 
 I saw Grace take up hers in an impatient 
 way, from the which, besides a foreign look 
 the paper had, I divined it was from her 
 father. Claud's were circulars, and such like, 
 about the affairs of the kirk ; for our Claud 
 was well reputed among the brethren, and 
 had great say in his own Synod, and was 
 convenor of one scheme, and had to do with 
 most things that were stirring in our pairts, 
 for the good of the kirk, and the spread of 
 the Truth. And, truly, I think not there
 
 198 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 were many weighty things done, even in the 
 Edinburgh Presbytery itself, but one or another 
 would ask his counsel. For the callant, who 
 had ever been wise, and minded well his 
 father's counsels and good exemplar, was 
 now a man of authority and judgment, well 
 kent for a judicious person, and a manful 
 standard-bearer in the hosts of the Lord. 
 For my own hand, I got two letters ; one 
 from Mary, my sister, and one in a big 
 hand of write, which I kent not, till I opened 
 it, and saw the name at the foot of the page. 
 Now, this being from Cosmo, and him no 
 much used to the writing of letters, I will 
 put it all down here. 
 
 " My dear Aunt, 
 
 " Mamma says I am to write to tell 
 you that we are all very well at Lilliesleaf, 
 and that my tutor is coming, and I'm to 
 begin my lessons. And the gentleman is
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 1 99 
 
 from Oxford ; and grandpapa is pleased. 
 Mamma says he would rather have had ano- 
 ther tutor for me ; but he is pleased, for all 
 that. And papa took me with him all the 
 way to Dumfries, by the railway, and bought 
 a great lot of books, and a first rate bow 
 and arrows, and the grandest knife for Claud 
 that you ever saw. It has a dozen blades, and 
 mamma is feared for it, and Robbie at the 
 Manse says he would rather have it than a 
 pound note. I am to have an awful lot of 
 things, papa says ; and the books are all in 
 a box; and there's a new desk come into 
 the east room — and that is to be the school- 
 room. And Claud, when he is bigger, is 
 to learn all the same things as me. The 
 gentleman is to come next Monday; his 
 name is Mr. Bernard, and he is an English- 
 man, and will not go to the kirk, to hear 
 grandpapa, but down to the English chapel 
 at Burro wstoun. Claud thinks he will not
 
 200 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 like learning with a tutor ; but I am growing 
 up, and mamma says I ought; and I am 
 determined to learn whatever other men learn, " 
 and be as good a scholar as uncle Claud, 
 though I am never to be a minister — and 
 you need not be feared because Mr. Bernard 
 is English ; for we are to say our catechism 
 to grandpapa, and there is no fear. Papa 
 set up a target, yesterday, on the Aspen brae; 
 and mamma says I made the best shot, though 
 papa was trying all his might, and wanted to 
 win. And I have been at the Castle, with 
 papa ; and there was a wee chap there, that 
 was Lady Julia's son, with a white face, like 
 a lassie, and not half so big as me — but he 
 beat me in a race, and he can play some 
 games far better than 1 can ; and I think I 
 like him, though he is a little smatchet, and 
 speaks to mamma as if he was a grown-up 
 man. Claud sends you word, he is making 
 a box, with his new knife, to hold pirns in ;
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 20 1 
 
 and it is all to be carved on the top ; and he 
 will give it to you ; — and Mary and Susie — 
 but mamma says I am not to tell about that. 
 Papa and mamma send their kind love. Papa 
 is to give me a new pony, and Claud is to get 
 Spunkie. And I am 
 
 " Your affectionate nephew, 
 
 "Cosmo Elphinstone." 
 
 I think not I would have gotten so much 
 news in any old person's letter — and truly it 
 pleased me, for Cosmo was a manful callant, 
 though he had his bits of faults like other 
 folk. When I was done, I let Maggie see 
 it, who was very proud to get a letter 
 to read, and syne it passed from one 
 to another, and Claud was pleased with 
 it also, and said it was like seeing Lilliesleaf, 
 and very glad he was to get a vision of such 
 comfort and content in Mary's house. 
 
 All this time, Grace was taken up about 
 
 K 3
 
 202 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 her letter, reading it over and over with a 
 discontented face, and then she gave it to 
 Claud, and then to me. While Claud was 
 reading it, and Maggie and me were speaking 
 about Cosmo, Grace was silent, and did 
 not say a w^ord, and by the time it came to 
 my hands, truly I was w^earied marvelling 
 at what she could mean. The letter was 
 from her father, as 1 thought, and here it is : — 
 
 " Dear Grace, 
 
 " That you may not be disappointed 
 waiting for us, I have concluded our arrange- 
 ments at once, and will reach Oakenshaw 
 shortly after you receive this note, with your 
 sister, who is considerably fluttered at the 
 thought of meeting you, knowing how much 
 of the comfort of her future life wdll depend 
 upon your good opinion of her. Rhoda is 
 a child in many things — in some an expe- 
 rienced and precocious woman — and I, heaven
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 203 
 
 help me ! am not the best person in the 
 world to be the sole guardian of a sensitive 
 girl. So it may happen that some of your 
 feminine fashions, and still more likely, some 
 of your primitive ideas of decorum and pro- 
 priety, living out of the world as you 
 unfortunately do, may be shocked by my 
 poor girl. I warn you of this danger before- 
 hand, that you may guard against it. Rhoda 
 has a high spirit, though she curbs it, and 
 has been accustomed to a life very different 
 from what yours must be. But though in 
 our former unfortunate differences of opinion 
 I may have expressed myself strongly, and 
 even have confessed to you how extremely 
 unlike my own, and distasteful to me in 
 many points your opinions were, I have 
 always had the highest opinion, as you are 
 aware, of your good sense and judgment — 
 and as the children of one parent, I trust 
 you and your sister will find many things in
 
 204 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 common, and will be able to settle into a 
 comfortable family relationship. My compli- 
 ments to your husband ; I trust he perfectly 
 approves of your kind proposal to adopt 
 Rhoda, and will receive her as his wife's 
 sister — especially considering the great advan- 
 tages you have brought to him — ought to be 
 received. On the whole, I shall leave Rhoda 
 in your hands without much anxiety, and I 
 have no doubt she will make herself both 
 agreeable and useful to you. You will soon 
 discover that she is sometimes very self-willed 
 — the letter that she wrote to you, for instance, 
 she absolutely declined showing me, so that 
 I can only hope it was sufficiently grateful 
 and well expressed ; but as you naturally 
 have a firm will yourself, 1 do not fear that 
 you will soon sway your sister to your 
 pleasure. I find that I am lengthening un- 
 reasonably what I intended as a mere avant 
 courier of our approach, for I am indeed
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 205 
 
 heartily and sincerely anxious that my poor 
 child should find a happy home in the house, 
 of which, but for peculiar circumstances, she 
 might have been joint heiress with yourself. 
 Farewell for a few hours, when I shall hope 
 to receive your hospitable welcome, and to 
 present to you your sister. 
 
 " H. Maitland." 
 
 Grace watched me when I was reading this, 
 with a kind of smile upon her face, and I 
 deny not that I was startled, in especial by the 
 end. "Truly," said I, with a little start, 
 putting off my spectacles, and laying down 
 the paper on the table, " I would be blythe to 
 ken what the gentleman might mean." 
 
 " Is that about the joint heiress-ship, aunt ?'* 
 said Grace, still with her pale and angered 
 smile. '^ We are favoured people, are we 
 not? Rhoda has a high spirit, and is self- 
 willed. Claud must make his best bow, and 
 I my state curtsey, in acknowledgment of
 
 206 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 the honour paid us. Our poor house does 
 not deserve such a guest." 
 
 " My dear bairn, speak not so. The young 
 thing is innocent of this/' said I, " though 
 truly, I will not say but the most patient per- 
 son might own to a provocation. But we 
 are no to answer a man according to his folly. 
 I meant not to say folly in respect of this 
 gentleman : but, truly, the letter is ill-advised." 
 
 " So, this is the last day of our private 
 comfort — is it, Grace?" said Claud, "and 
 to-morrow we will have this high-spirited 
 young lady supervising us. Well ! we will 
 be able to bear it, I fancy. Let us not 
 be angry in the first place — and Miss Rhoda 
 may differ in sentiment, as much as his 
 other daughter does, from her papa." 
 
 Grace shrugged up her shoulders and said 
 nothing, and little Maggie looked from one 
 to another with her bright e'en, marvelling, 
 but kenning not, what our converse was 
 about. Then I put in my word myself.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 207 
 
 *' Grace, my dear, it behoves us to be 
 ready for the strangers," said I, "for they 
 will be tired off their long travel ; and oh, 
 my bairns ! think of kindness, and no of 
 displeasure ! Think but of all the mercy the 
 Lord has wared upon yours and you, ^nd 
 crowned your heads and filled your house 
 with the blessing of His covenant ; and should 
 you refuse to open your heart to a desolate 
 poor bairn, that, doubtless, has had but scant 
 learning in the only truth ? I will not believe 
 it either of Claud or Grace ; and now come 
 and see to their up-putting, and wait not, 
 thinking bitter thoughts, till they have reached 
 to the very door." 
 
 With that, Grace rose up and put her arm 
 into mine. *' Yes, aunt, yours is the nobler 
 fashion of requital," she said, turning to the 
 door with me. " Come, Maggie, we will pre- 
 pare for our young lady — and to-morrow will 
 show us which is right."
 
 208 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 But the forenoon passed, and there was 
 no word of the strangers. We went to the 
 rooms that were for Miss Rhoda, and saw 
 them all right sorted ; and truly Grace was 
 as careful of them as though the}^ had been 
 for some grand visitor ; and then little Maggie 
 got her own basket, and drew me away into 
 the gardens, where we got some flowers, early 
 roses some of them, and many bonnie blossoms, 
 the which it was my dear little bairn's great 
 delight to sort and put into the rooms. When 
 all was done, we took our seams, Grace and 
 me, went into the drawing-room to wait for
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 209 
 
 them ; for Grace would not have her father 
 come into the parlour, which it was her 
 pleasure to call mine, and where her mother's 
 picture was. It is not to be expected that 
 we covi'id settle to work or converse, as long 
 as we were waiting ; and truly Grace went 
 wandering about, from Claud's study to 
 my seat, saying a word to him and a 
 word to me, and moved in her spirit with 
 thought of her days of trouble long ago, 
 when she was under her father's frown. 
 And little Maggie was aye skipping in and 
 out at the open windows, and running a 
 race towards the little house at the gate, and 
 running back again to tell me she heard the 
 carriage wheels ; and whiles I saw Claud's 
 own high head looking through among the 
 trees towards the road. And I will not say, 
 when I minded all the past, and the way I 
 saw this gentleman last, that I had not a little 
 tremble upon me myself.
 
 210 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 " I cannot help it, though it is so very 
 foolish, aunt," said Grace to me when 1 told 
 her there was a flush upon her cheek, and 
 she looked not like herself ; " the thought of 
 seeing my father, rouses me painfully. I 
 cannot avoid remembering all that he made 
 me suffer. Yes, it is quite true ; I am excited. 
 Aunt Margaret, and it does not become me 
 to be excited. I cannot quite restrain my- 
 self." 
 
 " Truly, my dear, a time of onwaiting is 
 aye a trouble," said I, " but it is my hope, 
 Grace, you will show none of that when the 
 strangers come." 
 
 " No, no !" she said in a quick w^ay, and 
 turned aw^ay from me; and then I sat my 
 lane, pondering on the changes of this life. 
 Once upon a time, my bairn Grace was in her 
 father's hands ; and, doubtless, if he had 
 tried right might have been swayed to his 
 pleasure like other young things. But he
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 211 
 
 tried to put a yoke upon the bairn's high and 
 generous spirit, and dealt unlovingly and un- 
 wisely in the time of his power ; and, truly, 
 though she bore a Christian mind, and would 
 not pay back evil for evil, she looked for his 
 coming as if he was her sworn enemy, and 
 no her nearest friend by nature. And w^hen 
 I thought upon it, I perceived in my own 
 spirit, that he could have very little comfort, 
 any more than she had, in coming here. 
 
