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then the colour from the lips-and I never saw gentle or simple, except one high lady, that was at Mrs. Lyons', last July, have lips or eyes like Annie Sinclair-and then, without a word, the gold bowl broke, and she departed. The lad died himself soon after; but you need not be downcast, Annie Orme-for you're come of creditable folk on one side, if there's nothing to boast of on the other.

So, as I was saying, we were left-after my father died, and Robert went to Americawith my mother, a frail old woman, and Annie's infant, an orphan, in a strange woman's arms, and George in Edinburgh, in anything but a thriving way. Lexie and me had learned the mantua-making, and set up in a house near the toll, on the Dalkeith-road, six months before my father's death; so here we were, with the infant and the aged woman dependent on us, and George, poor man, taking a heavy lean, and us nothing but our needles and our thread in this wide world.

I could tell many a story of that time. We were sore enough pressed whiles; and folk that call my sister Lexie a hard woman, and laugh at her for being prim and stiff, would may-be have their own thoughts, if they knew how Lexie was trysted, when she was only young, and (no to speak of the sense that never forsook her) little wiser in appearance than other folk; but, any way, we got through. What with hard work of us both, and Lexie's thought and care and judgment, we paid our rent, and keeped upsides with the world. My old mother got comfort and quiet the time she was here, and was laid in the grave with respect and honour when she went away; and we aye did what we could for George, poor man, besides bringing up Annie Orme, Annie Sinclair's infant, in a creditable way, and keeping her at the school to get grammar and counting and all the higher branches, besides making her a perfect woman at white-seam, and as good a mantua-maker as any in the land.

She never had a dress yet-from her christening gown, that I worked myself at odd hours, for a whole year, to that white one she is sitting there at the window making for her wedding-but we have earned with the labour of our hands. I am not to say proud of thisbe it far from me-but I think its anything but right of Lexie to scorn the work we've lived by, as she does. No doubt we're come of folk that were far above letting their daughters work common work like this; but, still we need it, and we have done it, not without credit; and I think there is very little

gratitude to the Giver in thinking shame of the means that He gave us to get our bread by. It does not aye please Him to send the young ravens-whiles it is an honest handicraft instead of the birds-but well I wot, for my own part, I would rather get the bread in my quiet way, than in Elijah's; and one is just as great a bounty out of the full hand of Providence as ever the other could be.

Mr. Braird, of Windlestrae, is our third cousin. He comes in to see us sometimes, and sends us a fowl or two, and some apples in the season. It is very kind, and I am always glad to see him; for I will not say that I think little of good connexions any more than my neighbours. But Lexie, she's very proud, and likes to hold her head higher than common folk, and she is certainly too much taken up with being a friend of the family at Windlestrae.

We have been so long in business now, that we are thought by far the highest mantuamakers in Lasswade, or near hand; and many a one comes to us that would go to Edinburgh, if we were not here. Annie Orme-for we have brought her up to the business, whatever she may need, poor thing—is as neat-handed as can be, and Lexie is so thrifty in the cutting, that we get as grand silks sometimes as the queen's mantua-maker could have; so that we have laid by something in the bank, and got some new furnishings, and are in a prosperous way.

My niece, Annie Orme, is one-and-twenty past. I will not say that she just looks like her mother. Annie Sinclair had a look that minded me always of one of the sorrowful songs; she had a sigh in her heart, even in her first youth, like a bode of what was to come. Now, I am glad to say there is nothing like that about Annie Orme. She has a fine, bright, wholesome colour-not too much of it-and as white and soft a skin as could