 When the time of our dinner came, which 
 was at four of the clock in the afternoon — 
 for we were not minding about the fashion — 
 I was for having it put off ; but Grace w^ould 
 not listen to me — " They will dine when they 
 come; but we cannot wait for them," she 
 said, in her proud way. So, we took our 
 dinner ; though, truly, I was often disturbed 
 in it, thinking I heard them; and Claud 
 himself many times turned his head towards 
 the window. Grace never took any notice.
 
 212 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 nor said a word concerning them ; there had 
 been enough about them for one day. 
 
 And in the cool of the bonnie evening 
 time, Claud being done with his sermon, 
 we all upon the lawn before the windows, 
 Maggie running about, bareheaded, with the 
 slanting sun upon her bonnie curls, and her 
 little sweet face, aye drawing her papa away, 
 to see a new flower, here, and there a blink 
 of light among the grand clouds in the west. 
 It was not sunset yet, but drawing near unto 
 it, the sweetest hour of all the day ; and the 
 kye were passing home along the road, lowing 
 for the milking ; and the birds making haste 
 towards their nests, and the clouds gathering 
 about the sun, to see him on his way. Truly, 
 peace was on the countryside, and pleasantness 
 about our dwelling-place. And when I looked 
 about, upon the woods of Oakenshaw, and 
 saw the house standing fast on its ain soil, 
 my heart smote me to think of them that
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 213 
 
 were coming here, that had no such home to 
 comfort them, but were wanderers and va- 
 grants in the unfriendly world. What were 
 we, that the Lord should have given the like 
 of this comfort to us ? Truly, we aye grudge 
 to share our good with other folk, though 
 He grudges not in its bestowal — and, as I 
 considered it, I thought shame in my heart. 
 
 Just at that moment, as T was communing 
 with myself, Grace called little Maggie, and 
 took hold of my arm, and drew me into the 
 house ; also Claud followed us fast, and stood 
 by the window, looking out. 
 
 " Now for our trial, aunt," said Grace ; 
 " they are here at last." 
 
 And then I perceived a post-chaise enter- 
 ing by the gate, and coming toward the house. 
 I will not deny that it put me into a tremor ; 
 here was the gentleman, Grace's father, that 
 had said many an ill-word, and thought 
 many an unkindly thought, touching mine and
 
 214 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 me ; and there was she, that was his ain bairn, 
 yet had not a bairn's thought toward him, 
 standing white and firm by the table, striving 
 with her ain heart. " My dear bairn !" said 
 1, making a step toward my Grace, and the 
 sound of my speaking roused her. She returned 
 into her own look once more. 
 
 " Now, I am ready for them, aunt," she 
 said, with a smile upon her face ; and, truly, 
 Grace had ever a wonderful power within her- 
 self to recall her ain spirit. I saw, being well 
 acquaint with every look in her e'en, the light 
 shining subdued in them, that a small matter 
 would suffice to kindle ; but to outward ap- 
 pearance, and especially to stranger folk, her 
 bearing was as content and quiet, and full of 
 grace as heart could desire. 
 
 "Now Claud," she said, turning to him, who 
 was watching from the window how the dusty 
 carriage came up towards the door. " Come 
 with me and receive our guests." When
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 215 
 
 Claud heard that, he came to her, and Grace 
 took hold of his arm. Truly, it was not in 
 my heart to be other than proud of them, as 
 they stood there before me in the prime of 
 their strength, being both my own bairns. 
 Claud, most manful and strong, looking well 
 like what he was — one of the Lord's appointed 
 servants to keep the Truth, and succour the 
 distressed — and Grace, the queen of her own 
 house, taking nought unseemly upon her, as 
 simple as a little bairn, and nothing in her 
 that was not womanly, for all the natural 
 rule she had. I marvelled in my own mind 
 what the gentleman would think of the two, 
 who, if they were not according to his carnal 
 fashions, were gentlefolk of the Lord's own 
 making, and never could be lookit down upon 
 by the braveries of this world. 
 
 Thus they were when they went away. 
 Grace as proud of her husband, and he of his 
 wife, as I was thankful and proud of them
 
 216 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 both, in my ain secret heart ; and little Maggie 
 tarried at my knee, looking up in my face and 
 marvelling, and questioning me. Truly, I 
 was not to call composed myself, and I doubted 
 not that if he durst, this strange gentleman 
 would do all he could to be uncivil to me, and 
 maybe, would put his young daughter against 
 me, the which I would be grieved to see ; and 
 I could not help but think, even as Grace did, 
 of the time when he came to Sunnyside, and 
 spoke not as a gentleman should, both to her 
 and to me. 
 
 " Am I to call the gentleman grandpapa, 
 aunt?" said little Maggie. It gave me a 
 start to think upon it — Grandpapa ! the same 
 name as Claud, my brother, bore. 
 
 " Yes, my bairn," said I. " He has been 
 long parted from this place, and may be, has 
 different ways ; but you'll be sure to pay him 
 great respect, Maggie, for he is a very grand 
 gentleman to look upon, and aye has been
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 217 
 
 used to much service ; and though you never 
 saw him before, he is your own grandpapa, as 
 much as grandpapa at the Manse." 
 
 " And am I to say * aunt' to the young 
 lady, Aunt Margaret ?" said little Maggie. 
 
 " Yes, my darling," said I ; *' but just then 
 we both heard voices, or to speak true, one 
 voice, being the voice of Mr. Maitland, Grace's 
 father, coming along from the door ; and truly 
 Maggie and I were very quiet in a moment, 
 and waited for their coming, and were not 
 ver\' easy, or in comfort, being our lane in 
 the room, either her or me. 
 
 " Yes, I quite approve of your taste — very 
 quiet, but very suitable to your station and 
 requirements," said the gentleman, as he came 
 in ; '' very creditable indeed, Grace — very 
 much improved since my time. I am glad that 
 your short residence with your aunt and my- 
 self, though unfortunate in some respects, was 
 not quite lost upon you." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 And there they were in the room, Grace 
 coming a step behind her father, who entered 
 first, and with a higher colour than v^as her 
 wont, upon her face, and a smile with the 
 which I was not to call pleased ; for there 
 was a measure of scorn in it, and that was a 
 grief to me. The gentleman himself, though 
 he was older than he was when I last saw 
 him, keepit his age well, and looked little 
 different. He was a grand-looking man, big, 
 and tall, and with a great presence ; but his 
 face, though folk would say it was a fine face 
 in respect of features and such like, was one 
 that you loved not to look upon, being full of 
 this world, and the things of this world, as 
 I thought ; though truly it becomes not hu- 
 man folk to make hard judgments upon one 
 another, and it might be that I was in the 
 wrong. Any way, he had a manner that 
 angered quiet folk, being aye as if he was a 
 greater person, and kent far more than them
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 2 1 9 
 
 he spoke to ; and truly this was what my 
 Grace, save in the way of scorning it, was 
 little like to bear. 
 
 But J lookit behind to see his young 
 daughter, who was coming close after him, 
 with a brown veil like a cloud hanging half 
 over her face. She was about eighteen, as 
 far as I could judge, and was glancing about 
 her in quick glances, noting all things. Poor 
 thing, she was but strangely dressed for her 
 first appearing among strangers, with a brown 
 cotton gown, and a brown jacket of an 
 outlandish fashion, the like of which I never 
 saw in our parts, though it was not misbecom- 
 ing either. She w^as dark in her complexion, 
 with restless eyes that aye seemed on their 
 travels, and dark hair, falling out below her 
 bonnet, and little colour in her face; and 
 tliough she had a very bonnie little mouth, 
 it was set in an obstinate sullen way that was 
 not pleasant to see, and her forehead was 
 
 l2
 
 220 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 drawn in with a thought of a frown, and 
 I saw she was bent upon noting the way 
 Grace lookit at her father and spoke to him, 
 as if she would fain make a quarrel with my 
 bairn. Truly after the first glance, I had 
 some ado to keeping from closing my heart 
 against Miss Rhoda, for she was far from 
 looking like the distressed and solitary bairn 
 that I expected to see. 
 
 When they were fairly into the room, her 
 father drew her forward — truly, to my think- 
 ing, the way a play-actor might have done, 
 and kissed her before us all. " Now, Rhoda 
 my love," he said, " I have brought you to 
 your sister's house, and I trust you will be 
 very happy here, and never regret the sacrifices 
 you have made in leaving me. You lose 
 some advantages, of course, but I trust you 
 will gain others more important to a woman. 
 Welcome, my child, to what was once my 
 home. Your sister will do all she can to
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 221 
 
 make Oakenshaw a home to you, I am 
 sure." 
 
 I saw a tremble, like as of a breath of 
 wind, going over Grace's face, and then the 
 two sisters stood before one another for a 
 moment. The young thing looked at Grace 
 with defiance in her eye ; and as for Grace, 
 the way she keepit possession of herself was 
 wonderful to me. " T will do what I can to 
 make Oakenshaw a home to you," she said, 
 with a little bow, and a tone of mockery in 
 her voice, repeating her father's words ; and 
 for an instant my heart relented, for I thought 
 I saw a quivering on the lip of the stranger 
 bairn ; but, if there was, it passed in a 
 moment, and she made Grace a curtsey and 
 sat down. Truly it was a strange meeting 
 among folk so near in blood.
 
 222 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 All that night, neither Mr. Maitland nor 
 his daughter took note of me, nor, for that 
 matter, of Claud either, more than they could 
 help. The gentleman keeped up a converse 
 with Grace ; the young lady having changed 
 her dress, and taken her dinner, sat in a 
 corner, and lookit at all the books she could 
 get, and took many glances at Grace, and at 
 her father. My dear, little, bonnie Maggie 
 was soon sent away, it being the little thing's 
 bed-time, but before she went out of the 
 room, she stood by my knee, looking at them 
 in her shame-faced way, no venturing to speak,
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 223 
 
 being a shy bairn, but giving wistful looks 
 that they never took notice of. When Mr. 
 Haitian d saw us first, he said, " This is your 
 little girl, Grace ?" and patted her upon her 
 head, and said, " How do you do, dear ?" but 
 that was not what Maggie was used with, and 
 the little thing was sorely disappointed at it. 
 T cannot say it was a comfortable night in any 
 manner, for T sat at my work, saying nothing 
 and Claud went and came between this room 
 and the study, and the young lady sat in 
 her corner, never speaking to one of us, but 
 looking at the books. All this time, Grace 
 sat in the same chair near her father, speaking 
 to him ; and every word she said was in the 
 same scornful way, as if it was not worth her 
 while to say him nay — and everything had 
 the same kind -of mock respect as a great 
 lady might show to a mean person that was 
 presuming upon her, but that she would not 
 take the trouble to rebuke in words. I never
 
 224 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 saw my Grace look better to the outward 
 eye, for there was a kind of unwitting state 
 about her, where she sat, and a colour in her 
 cheek, and a hght in her eye, no to speak of 
 the bit curl of her upper lip, which I kent 
 full well ; but, truly, in my own spirit, I have 
 seldom been less satisfied with my bairn ; for 
 though he took a great deal upon him, and 
 though I kent very well what false pretension 
 it was, he was her father, and it behoved 
 her to demean herself in another fashion, no 
 to say that he was likewise a stranger and a 
 guest under our roof; and if she had been 
 less polite, and more sincere and kind, truly 
 it might have saved her, and the whole house- 
 hold of us, from sundry troubles. 
 
 When it came to be time for the Books, 
 and when George, the lad we had for service 
 in the house, came and put them upon the 
 table, I saw a moment's self-rebuke come into 
 the eye of Grace. Her father took his spying
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 225 
 
 glass to look at the great Bible that was put 
 before Claud's seat at the head of the table ; 
 and when the maid-servants began to come 
 in, he looked at Grace, to ask of her what it 
 was. I heard not what she said; but she 
 spoke something. And syne he lifted up 
 a Bible, in a condescending kind of way, 
 and answered loud out, so that every one 
 could hear, 
 
 "To be sure — your husband is a clergy- 
 man. I had forgotten — nay, no apologies ! — - 
 perfectly right — perfectly right, in his profes- 
 sion, my dear." 
 
 Now, I cannot say but my heart rose at 
 this — as if the worship of the Lord, in a 
 godly family, belonged to any man's profes- 
 sion ! But truly, there was little use in being 
 angry. As for the young lady, when a book 
 was given to her, she lookit at it, and then 
 closed it, and put it down upon another chair. 
 f marvelled not that Claud's face should be 
 
 L 3
 
 226 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 less composed than was his wont, when he 
 opened the hig Bible, and lifted his hand to 
 crave a blessing upon the reading of the 
 word ; for, truly, my own mind was in a very 
 perturbed state, and I scarce could attend to 
 what he said. 
 
 We were but a strange family, looking 
 upon us at that moment, to be assembled in 
 a minister's house. The maids could not 
 well conceal how anxious they were for a 
 good look at the strangers — in especial, at 
 Miss Rhoda ; and were glancing up from 
 their books, in a hidelins and secret way, 
 when they thought nobody was looking — as, 
 also, truly, to my shame be it said, I was 
 likewise doing myself. Grace bent down over 
 her Bible, till you could scarce see her face> 
 which was flushed and discomposed. Her 
 father, beside her, was holding his book wide 
 open upon his hand, and looking round upon 
 the room, as if he wanted everybody to take
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 227 
 
 note what honour he was doing his Maker. 
 And, as for the strange young lady, she had 
 no book, but sat with her eyes steadfast on 
 Claud's face, and never moved all the time. 
 As I lookit at her, I could not but perceive 
 a look of Grace in her face — though, how 
 that should be, seeing Grace was like her 
 mother, and not like Mr. Maitland, I could 
 not divine — but, as I glanced at her dark 
 e'en, full open, and the look that was nigh-hand 
 scornful, but steadfast upon Claud, they put 
 me in mind of the manner in which Grace 
 had been bearing herself, all this night, towards 
 her father ; and I confessed, in my heart, 
 that the two had a likeness to one another. 
 For myself, 1 once, also, encountered Miss 
 Rhoda's black e'en, as they went questioning 
 about, for the space of a moment, when she 
 had left looking upon my nephew — and I 
 saw that the poor thing was questioning — 
 poor, forlorn bairn ! she kent no better — if
 
 228 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 we had a sincere meaning ; and was rather 
 moved to think, in her own mind, that we 
 were all false and hypocrites, because it was 
 our custom thus to draw near unto God. 
 
 I would have thought the reading of the 
 chapter and the prayer Claud made, which 
 was the prayer of a righteous man, for them 
 that were near and dear to us all, and for the 
 kirk, and for all in distress and trouble, would 
 have moved the hearts of these fremd folk ; 
 but truly 1 saw little sign of it — and after the 
 books were laid by, Grace took the young lady 
 to her room again, and she made a curtsey to 
 us all, and said good-night, which was mostly 
 the first plain word 1 had heard her say. And 
 then the gentleman, Grace's father, yawned 
 and gaped like an uncivil person, and Grace 
 when she came back, stood in converse with 
 him, pretending to be so respectful and so 
 reverent, that I think he saw the mock she 
 was putting upon him at last. Then he also
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 229 
 
 went away, and Claud, and Grace, and me 
 were left our lane. 
 
 Grace threw herself down into a chair before 
 me. 
 
 " This evening is over at last," she said, put- 
 ting her hands upon her hot cheeks, " and now 
 for our opinion of our guests. Aunt, you ought 
 to begin. What do you think of them ?" 
 
 *' Truly, Grace, my dear," said I, " it is not 
 in my way to discuss the father's fashions with 
 the bairn, nor yet to listen to the same. They 
 are very different from the like of us ; but 
 we're no such very good folk that we should be 
 the standard, and that is all I have to say." 
 
 " It is not remarkably satisfactory, aunt," 
 said Grace. " Now, Claud, for your opinion ; 
 what do you think of them ?" 
 
 *' I think — that your father is your father, 
 Grace," said Claud. 
 
 I saw the red colour mount up again to 
 Grace's brow, and a look of vexation and dis-
 
 230 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 pleasure came upon her face ; but she waited 
 a moment before she spoke, and in that mo- 
 ment the shadow cleared away. 
 
 " Yes ! you are quite right — quite right ! — 
 and yet you trouble me," said Grace. " I 
 would rather you spoke out, Claud — both my 
 aunt and you. I will say nothing of my father, 
 not a word ; but what does anybody think of 
 this girl?" 
 
 Claud shrugged his shoulders and shook his 
 head till Grace was moved to smile at him. 
 Neither of the two had much opinion of the 
 stranger, and I was not greatly moved within 
 myself to put in my ain word for her ; but 
 it was right that somebody should take the 
 poor thing's part. 
 
 " My bairns," said I, " she kens us not, and 
 she kens not our ways. I think not she has 
 been used to worship in a family, Grace, my 
 dear — and, truly, if she thinks you are cold 
 and distant to her, she will not think it is very
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 231 
 
 honest, our drawing nigh to God ; for 1 have 
 aye seen that those folk who mind least about 
 godliness for their own hand, are ave most 
 exacting with them that profess the same. So, 
 my bairns, I warn you to be wary, and no bring 
 a reproach upon the truth." 
 
 " Aunt," said Grace, firing again in her old 
 way, " she is a stranger in our house, and it is 
 her part to conform to us, not ours to suit our- 
 selves to her." 
 
 " Truly, no," said I, " but, oh Grace ! be 
 kind — be kind ! You were once motherless, 
 and among strangers yourself." 
 
 " I have never been motherless since I have 
 known you, Aunt Margaret," said Grace ; " but 
 Rhoda will have nobody's sympathy to fall back 
 upon, and I had always yours. Yes ! I will be 
 very kind to her, aunt, and so will you ; but 
 the question is, what do you think of her ? and 
 it is not so easy to answer that." 
 
 " She knows nothing about us," said
 
 232 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Claud, "and to tell the truth, I do not 
 think we are in a much better position. 
 Such innocent specimens of young ladyhood 
 as Grace and Mary did not help me much 
 in my study of the natural history of the 
 species, aunt. This is altogether a different 
 creature — we are not in a position to pro- 
 nounce any verdict, Grace. You must 
 proceed in proper order, madam. Let us 
 hear the articles of your libel ; what have 
 you to say against her ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say against her, and 
 nothing to say for her — no opinion at all, 
 indeed, except the old one, ' I dinna like 
 you,' which my aunt will object to/' said 
 Grace, with a little laugh. " Well, after all, 
 we don't know her ; but I am afraid of this 
 girl in our quiet house ; she has spirit enough, 
 and will show it too, or there is no faith to be 
 put in mortal eyes." 
 
 " Truly she has a look that minds me of
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 233 
 
 her kindred," said I, " and that should warm 
 Claud's heart to her as well as mine. I love 
 not to see a scornful look on your face, Grace, 
 my dear, and truly if you would not have it 
 said that your young sister is like you, you 
 will never look in that manner again." 
 
 " Like me, aunt '?" cried Grace ; and 
 truly Claud was near angered at me, and 
 would not have it said ; but I did not quit 
 my opinion for that, and though I thought 
 not much of this poor thing, I was grieved 
 for her, and doubtless all the more grieved 
 if she was not such a bairn as would win 
 love for her own hand. 
 
 Also I said a word of reproof to my Grace 
 concerning her way of speaking to her father. 
 " My dear," said I, " if you would but mind 
 that the like of this gentleman, if he sees evil 
 in you, will blame it on the word and faith 
 that you profess to hold — for I ken well 
 what worldly folk say ; and truly I mind not
 
 234 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 that the fourth command takes time to tell 
 that we maun honour a godly father only, or 
 one that pleases our own spirit. And if you 
 were dealing in honour and truth with this 
 gentleman in your courtesy to-night, truly, 
 Grace, you ken yoursel." 
 
 Whereupon Grace gave me her hand and 
 promise that she would not do it again, and 
 we went up the stair to our beds, first look- 
 ing in, both her and me, to the Httle room, 
 which was between Grace's room and mine, 
 where our little bairn was sleeping sweet 
 after her prayers. Maggie's bonnie curls 
 were all smoothed back below her bit little 
 white cap, and her s\veet rosy cheekie (it was 
 not to call rosy either for a bairn, but just a 
 faint bloom, yet what you whiles see in a 
 flower) pressed close upon the white pillow, 
 and one bonnie hand on her little breast, and 
 one thrown up above her head. A very 
 small bookie fuU of texts (she ever learned
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 235 
 
 one every night that she might have a good 
 thought in her mind at her lying down, and 
 said it to me in the morning) was upon the 
 little table, and the moon was coming in 
 at the window, and there was one white rose, 
 that she had taken out among the flowers, 
 in a glass by itself upon the mantel-piece. It 
 was easy to see there were kindly hands 
 about that little chamber, and many a prayer 
 has been said in it, as I ken full well. 
 
 " Grace," said I, " yon poor bairn in her 
 grand room that you decked for her to-day is 
 no so blessed as little Maggie, with her mother 
 at her bedside, kissing her for good-night." 
 
 And Grace turned round to me and wept, 
 just in a moment, or ever I was aware — and 
 bent down again, as I did also, and kissed our 
 sleeping bairnie on her bonnie brow. She 
 said no more to me but " good night," but 
 I kent I had the better of her, and she would 
 mind what I said.
 
 236 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 And truly in my own heart I thought 
 upon the stranger, and was grieved for her, 
 and named over her name in my exercise 
 before I went to my rest. Poor desolate 
 thing ! if she was of a dour spirit by nature, 
 there was but the greater reason to be wae 
 for her in her troublous lot.
 
 LTLLIESLEAF. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The gentleman, Mr. Maitland, Grace's 
 father, abode a whole week at Oakenshaw; 
 and I doubt not it was a dull week to him, 
 as truly as it was not bye-ordinary in its cheer- 
 fulness for any one of us. But it was easy 
 to see he had no mind to bring his young 
 daughter into the ways of our quiet house. He 
 spoke to Grace about a riding-horse for the 
 young lady, and Grace being, to my grief, in 
 that scornful humour that would not say him 
 nay, caused saddle for her a very bonnie beastie 
 which she sometimes rode upon herself, and 
 which whiles drew a carriage, wherein Grace
 
 238 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 was wont to drive with Maggie and me. 
 Miss Rhoda was a grand rider. I likit to 
 look upon her, for nay own part ; and the 
 firm seat and hand that she had, aye minded 
 me more of my own Grace. So her father and 
 her rode ahout the country, hither and thither, 
 being away hours at a time, which truly was 
 not wise either in the one or the other, seeing 
 that friendship and favour in the eyes of her 
 sister, were like to be of more import to the 
 young thing than any pleasure of this kind. 
 
 Our house was disturbed, and our ways 
 interrupted by these strange folk. The dinner 
 was put off to please Mr. Maitland; and I 
 have seen him come into the room in the 
 middle of the prayer, when we had the Books 
 in the morning, and syne go out again, without 
 even the reverence of walking quiet. Claud 
 was very patient with them, though his brow 
 grew dark, and his e'en lighted up, now and 
 then, when something vexed him ; and Grace
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 239 
 
 in spite of all I could say, aye keepit her 
 scornful courtesy, though whiles she was sorry 
 for her own manner as I could see, and even 
 thought shame. As for myself, I kent not 
 well how to do, being troubled in my mind, 
 though truly it was against my will, by the 
 gentleman's demeanour towards myself, as if 
 J was an intruding person, and had no call 
 to be there. Truly it was little pleasure 
 to be there, at that time. 
 
 ' At last, the morning came when he was to 
 go away. He had been calling upon folk 
 that he kent in the countryside, and concern- 
 ing them he was very busy, telling his young 
 daughter, how he had bidden this one and 
 the other one come to see her, and how she 
 would soon get cheery company, and was to 
 be sure no to fall into low spirits, but to keep 
 up her heart when he went away. The young 
 lady was sitting in a low chair, which had 
 used to be Grace's favourite chair, till the
 
 240 LILLIESLEAP. 
 
 young thing took constant possession of it- — 
 bending down her head, listening to her papa, 
 with her cheeks redder than their wont, and, 
 as I could see, the water in her eyes ; for she 
 was nigh to her parting with him, and would 
 soon be among strangers, and left her lane. 
 So the bairn was moved, and I marvelled not 
 at that ; though, truly, if he had been giving 
 her good counsel to guide her aright, it would 
 have been wiser-like than all this converse 
 about folk that were little known to Grace, 
 and would be very little heeding about his 
 daughter, when they kent she was but left 
 upon her sister's hospitality. But some folk 
 never ken either themselves or their place; 
 though, truly, it was not to be thought that 
 the ways and customs of our house, and the 
 manner of our life, were all to be turned to 
 nought for this stranger bairn ; and far kinder 
 it would have been to her, to learn her to turn her 
 heart, being young, to the fashion of the folk
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 24 1 
 
 among whom her lot had fallen, than to build 
 her up in a vain thought, that her way was the 
 way we aU bid to follow, and to use. 
 
 My Grace sat apart, listening to the gentle- 
 man's speech. He was speaking loud that we 
 all could hear, and she was taking heed to it, 
 and for human folk that aye have a spirit of 
 their ain, it was hard, 1 could not deny, to 
 keep patience, while this strange man settled 
 everything with his young daughter, as if she 
 was the lady of the place. Grace sat very 
 still, looking over a picture book, listening to 
 what her father said ; and, truly, though I 
 was sewing at my seam, I will not say I was 
 without a tremor at my heart, partly with 
 anger against this proud person, and partly for 
 marvelling what my bairn would say. 
 
 At length, Mr. Maitland rose, and he came 
 towards Grace. " Now," said he, with a man- 
 ner like a man telling a bairn — as truly, in a 
 measure, he had a right to do, being her 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 LTLLIESLEAF. 
 
 father. " Now, I leave my daughter in your 
 hands, Grace. Your life is different from 
 the life she has been accustomed to, and she 
 will give up m-any advantages ; but I trust to 
 you to give her a happy home. I do not object 
 to your primitive mode of existence : no doubt 
 it suits you best ; but I trust you will not 
 forget that Rhoda is young, and needs a little 
 excitement and variety — nor that she is a lady, 
 and your father's daughter, Grace." 
 
 " It is time I should say a word. Sir, before 
 you leave us," said Grace, standing up sud- 
 denly, just before him. " Miss Rhoda Mait- 
 land is now in Oakenshaw, and perceives what 
 our manners are ; but I cannot hold out any 
 hope to her, that her own arrival in the house- 
 hold will change it much. We are older, 
 graver people, and have serious pursuits to oc- 
 cupy us. I pledge myself that I will neither 
 forget that she is my father's daughter, nor a 
 gentlewoman, and that she shall have perfect
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 243 
 
 freedom, as far as is possible, in the choice of 
 her friends ; but I cannot undertake that we 
 will alter our associates, or our mode of 
 living. I speak in kindness," said Grace, giving 
 one glance at me, and one at Miss Rhoda, 
 " because it is much better that we should 
 understand each other before you go away ; 
 and I should be grieved if we disappointed 
 Rhoda's expectations, after suffering her to 
 form them. Better to know, truly, how matters 
 are, now." 
 
 " Rhoda's expectations, Grace, must be very 
 sturdy plants, if they have outlived this week," 
 said Mr. Maitland, shrugging his shoulders, 
 but no to call offended. " I presume she has 
 a tolerable perception, by this time, how things 
 will be, and has made up her mind to it. Nay, 
 she is here ! I refer you to herself." 
 
 Grace turned to her young sister, and so 
 did I unawares ; and the young thing turned 
 upon Grace, with her eye flashing, and her 
 
 M 2
 
 244 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 lip quivering, and passion, and anger, and 
 grief in her face. " It is to please papa. I told 
 you so !" she cried, scarce able to steady her 
 voice. " We will not have much pleasure 
 in each other ; but it is papa's wish, and that 
 is enough for me." 
 
 " Rhoda, my darling, your sister has not 
 been in the habit of giving so much impor- 
 tance to her father's wish," said Mr. Mait- 
 land. " Grace is strong-minded, and has always 
 shown herself above that first rule of nature. 
 But we will not prolong this scene. T can 
 trust my elder daughter's honour — and, as 
 for my child — Rhoda, love, if I have not been 
 a good father to you, still you will not forget 
 me, even here?" 
 
 The young thing rose, keeping quiet, with 
 all her power — though I saw it was in her 
 nature to be wild, and show her passion, what- 
 ever kind of passion it was — and came close 
 up to her father, and put herself into his
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 245 
 
 arms, and clung to him as if they never 
 could part. He was not moved as she was ; 
 but still it touched him ; and he put his hands 
 upon her head, as she stood leaning close 
 unto him, and bade " God bless her." Then 
 he said, " Stand up, Rhoda, it is time — con- 
 trol yourself, my love ; control yourself, I 
 must go away " 
 
 With that, she drew herself away, and 
 went and sat down upon her chair — and syne 
 he made a bow to me, and went to the door 
 where the carriage waited upon him, Grace 
 following him there, to see him away. Truly, 
 I could not but look, with my heart in my 
 e'en, at his desolate bairn. She never minted 
 to go to the window, to look after him, but 
 followed the track of his disappearing toward 
 the door, and keepit her eyes fixed there, as 
 if she saw him in the empty air, and sat 
 quite still, never moving, and looking as if 
 she kent of neither thing nor person, but the
 
 246 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 one that had gone forth this moment from 
 her sight. When the wheels began to move 
 and grind upon the gravel path, then she 
 put her hand quick to her breast, and started 
 as if she had gotten a stroke ; and when the 
 carriage past the window, she gave a bit cry, 
 and started half up, as if to stop him from 
 going away — but then, she just fell back 
 into her chair, and was motionless again, with 
 her e'en wide open, listening and hstening — 
 for truly, I kent the look well — till the echo 
 of the sound, as it went away, made her heart 
 sick. I sat bye, looking upon her — folk may 
 think it was but coldrife and hard of me 
 to watch the hour of her trouble ; but, truly, 
 I was greatly moved, in my own spirit, to 
 say a word of comfort to her myself. 
 
 "My dear," said 1, at length — though I 
 marvelled that Grace should be so long away — 
 " parting is ever sore ; but, in the Lord's 
 good time, you will see your papa again."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 24? 
 
 She looked up in my face, with a wild look, 
 and impatient at me. I mostly think, if she 
 had not put rule upon herself, the bairn could 
 have stricken me with her hand. "What 
 do you say?" said Rhoda; and it an- 
 gered her the more, that she was forced to 
 speak. 
 
 " My dear,'* said I ; for I minded that 
 grief is ever hasty, and cannot thole the words 
 of unconcerned folk — and I was not displeased 
 — " my dear, you will meet with your papa 
 again ; and you are young ; and it's my hope 
 there's a fair life before you. Take comfort 
 in your heart." 
 
 " I do not understand you," she said, in 
 a hasty way. "I did not complain, did I ? 
 When I am so weak as to complain, then a 
 stranger may have some right to condole with 
 me ; but T do not understand what you say, 
 and you know nothing of me." 
 
 I saw the tears so near running over in her
 
 248 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 eyes, that still I was not angered as 1 might 
 have been. 
 
 " No," said I, " truly, it is my hope I ken 
 nothing of you yet ; for it is my thought, 
 though I ken not how I came to it, that this 
 is not you, but only your sorrow and your 
 trouble, my poor bairn." 
 
 And she stared at me with her dark e'en, 
 that gloomed and frowned, though nature had 
 made them bright ; she stared into my face 
 as one that indeed understood me not. At 
 that moment Grace came into the room, and 
 the e'en fell, and the posture changed, and 
 straightway, though her lip trembled, she looked 
 even as strong and stately as Grace was wont 
 to look herself. My bairn looked not at me 
 when she came in, but went straight to Rhoda, 
 and the manner and the look of Grace was 
 likewise changed, so as it was a comfort to my 
 eyes to see. She put her hand upon Rhoda's 
 hand and spoke to her ; and my heart was
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 249 
 
 gladdened by the tender voice of my own 
 Grace. 
 
 " Rhoda," she said, " you are left to me now, 
 and you do not know me, nor like me much. 
 You do not expect to be happy in Oakenshaw. 
 I do not say you will be happy at first, but 
 sometime I am sure you will, if we all try. 
 Will you try, my young sister ? and do not 
 judge harshly of us because we are a great deal 
 older, and something different from you." 
 
 The young thing lookit up for an instant 
 in a startled, scared way into Grace's face, and 
 then she drew her hand away and rose up, and 
 ran from the room : 
 
 " I cannot bear it — I cannot bear any more," 
 she cried, with her voice broken ; and so left 
 Grace and me looking at one another in the 
 room our lane. 
 
 M 3
 
 250 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 It may be thought we had not very much 
 satisfaction after what we said to Rhoda, at the 
 converse being ended so suddenly, but I bade 
 Grace to have patience, and Grace said the poor 
 thing was moved, and maybe the word we had 
 spoken would bear fruit. Also, I was feared 
 within myself, lest she might think we were 
 both upon her, and might flee from us, no being 
 able to bear our speeches. We had much 
 converse between our two selves that day, and 
 little Maggie came creeping in, looking round 
 about the room for Rhoda, but very glad 
 at her bit little heart, as I could see, that her
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 251 
 
 grand grandpapa was away. Maggie sat 
 down at her mamma's feet, upon her little 
 stool, and we changed our converse, not 
 thinking it right to speak of other folk 
 before the bairn ; but ever she gave another 
 glint round the room, and ever lookit back 
 at the chair Rhoda had been sitting on, as 
 if her thoughts were as busy as ours. At 
 last the bairn took courage and spoke. 
 
 *' Mamma," she said, " will you go and see 
 the young lady ? She is in her own room, and 
 nurse heard her greetin' — and she is very 
 sad, and nobody to be good to her — oh, 
 mamma !" 
 
 And Maggie lifted her bit bonnie e'en 
 to Grace's face and mine ; the bairn was full 
 of kindness at her heart. 
 
 We lookit at each other, when that was 
 said, Grace and me, and Grace put her hand 
 on the head of the bairn. " My dear little 
 Maggie," she said, " we are very sorry
 
 252 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 for the young lady, both Aunt Margaret and 
 I — but it is kinder to leave her alone." 
 
 Maggie lookit up again, and shook her 
 bit little head in a positive way ; she was too 
 little a bairn to ken of the private sorrows 
 of the heart. " Mamma, she's greetin'/' said 
 Maggie, and truly it was hard ado for even 
 myself, that should have kent better, to think 
 of the poor young thing in yon grand solitary 
 room alone breaking her heart, and no a 
 Christian person to speak a word of comfort, 
 or a kind hand to raise her head. It was 
 very dreary to think upon it — for whether she 
 was of a dour and forward spirit, or no, it was 
 certain she was in a strange house, and a 
 strange land. 
 
 Wherefore we all abode in an expecta- 
 tion, watching if she w^ould return to us 
 again ; and an hour and more passed by, and 
 there was no w^ord of Rhoda, and then we 
 made up our minds that it behoved Grace
 
 LILLIESLEAF. '253 
 
 to go to her room, and make an essay to 
 bring her back again. But when Grace went, 
 the room was empty, and one of the maids 
 told her that the young lady had gone forth 
 to walk half an hour ago, the which threw us 
 into consternation, for fear the bairn, being 
 left to herself, and misguided, might stray 
 away in the bitterness of her heart. So it may 
 well be thought we had little comfort that 
 day and could not settle to anything, but 
 were ever on the watch for every sound 
 and every foot upon the road without, no to 
 say that Grace put her bonnet on, and w^ent 
 out for a whole hour looking for the bairn, 
 and Maggie kept a constant travel between 
 the gate and the house, and I myself sat 
 constant at the window, looking for the 
 coming back of the young thing. When it 
 was far on in the day, and we had sat down 
 with troubled hearts at the table to dine. 
 Miss Rhoda at last came back — but it was
 
 254 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 only to shut herself up in her own room once 
 more, as Maggie's nurse came to tell us. 
 We were all in perplexityj not knowing how 
 to deal with her, and then Grace rose from 
 the head of the table, and went to seek her 
 young sister herself. In two or three minutes 
 Grace came back with a red flush on her 
 face, and took her own seat again. " Aunt, 
 I will learn patience by degrees," said Grace, 
 smiling to me ; but I could see she was 
 greatly angered and disturbed as well — for 
 truly kindness, when it is refused, is ever ready 
 to turn to displeasure, and Grace was not 
 used with being resisted. The young thing 
 had met her at the door of the room, and 
 scarce would let her in. 
 
 " She has been brooding over some fan- 
 cied shght or injury," said Grace, " and now 
 she has come in to continue the process. Of 
 course, it makes her miserable ; and I can see 
 in her dark, pale, gloomy face, how much she
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 255 
 
 is tormenting herself. But I suppose, aunt, 
 we must just leave her to come to herself. 
 She does not want anything, she says — nothing 
 at all ; she is splendidly lodged ; and she gave 
 a bitter glance round the room, aunt, as she 
 said it ; but she did not want any dinner, she 
 thanked me, nor anything more to-night." 
 
 " Dear me, Grace, must we leave the bairn 
 so ? She will be ill before the morn," said 
 I, not knowing what to think. 
 
 " It seems to me you are disturbing yourself 
 a great deal too much about the freaks of 
 this sullen girl," said Claud. " If she chooses 
 to be high fantastical, you never can satisfy 
 her, of course ; and it is not our fault that her 
 pride is humbled by coming here. You were 
 not so very anxious to bring her, that you 
 should blame yourself for her unhappiness, 
 Grace." 
 
 But Grace was not more content than me ; 
 and truly the thought of that perverse bairn,
 
 256 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 chafing her heart, poor, uninstructed thing, in 
 her solitude, and thinking we were all aliens 
 and enemies, and seeing no comfort in heaven 
 or earth, was a sore cloud upon the comfort 
 of our assembling, and made us that we did 
 not ken how to speak to each other, but were 
 all communing in our minds touching how 
 we should deal with her, seeing she was left 
 sole in our keeping, and whether she w'ere 
 froward or gentle was truly a trust before 
 God. 
 
 "She has a heart, too, if we could only 
 reach to it," said Grace, after a while's 
 silence ; and dinner being ended, Claud rose 
 up, and, said he, " I will go to my books, 
 Grace, if we are to talk of nothing but Rhoda. 
 But you should get her out of the room, if 
 possible. Should not my aunt try ?" 
 
 The which showed to us, as made us smile 
 at him, that Claud also was disturbed con- 
 cerning her, and would fain see the poor mis-
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 257 
 
 guided thing content in the house that Provi- 
 dence had brought her to. 
 
 " Now, aunt," said Grace, when we had 
 gone into the other room, " now, aunt, it is 
 your turn. Will you encounter her ?" 
 
 " I would go with goodwill, my dear," said 
 I, "if I could but get an effectual word to say 
 to the poor bairn ; but, truly, when I spoke to 
 her this morning, she told me plain she under- 
 stood me not, and maybe the tongue being 
 strange — as doubtless her tongue also is 
 strange to me — may make it harder to get in 
 to her : but if vou think it is best for me to 
 go, I will try." 
 
 " Yes, aunt, do go," said Grace — and so I 
 went away, no without a tremor ; for truly, 
 I was not used to dealing with ill-willy bairns, 
 our own young things having ever been of a 
 dutiful and pleasant spirit; besides that, 
 I kent them well, and what was like to 
 move them; but T kent nothing of this
 
 258 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 stranger, nor where her heart was most like 
 to yield. 
 
 I knockit softly when I came to the closed 
 door. Truly, it was like the citadel and strong- 
 hold of an enemy in our friendly and kindly 
 house; and two of the maids, being Bell 
 Whitelaw and Cecy, Maggie's nurse, were lin- 
 gering nigh-hand the door, which, doubtless, 
 was not right, though I scarce could marvel 
 at it, seeing the like of them are aye taken up 
 about a mystery. I could get no answer to 
 my first quiet rap upon her, and then I knockit 
 again, having first sent the two maids away, 
 and said : 
 
 "Will you no let me speak to you, my 
 dear," and put my hand upon the handle of 
 the door. It may be that it made a noise as 
 if I was going to open it, for straightway the 
 moment I touched it, the door was opened 
 quick, and there stood the stranger bairn 
 before me, her face black with the cloud upon
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 259 
 
 her spirit, but her cheeks glowing like with 
 sudden anger. Truly, I was feared for the mo- 
 ment she would lift her hand to me. 
 
 " I do not know what hospitality means in 
 this country," she said, in a quick way, her 
 breath coming fast upon her lip in her passion, 
 " but I have been used to suppose my own 
 chamber a place in which I was secure from 
 intrusion; perhaps you will kindly explain to 
 me. Am I to have domiciliary visits always, 
 or are they only a special kindness shown to me 
 now, because I particularly wish to be alone ?" 
 
 The bairn spoke to me in such a manner as 
 truly I would not have spoken to any forward 
 servant lass about the house ; her eyes firing 
 out from under her gloom, and her bit small 
 hand holding firm to the door. 
 
 " Truly, Miss Rhoda," said I, " it is my 
 fear you are forgetting both the dwellers in 
 this house and yourself; you are but a young 
 thing, scarce come to woman's estate, and I
 
 260 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 am aged and have white hairs. 1 will not 
 think you have been so evil instructed as 
 not to ken that this is not a seemly fashion 
 to speak to the like of me." 
 
 The bairn put on a scornful look, as like 
 my Grace — though, truly, I was not pleased 
 to confess to it, — as could be, and made me a 
 mock curtsey, and said : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam ; pray forgive 
 me. I do not understand Scotch perfectly; and 
 I was not aware what your pretensions were." 
 
 Truly, it was hard to keep from being an- 
 gered ; but I kent she was speaking in a kind 
 of daring, and against her right and proper 
 heart, and also I was very sorry, in my own 
 mind, for the misguided bairn. 
 
 " My dear," said I, *' it is little odds to you 
 what are my pretensions, seeing you can neither 
 hinder them nor further them, whatever they 
 may be ; and it behoves you rather to mind 
 upon your own, that they be just and right.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 261 
 
 I have come from your sister, whose place you 
 ken, and whom Providence has made mistress 
 of this house, to bid you to the room where 
 the family are, to take your place Hke other 
 folk — or else to give us the comfort of kenning 
 that you are right attended to in your own 
 room, if it is really your honest and true desire 
 to be your lane this night. You are very 
 young, and have but small experience in this 
 world ; but the like of you, poor bairn, what 
 can you do, striving and setting yourself up 
 among the folk with whom you dwell ? There 
 is not an evil thought towards you in this 
 whole house of Oakenshaw, nor yet an unkind 
 purpose ; and, truly, if you take other thoughts 
 into your head, they are vain, and will only 
 harm your own spirit, besides being unworthy 
 and foolish thoughts, and misbecoming any 
 mind that has come to years. Now, truly, I 
 am not one to make quarrels ; but you will 
 even let me ken if it is your pleasure to abide
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 here, or to come among the family — or, with- 
 out either making or meaning anger, what 
 it will be for your ain comfort to do." 
 
 The bairn was dauntoned seeing me speak 
 so quiet, and kent not well what to make 
 answer, percei\dng — for she was clever enough 
 — that I was not one to make an outcast with. 
 She stood looking at me for a moment with 
 an obstinate look, but discomposed and shaken. 
 But then she turned, took her hand from the 
 door, and stood aside, as if for me to enter. 
 " I will stay here, please," she said ; " or — 
 I do not care — anywhere you choose." 
 
 And with that, she made a step into the 
 room, and gathered up some papers from the 
 table. Her things were lying about, one on 
 this chair, and one on that, and her bonnet 
 on the floor. There was little order now in 
 the grand room. 
 
 "Do you want me to come in, Miss 
 Rhoda?" said I.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 263 
 
 " Oh, just as you please — exactly as you 
 please !" cried the young thing, tearing a bit 
 of paper to pieces, in a passionate way. " / 
 have no authority here." 
 
 " My poor bairn," said I, " some day you 
 will ken me better. I desire of you to let one 
 of the women come in, to bring you something, 
 for your sister's satisfaction. And now I bid 
 you good night." 
 
 With these words, I went away, Rhoda 
 making me no answer. Without doubt, she 
 was a very perverse bairn. I called Cecy to 
 me, when I left the door, and told her, being 
 a discreet, eldern person that could be trusted, 
 to carry divers things into the room for Miss 
 Rhoda ; and truly I saw the tray carried down 
 the next morning, and perceived that Rhoda 
 had not withstood nature, but had jBaten her 
 supper like a sensible bairn.
 
 264 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The next morning, and many mornings 
 after that, it was just wonderful to see how 
 anxious we all were to ken whether or no 
 Miss Rhoda would appear among us. Whiles 
 she came, and whiles she did not — whiles 
 she would be in my parlour where we aye 
 took our breakfast, and had the books, before 
 another one of the family was down the stair 
 — and maybe, the next morning, would not 
 come out of her room, till eleven or twelve 
 in the day. Truly, even I myself could say 
 nothing better for her, than that everything 
 she did was perverse. And Grace, being but
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 265 
 
 ill-pleased to begin with, had come to be very 
 greatly angered at this foolish bairn. When 
 Rhoda whiles sat, in the same room with us, 
 for an hour or so at a time, I saw well she 
 was far from content with herself — she had 
 no notion of a woman's work, poor thing ! — 
 and when I was sitting by, with my seam, 
 and little Maggie, maybe, at my feet, making 
 her bit pleasant pretence of sewing, too, and 
 Grace aye busy with one needful thing or 
 another, Rhoda would sit idle in a corner, 
 with her hands on her knee, and her face as 
 black as a winter night ; or else keep a book 
 before her, the which, poor bairn ! she was 
 overmuch burdened with her ain thoughts to 
 read, or give heed to ; but took weary looks 
 at us, behind the shelter of it, scoffing at us 
 in her heart. There was she, in her low 
 chair, that she had put Grace out of posses- 
 sion of, never saying a word that she could 
 help, with trouble and a constant gloom upon 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 her young face, that should have been brighter 
 to look upon, and her e'en gleaming about 
 with that watching, jealous look that folk 
 learn, when they are dwelling among 
 enemies ; and there was Grace, further back 
 in the room, at her own table, whiles busy 
 with papers and books (for Claud and her 
 were both active young folk, and never done 
 with one good deed or another, for the service 
 of the folk on the estate, and the improve- 
 ment of the land), or else doing something 
 with her hands, either for use or divert, as 
 the case might be ; and there was me — now, 
 truly, you may say it was little wisdom in 
 me to be sewing at my seam, when other folk 
 could have done it just as w^ell, and I might 
 have spent my time better — but I had ever 
 pleasure in doing something, and likit not to 
 be idle ; and the needle and thread were well- 
 kent tools to me. All this time, the window 
 would be open, and the hum of the sweet
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 267 
 
 air without, and whiles a wandered butterfly 
 or a bee, and aye my bonnie dancing Maggie, 
 coming out and in, from the garden to the 
 room — and there was not a cloud nor a 
 gloom any place to be seen, but the 
 sunny light, and the blythe content of a 
 summer day. Many a wistful look I took 
 at the two that were sisters in blood, and had 
 a glint of likeness to one another, in the look 
 upon their faces — for Grace was sore angered, 
 as scarce was marvellous — for truly, what 
 occasion was there here for that young thing's 
 constant gloom. 
 
 Then Miss Rhoda would start up off her 
 seat, and throw down her book, in a kind of 
 desperate way, as if she said, " I can bear it 
 no longer," and flee away to her ain room ; and 
 we then would see her, straightway, in her bit 
 outlandish jacket, and a hat upon her head, 
 such as was not kent in our pairts going 
 forth by a bye-path out of the garden, to 
 
 N 2
 
 268 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 wander about the lone country roads, till the 
 gloaming fell. Oakenshaw, and all that be- 
 longed to it, was well kent, and well respected 
 in the countryside ; and we were not feared 
 for harm happening to the misguided bairn ; 
 but, for all that, it was not right, and 
 put Grace much about, and likewise myself, 
 seeing Rhoda was come to years, that made 
 it unseemly, and, proud though she was, she 
 might see folk, in her wanderings, that were 
 not meet for her to see. But, whiles at 
 another time, instead of going out, she would 
 shut herself up close in her own room, and 
 never mint at crossing the door, day after 
 day. So, truly, we were at our wits end 
 concerning Rhoda, ever taking counsel about 
 her between ourselves, and not kenning what 
 to do. 
 
 Now I cannot say of my Grace that she 
 was perfect, any more than other folk ; she 
 was one that made a good endeavour to
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 269 
 
 follow the ways of the Lord, but she had 
 her ain failings like the rest, and the bairn 
 Rhoda was a great hinder and off-put to 
 her, and disturbed her spirit many a day. 
 So truly, it might happen that Grace whiles 
 took that for scorn and defiance, which was 
 but bitterness of heart, and disappointment, 
 and a sore mistake in the young thing's mind 
 concerning the whole of us. But so it came to 
 pass that nothing mended, and now, when it 
 was a whole month since Mr. Maitland went 
 away, we were no better, and the stranger was 
 no more settled nor comforted than on the first 
 day. Her father wrote but once all that time 
 — I am meaning she got but one letter out 
 of the bag — and nobody came to see her, 
 of all the folk that the gentleman had 
 promised to come ; and poor forlorn thing, 
 in her loneliness and her wrath against us, 
 she could have foughten with us all. 
 
 Now it came to pass that Claud and
 
 270 LILILESLEAF. 
 
 Grace were trysted to go upon a visit early in 
 September to some grand folk in the North 
 country, that thought much of them both 
 — as truly they well deserved ; few folk kent 
 that so well as me — and I was to be left 
 my lane with Maggie and Miss Rhoda, 
 though, to speak true, I was not so thankful 
 for the young lady's company as I might 
 have been. A fortnight before they went 
 away Grace told her. " I am sorry to think, 
 Rhoda," she said, " that our absence will make 
 very little difference to you ; — but I hope you 
 may have considered better of it, before our 
 return, and that we may then be able to adapt 
 ourselves a little to each other. I think we 
 could manage that, do you know, if you took 
 the trouble to desire it yourself." 
 
 "Oh! pray do not think of me," said 
 Rhoda in a very quick way, " nothing is any 
 matter to me — it is all the same now, quite 
 the same."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 271 
 
 Now, maybe Grace should not have smiled ; 
 but truly, hearing the tone of this, I my own 
 self, could scarce refrain. And then the poor 
 thing burst out with such a passion as she 
 had never let herself show to us before. 
 
 " You laugh at me 1" she cried out, in a 
 fierce way, " you who know very well I would 
 rather work with these reapers in the fields 
 than stay here, eating your bitter bread. You 
 laugh at me ! oh, if I could only go and beg, 
 or starve, or kill myself! but you know I 
 must stay here !" 
 
 " Rhoda," said Grace — and truly, neither 
 the one nor the other would have thanked me 
 had I put in my word, so I turned my seat 
 apart, and said nothing. " Rhoda, do you 
 know that these are what the world calls 
 * heroics ?' — and, besides, they are very foolish, 
 unreasonable, useless words, as you must 
 perceive quite as well as me. Let us ackow- 
 ledge that it is a very hard fate to stay in
 
 272 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Oakenshaw ; nevertheless, it is your father's 
 will, and you cannot help it. Do you really 
 think it is the wisest plan to make the worst 
 of it ? or do you not think that you might 
 try now, for novelty's sake, to make the best ?" 
 Grace said it all with a smile, and maybe 
 her tone was like the tone that grave folk 
 use when they are reasoning with a foolish 
 bairn. When I looked at Miss Rhoda, I am 
 free to say that I was feared in my own 
 spirit. Her very face was bursting and 
 throbbing with passion, and there was a 
 deep angry flush upon it, and her little bit 
 hands were clasped firm. She looked at 
 Grace for a long time without saying a word, 
 and then she started up in her common 
 fashion, and said something I could not hear, 
 and went away. When she had closed the 
 door, I kent by the bounds that she was 
 running as fast as her wild passion could 
 carry her to her own room, and that the most
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 273 
 
 likely thing was that we should not see her 
 again that day. 
 
 A moment after Claud came in. " Is the 
 girl mad, Grace ?" he said, and it turned out 
 that she had come against him on the stair, 
 being nigh blind with her anger, and had 
 stamped her foot at him, and bade him not 
 come in her way. Claud likewise had a 
 smile upon his face, though he was angry ; 
 truly wrath and passion need a great person 
 to make them terrible, though to me it is ever 
 a sore spectacle to look upon such a tumult 
 in any spirit, seeing the seed of all evil is in 
 it, and the dreary sight it is in the eye 
 of God. 
 
 " Shall we be fairly driven out — expelled 
 from our own house, Grace ?" said Claud, in a 
 smiling way. " But, seriously, we ought not 
 to permit any thing of this kind. Is it ruling 
 our own house well, think you, Aunt Marga- 
 ret ? I am doubtful of it. Did you conduct 
 
 N 3
 
 274 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 yourself like this young lady, when you lived 
 with Mrs. Lennox, Grace ?" 
 
 Grace's countenance cleared for a moment 
 when he said that. " I am not very sure that 
 I was a great deal better," she said, after a 
 time. " I did what I was bidden, and made 
 no disturbance in the household — thanks to 
 Aunt Margaret, who taught me what lawful 
 authority was ; but, in spirit, I am afraid, 
 Claud, I was not so much superior to Rhoda, 
 as I have been supposing all this time." 
 
 " Well ! if it is a common infirmity of 
 young ladies, we must bear with it," said 
 Claud, shrugging his shoulders and laughing. 
 " But how shall we leave Aunt Margaret, 
 with such a little tiger ? Perhaps, before 
 we get back, aunt, she may have expelled 
 you" 
 
 " Whisht, whisht, bairns," said I. " None 
 of you ken — she is more troubled at what 
 she does hersel, than even we can be."
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 275 
 
 And with that we stayed our converse. 
 Truly, though I made excuses for her, I was 
 displeased in my own mind to think that our 
 thoughts were turned from better things, and 
 our spirits disturbed and troubled, ever watch- 
 ing what she would do, and taking counsel 
 about this perverse bairn. 
 
 That very same night, Maggie came to me, 
 with the tears in her eyes, drawing down her 
 sleeve as far as she could, poor bit thing, to 
 hide a mark upon her arm. When J asked 
 her what it was, Maggie cried, and bade me 
 no to tell her mamma. 
 
 " It was the young lady, aunt," said Mag- 
 gie. " She was hurrying past, and she didna 
 see me, and I wasna looking, and I fell. I 
 tried no to greet as much as ever I could, 
 Aunt Margaret, but it's sore for all that ; and 
 when Miss Rhoda saw there was nobody but 
 me in the garden, she came back, and lifted 
 me up and kissed me, and cried hersel ; for
 
 276 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 she did not mean it, aunt — and if you only 
 had seen how she cried !" 
 
 But I could see nothing but the broken 
 skin on my bairn's bonnie little arm. The 
 careless, perverse, passionate girl ! — that I 
 should say so. I was more provokit with 
 this, than I had been with all her other ill- 
 doings ; and even Maggie's sweet bit voice, 
 pleading for her, was no enough to soften me. 
 Truly, I was just as far from being of a 
 sanctified temper myself, as Rhoda was ; and 
 if I had been a right person, it would have 
 been a lesson to me. 
 
 But I put Maggie to her bed myself, and 
 heard her say her Psalm, and her prayers, and 
 sat by her till she fell asleep ; and I thought 
 it was even as well, having come to a better 
 temper by that time, to say nothing about it 
 to Grace. For when I considered in my mind 
 it was easy to come to right thoughts in that 
 room, where the bairn's prayers were said
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 277 
 
 even now, and the bairn's breath making- 
 music in the quiet place ; and when the Jike 
 of me, an aged woman, that might have 
 learned patience many a year ago, w^ent so easy 
 astray, was I the one to make a hard judg- 
 ment upon a misguided and unlearned bairn 
 like Rhoda, that never had her footsteps guided 
 in the right way, nor kent what was the loving- 
 kindness of the Lord *? Truly, it became me 
 not ; and I was humbled to see what strife 
 and evil temper was still abiding in mysel.
 
 278 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 There was little more came to pass that 
 I can mind of, out of our ordinary way, till 
 Claud and Grace went upon their journey. 
 They were going to very great folk, as I 
 have said, no the gentlefolk of a countryside, 
 as my two bairns were themselves, but 
 noble persons, as well kent in the nation as 
 the house of Oakenshaw was in the parish 
 and county we w^re dweUing in ; and but 
 that Grace had small pleasure in being out 
 of the sight of her little bairn, even for a 
 time, they were well pleased to go. Miss 
 Rhoda had made no change since the last
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 279 
 
 time I have mentioned her, but she had the 
 grace to come down the stair to her breakfast 
 the morning they were going away, and to 
 bid them good-bye, though not after a seemly 
 fashion. By the time they departed, she was 
 out for one of her long walks, and I was left 
 by myself; truly, I behoved to look to my 
 ways, being left, an aged gentlewoman, with 
 this ill- willy bairn ; and though there was 
 httle laughing in my head, I could not but 
 smile at the thought that we were all feared 
 for her more or less, though she was the 
 youngest in all the house, except little Maggie, 
 my good bairn. 
 
 In the afterpart of the day, when Maggie 
 was out with her maid Cecy, and all the house 
 was quiet, I went forth myself, meaning to 
 walk to Dourhills, to see one or two auld 
 folk, of my own time of life, that were sorer 
 failed than me. I went but slow, being easier 
 wearied than I once was ; besides, that kend-
 
 280 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 ing, all the folk, 1 could not pass by an open 
 door without a word with the mistress of 
 it, if she saw me, or something to say 
 to the little bairns ; so it was not far off 
 the sunsetting when 1 came to Douriiills. 
 
 Dourhills is but a very small place, but 
 pleasant in its way, being near-hand the water, 
 upon a brae, with many very fine big trees 
 upon the crown of it, and the gates of Mr. 
 Kirkman's house, (who is the laird of Dour- 
 hills,) and all the planting there, turning off 
 from the low end of the main street — if you 
 can call the rows of cot-houses, and the two 
 or three bits of shops by the name of a street 
 at all. The place, where I was going specially, 
 was half up the brae, a well-sized house that 
 was two stories in the back, by reason of the 
 unequal ground, though it was but one to the 
 front part of it ; and the aged person in the 
 upper room there, was a very decent woman, 
 and come of creditable folk, though, by reason
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 28 1 
 
 of being married upon a poor man, and having 
 a very big family, she had aye been struggling 
 all her days with the world. Her bairns were 
 scattered hither and thither, in every airt; 
 and truly, having so many of them, she 
 kent it must be so, and mourned not. Her 
 goodman — though I have small reason to 
 call him so, seeing there was but httle good 
 in him — was dead ; and this was a daughter 
 married upon a saddler, that keeped this 
 house. The aged woman herself — her name 
 was Porteous, a name of this countryside — 
 was sitting by the window when I went in, 
 looking upon the blythe and lightsome water 
 of Dour, which truly was as bonnie a sight as 
 you could see, careering down its path, with 
 the long slant of the sun upon it, and 
 the great bits of rock breaking up in its mid 
 course, with an edge of foam round about them, 
 and the opposite bank, with its bonnie birch 
 trees, and the clusters of red rowans shining
 
 282 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 among the leaves. Mrs. Porteous was working 
 a little stocking. I never saw one like her for 
 this work. She made bits of socks for Maggie 
 that were like fine lace ; and Grace and the 
 other ladies near-hand keepit her well in work, 
 which was just a divert and pleasure to her, 
 forbye. She was well pleased to see me. The 
 folk in Dourhills had all a warm heart to every 
 one that came out of the minister's house. 
 
 "And how lang will he be away, Miss 
 Marget ?" said Mrs. Porteous, " four weeks, 
 said ye ? three haill Sabbath days ? Weel, 
 I wouldna be ane to grudge the minister the 
 play, ony mair than another man ; but a'body 
 kens what awfu' discontented folk the folk 
 are hereaway ; and Fm just as sure to hear 
 the Meeting cast it up to us that our minister 
 is away to see a lord, as I am sure the sun 
 will rise again. But nae fears of him, says 
 I ; if it was the queen hersel, and a' the vanities 
 of this world. I hear of that earl. Miss
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 283 
 
 Marget, that he's a great man for the kirk 
 himself." 
 
 " There is little doubt of that," said I ; " and 
 a good man, likewise, like all his forbears." 
 
 "I never mind whether it's him, or his 
 father ; his father was ane of your real wild 
 lords, and nae better than he should be. Miss 
 Marget," said Mrs. Porteous ; " it's an unco' 
 strange thing to me, when Matty tells me : 
 
 * Mother, it's the auld man you're thinking 
 upon — and he's been dead this mony a year.' 
 
 * Hout, lassie !' I say, in my joking way, ' I 
 mind of him before you were born, in the 
 time of the last war, that you ken naething 
 about — and will you say you're better acquaint 
 than me?' But, it's aye Matty that turns 
 out right. Miss Marget ; auld age and wit 
 dwell not in the same dwelling; for T was 
 reckoned very well learned, in my young days." 
 
 " Truly," said I, " I am not feared that 
 either you or me will forget what it behoves
 
 '284 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 US most to mind ; and I heed not much, for 
 myself, upon the rest." 
 
 "Na," said Mrs. Porteous, who was a 
 bye-ordinary Christian woman ; " He puts 
 our memory in nae peril — for the Lord 
 abides ever the same; but I Hke to keep 
 my lear of this world, a vain auld wife that 
 I am — and^ speaking of that, Miss Mar- 
 get, that puir afflicted young lady ! it's an 
 awfu' charge for you — and some folk in the 
 town are far from content at Mrs. Maitland 
 and the minister, for leaving you with such 
 a handful. Is she ever like to be restored ?" 
 
 " Truly, I ken of little that ails her, but 
 sometimes a pain in her temper, poor bairn !" 
 said I, being greatly startled in my own mind, 
 but wishful to pass it lightly by. " Afflicted 
 she is not, in any manner ; but as well as a 
 young thing can be, that is strange to our 
 ways. Is it some evil person that has been 
 raising a story ? I thought not there was
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 285 
 
 such unkindly gossipred in a neighbour place 
 like Dourhills." 
 
 " Na, Miss Marget, you naaunna be an- 
 gry," said Mrs. Porteous ; " it was one of the 
 maids that telled it in the town, that the 
 minister said the young lady wasna hersel — 
 and wha could disbelieve the minister ? It's 
 nae gossip, I'll assure you, from either Matty 
 or me." 
 
 " The minister said no such thing, Mrs. 
 Porteous," said I ; " and truly, I would not 
 like to hear either maid or man about our 
 house, saying such a falset. The young lady 
 is as w^ell in her mind, as in her health ; and 
 nothing ails her but a young thing's strange- 
 ness in an unkent place. Afflicted ! No, 
 Matty, my woman, I'm no angry ; but it 
 troubles me that such a thing should be said, 
 being so far from true." 
 
 " Never you heed about it, Miss Marget. 
 I ken how to do," said Matty, who had come
 
 286 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 in beside us, and was a very stirring, thrifty 
 woman, and well esteemed in the town ; 
 " there's no a lass in the parish can threep 
 to a story with me. You'll never hear tell 
 of it again; and I'll give Cecy, that might 
 ken better, a guid flyte, the next time she 
 comes here ; — but to see the young lady fleeing 
 about by the planting, and a' the quiet roads, 
 and never speaking even to a bairn — and 
 kenning a'body was so different at Oakenshaw 
 — and that the minister said it — how were 
 we to ken ?" 
 
 I tarried awhile, that they might not think 
 I was bearing anger, and then I went away, 
 kenning well this was but a passing story, 
 yet troubled at it in my mind. When I was 
 on my road home, I saw, off the bye-path I 
 was travelling upon, a carriage on the road ; 
 and I soon kent it for the carriage of 
 one of the county families, folk that were 
 kent to Grace's father (as, also, they were
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 287 
 
 to my bairn herself, in a degree) and that he 
 said had promised to come and see Miss 
 Rhoda, when he went away. As I was coming 
 up to the stile, to pass out of the bit small 
 path I was on, into the common road, the 
 carriage stoppit close before me; and, as I 
 cared not for converse with this lady, I steppit 
 back behind the hedge, till it would pass 
 again. But then, I marvelled to see that it 
 was Rhoda that was standing by the side of 
 the carriage, and that Mrs. Mowbray was 
 speaking to her. What she said was no 
 secret to be feared for hearing it. It was just 
 that she hoped Rhoda liked Oakenshaw, and 
 found Mrs. Maitland agreeable. " She can 
 be very agreeable when Rhoda likes," the lady 
 said, in a quick rattling way she had ; " and 
 her old aunt is quite a character, and will 
 amuse you, I am sure. When did you hear 
 from papa ? Ah ! he is not a very regular 
 correspondent, 1 dare say. I should have
 
 288 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 called, but i heard Mrs. Maitland was from 
 home. Good bye, dear — I am glad to hear 
 you are comfortable at Oakenshaw." 
 
 The carriage drove away, and Rhoda stood 
 among the dust it raised, never moving oiF 
 the place she stood. I know not what the 
 poor bairn had expected, or if she really had 
 believed her father that grand folk like this 
 were to come out of their way to be kind 
 to a desolate thing like her that was worse 
 than an orphan ; but she stood still for a 
 while, and then she put her hands into the 
 air as if she threw something from them. 
 " I will do without everybody — I will be 
 enough for myself — I will never hope in any 
 one again," she said, muttering with a kind of 
 choked voice, and then she started upon the 
 road, not running, but walking so fast that 
 I could not have kept up with her — walking 
 straight on in a passionate blind way, as if she 
 cared not where she was going, and would
 
 ULLIESLEAF. 289 
 
 be just as well pleased to dash her head against 
 a wall as to enter at a door. I saw very 
 well now how it could happen that my 
 bonnie little Maggie, being in Miss Rhoda's 
 way, should get a fall. 
 
 When I came home, I was filled with 
 wonder to see her in the drawing-room, 
 for I had made up my mind that she would 
 shut herself into her own chamber after this 
 trial ; but there she was, with the lamp 
 lighted, and a big book before her, which I 
 had never seen before, and over this book 
 she bent her head so low that whiles her hair 
 swept upon it, and I could not see her face. 
 When I had seen my little bairnie safe in 
 her bed, I came back and took my seam, 
 and sat down nigh to Miss Rhoda, and 
 my heart was moved towards the motherless 
 bairn. 
 
 " I have not had a charge like this," said 
 I, trying to win her into converse, " since 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 I abode in my own house, and had Grace, 
 your sister, under my hand. 1 am an 
 old woman now by what I was then, and 
 Sunnyside was a small place, and Grace 
 was as well acquaint with it as me. Did you 
 ken. Miss Rhoda, that your sister was my 
 bairn ?" 
 
 " You took care of her, I suppose," the 
 young lady said, in a short way, giving one 
 glance up at me, in the which time I saw 
 she had a pencil in her hand, and was either 
 writing or drawing pictures in her book. 
 "And now, I fancy, she intends that you should 
 take care of me." 
 
 *' Truly my vocation is past," said I. " I 
 will take care of no more save maybe little 
 Maggie ; but an aged person is aye a pro- 
 tection to a youthful one, and my hope is 
 that nobody in Oakenshaw will cast out 
 with me." 
 
 " I do not quite understand Scotch — I beg
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 291 
 
 your pardon ?" said Miss Rhoda, meaning to 
 anger me, as I kent full well. 
 
 And 1 was angered for a moment's space. 
 " My dear," said I, " the more is your loss 
 not to ken your forefathers' kindly tongue ; — 
 but I make no doubt that you understand 
 well enough what I mean." 
 
 She made me no answer for a while, 
 but went on with her writing on the 
 book ; then she closed it up with a noise 
 that made me start, and threw her pencil 
 on to the table. " I can't do anything 
 — 1 never can when I try," she cried 
 out. "Oh, old lady, old lady, how is it 
 possible that people can endure to live as 
 long as you ?" 
 
 I was started to hear at last a voice out of 
 her heart. " Truly it is sore travail whiles, 
 my poor bairn," said I, " and I know not how 
 either man or woman could get to the end 
 of it, if it were not for the kind hand of the 
 
 o 2
 
 292 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Lord ; but He is a friend that never fails, 
 and we are all near unto His presence ; that 
 is how folk can endure to live." 
 
 I know not if it was what I said — I think 
 not it could be — but she was^'quiet for a long 
 time. Then she went to the piano that was 
 in the room, and without saying a word to 
 me, began to play upon it. I thought it was 
 very grand what she played, but she was aye 
 stopping in the same way as she stoppit at her 
 book, as if she was never pleased with herself, 
 and at last she closed it up again with an 
 impatient noise, and gave me a start once 
 more. Then, just as I was going to bid 
 the servants come to the Books, she gathered 
 up her pencils and things, and went past me 
 to the door. " Will you no stay till the 
 exercise. Miss Rhoda?" said I. Truly I 
 ought to have had better thought, for she 
 would not ken I meant the Books by that 
 word — but instead of answering, she only
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 293 
 
 made me a curtsey, and said " good-night." 
 And that was the first night that this 
 stranger bairn and me spent our lane in 
 Oaken shaw.
 
 294 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 The next morning, to my wonder once 
 more, Miss Rhoda was in my parlour sooner 
 than I was. It was a bonnie September morn- 
 ing, pleasant and sunny, but with an autumn 
 mist upon the sky. The shearers were in all 
 the fields near hand, and there w^as a sough 
 of their voices in the air, sounding to me, as 
 it aye does, like the sough of a rejoicing, for 
 the good harvest and the fruits of the earth ; 
 and even in our house we were stirred with 
 the time of the shearing, it being the use in 
 our countryside to have as many as a hundred 
 or more of shearers in one field, and every
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 295 
 
 person at it that could win. I ever have plea- 
 sure in the harvest time, being a cheery time 
 when every hand is full ; and, truly, I Hked 
 well to see the stir among the maids and all 
 the common folk, though I cannot deny but 
 it is whiles rough jesting and unseemly mirth, 
 that is among the shearers in a harvest field. 
 When I opened the big Book upon the table 
 to begin the exercise, it troubled me to see the 
 scornful watching look that this young stran- 
 ger gave at me. Wherefore should I refrain 
 from craving the blessing of the Lord upon 
 this house, because its head was away ? Truly, 
 I kent no cause ; but it was a grief to think 
 when I was reading the chapter, that all the 
 time this young thing was hardening her heart 
 against both the Word and me. She never 
 took the book that was before her into her 
 own hand ; but put it down upon a chair in 
 a scornful way, and sat and watched us. 
 Doubtless one of the maids would give a
 
 296 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 glance up now and then, and even Maggie, 
 being but a bairn, might forget for a moment 
 the Presence she was in ; but Miss Rhoda, 
 that never tried to be reverent, or think upon 
 who we were serving, was one of them that 
 could put up with nothing but perfection in us. 
 She sat down to her breakfast in a quiet 
 way after that, with Maggie and me ; and I 
 began to take note of her that Grace and 
 Claud had put some awe upon her ; but that 
 she minded less to show her nature with Httle 
 Maggie and me. When I spoke, she made 
 some small answer to me whiles, and was not 
 aye on the watch for being slighted or injured 
 as she seemed to be in former times, and when 
 Maggie got out her books, for her lessons, 
 after the breakfast was past, Miss Rhoda abode 
 still in the room, watching her and me. Mag- 
 gie was but a little bairn yet for right school- 
 ing, and though Grace had made up her mind 
 to get a governess to learn her her lessons, vet
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 297 
 
 we were aye lothe to bring a strange person 
 into our house, and she had aye read her 
 chapter, and said her bits of verses to her 
 mamma and me. Rhoda sat in her idle way 
 looking at my little bairn. I had gotten my 
 seam again myself, and Maggie was reading 
 in a very pleasant book, that was full of stories, 
 and pleased the bairn, and yet was very good 
 reading, forbye. And, truly, we were more at 
 peace, and easier, than we had been for many 
 a day ; for Miss Rhoda would not take the 
 pains to fight with Maggie and me. 
 
 " If I had been Queen Elizabeth, aunt," 
 said Maggie, " I would aye have asked papa 
 and mamma, and you, and then I would have 
 been a grand queen ; but the queen now never 
 kills anybody, Aunt Margaret. Were they 
 awfu' ill folk, in Queen Ehzabeth's time ?" 
 
 " Truly, my bairn," said I, " they were even 
 such like as we are ourselves in their heart, and 
 that is no saying very much good of them, 
 
 o 3
 
 298 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 Maggie ; but they were wilder folk, and more 
 ready to take up the sword. Wherefore, it 
 came about that the sword made an end of 
 them, even as the Lord himself says." 
 
 " Would you like to be a queen. Aunt 
 Margaret ?" said my little bairn to me. 
 
 Now I could not but smile at that. *' My 
 dear," said I, " them that have tried it, have 
 never recommended it to other folk, though 
 they likit not to lose the honour for themselves ; 
 and, truly, it is far out of my way ; and I never 
 questioned until this time whether I would 
 like to be a queen or no." 
 
 " But I would, aunt," said Maggie. " I 
 would build a grand palace in Dourhills, and 
 make a' the poor folk as happy they could be. 
 And I would send for Willie Kirkman back 
 out of the wars, and I would never let anybody 
 greet as Mrs Kirkman did when he went away. 
 I would like to be a queen ! There should 
 never be any trouble, aunt, if I was as great
 
 LILLTESLEAF. 299 
 
 as Queen Elizabeth was ; and I would build a 
 kirk for the colliers, as good as that kirk in 
 mamma's book. I know a place where it 
 could stand. If you'll come with me, Aunt 
 Margaret, I'll let you see the place to-day." 
 
 1 put my hand upon her head, and said 
 she was a good bairn. '* But, my dear," 
 said I, " young things like you never ken how 
 little great folk, and even queens, can do. But 
 I mind upon your mamma, when she was a 
 little bairn, how it was her thought to travel 
 all the world through, to help them that were 
 in want and oppressed ; and, whiles, some 
 folk can do the like of that, Maggie ; but the 
 most of us, God bids to be content, and abide 
 at hame, and do just what we can, and what 
 He sends. Truly, neither our ain ways, nor 
 other folk's, are in our hand — but Him that 
 orders them all is the Lord." 
 
 The bairn did not speak just for a little 
 while, and then she said. " Aunt, Cosmo is
 
 300 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 good, is he not ? but he aye wants wars and 
 battles. Is it right for folk to fight, Aunt 
 Margaret ? for Mary and me said to Cosmo 
 that we would never speak to a soldier that 
 had killed a man." 
 
 " My dear," said I, " the like of these stories 
 are no for you and me ; and whiles it is 
 needful to fight, and to thole sin and wrong is 
 worse than to daur grief and death. But, 
 truly, we all have our wars and our battles. 
 Do you ken who that little bairn was, that 
 fought and strove with Cecy for the flowers 
 in her mamma's garden, that were not to be 
 touched till mamma came hame ? Because 
 it is my thought, Maggie, that there were both 
 wars and battles in that little bairn's heart." 
 
 Maggie held down her head, and had not a 
 word to say. She was a good bairn, but failed 
 whiles like other folk, and she thought shame 
 to hear that I kent this story, and for Miss 
 Rhoda to hear it, forbye. But the young lady.
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 301 
 
 by this time, had a smile upon her face, which 
 I weU believe was the first smile I had seen 
 upon it in Oakenshaw ; and when Maggie 
 went and brought her bag, and took out of 
 it the small bit seam she was doing, Rhoda 
 came up and spoke to her. " Little one, you 
 don't care for working, do you ? Come out 
 and walk with me." 
 
 Maggie let her bag fall, and lookit in my 
 face : for my part, I was very well pleased. 
 
 " Take up your bag, Maggie," said I ; " and 
 if Miss Rhoda will take a quiet walk, and no 
 stay very long — for Maggie is but a delicate 
 bairn, my dear — truly, I think you will both 
 like it this bonnie morning, if you will promise 
 me to be in in an hour." 
 
 So the two went out, hand in hand, and 1 
 was blythe and rejoiced in my heart that this 
 was a good sign. So, when they were away, 
 I went to cry upon Cecy, and find fault with 
 her, for the story she had raised in Dour-
 
 302 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 hills about Miss Rhoda, the which angered me 
 much, when I thought upon it once more. 
 
 " Eh, Miss Margaret, to say it was me !" 
 Cecy cried with a skreigh when I spoke to her 
 first. "You see, the way it was, was this. 
 Bell and me, we had an errand to the town ; 
 and Bell she's aye clavering, and maun hae 
 something to make a story about. And we 
 met Lizzie Paul, as it might be here, forenent 
 Mr. Kirkman's gate ; and Lizzie, she says, 
 'What'syour news?' and Bell she makesanswer, 
 * News ! nae such guid chance ever comes 
 our gate.' And Lizzie (that's just as glaikit 
 as Bell's sel) says she, ' You'll have mair com- 
 pany now, when there's a young lady in 
 Oakenshaw.' ' Eh, woman, she's daft !' said 
 Bell ; and it wasna till then, if you believe 
 me. Miss Marget, that 1 put in my word. I 
 said, ' You're an ill bird, Bell Whitelaw — and 
 if there was a misfortune in the family, it ill 
 sets you to spread it about, and the mistress
 
 LILLIESLEAF. 303 
 
 been so kind to you. She's a very bonnie young 
 lady, and comes out of foreign parts; and 
 though the minister did say ae day — for I 
 heard him — that she was clean gyte and out 
 of hersel, I canna think he meant ony mair 
 than just distracted ; and if there's ony story 
 made, baith the minister and the mistress 
 will be very angry ; and I warn ye, I'll ken 
 wha to lay the wyte upon, if I hear one of 
 you mint at it again.' So, you see, Miss Mar- 
 get, whaever made such a tale, it wasna me." 
 
 " It was very ill done of you, Cecy," said I, 
 *' seeing you have aye waited upon Miss Rhoda 
 — and if the minister did say, in an impa- 
 tient way, that the lassie was daft, you ken 
 very well what he behoved to mean." 
 
 With that, Cecy was troubled, and began 
 to put her apron to her e'en. " I tell you 
 every word I said. Miss Marget," said Cecy. 
 " It was Bell that maun aye have something 
 to make a speech about — it wasna me."
 
 304 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 '* I lookit for more discretion at your hands, 
 Cecy," said I ; " and it's my hope you'll take 
 better care of your ain words, and let Bell 
 explain herself after this : for you ken very 
 well, Cecy, that, however strange Miss Rhoda 
 may be in her ways, she is no more daft than 
 either you or me." 
 
 With that, I left Cecy to come to herself. 
 She was far from an ill person, and very fond 
 of Maggie, and a very careful bairn's-maid ; 
 but no so discreet with her tongue, as this 
 proved, as I lookit for her to be. 
 
 I was not well done with Cecy, when Miss 
 Rhoda came back again, and put Maggie 
 within the parlour, beside me, and w^ent her 
 ways to her own chamber; the poor bit bairn 
 was very tired. 
 
 " Miss Rhoda walks very fast, aunt," said 
 Maggie to me ; " and I had to run ; and she 
 wearied of me ; and the sun was so hot, and 
 it was hard running on the stubble field —
 
 LILLIESLEAF, 305 
 
 and oh, Aunt Margaret ! put your hand upon 
 my brow — I am very glad to get in again, 
 and beside you." 
 
 Poor bit thing ! the long road, and the 
 hot day, was more than she could bear ; and, 
 doubtless, I was more anxious than ordinary, 
 seeing her mamma was away. But Maggie 
 was not to call well, for two or three days 
 after that ; and I had to make her lie down 
 upon her bed, and send for the doctor. Miss 
 Rhoda was as grieved as could be, when she 
 heard tell of it first ; but after, I think she 
 took an unkindly thought of me, that I was 
 making more work than was needful, as if 
 she had brought harm to the bairn — so, for 
 a week more, we made no advance, but fell 
 back into our old way — though Miss Rhoda 
 did not fash herself to go out so much, nor 
 to keep up such a warfare, but followed her 
 pleasure in the house, and made small account 
 of me. She was ill at her ease, poor bairn !
 
 306 LILLIESLEAF. 
 
 no to call melancholy or downcast, but aye 
 keeping up a fight with herself, and fretting 
 and chafing at whatever happened to her^ — 
 for truly, her father had never tried to make 
 her content, but put notions in her head, 
 that could only be crossed and disappointed ; 
 and I was grieved for her yet, many an 
 hour, while she but scoffed, and made a divert 
 of me. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
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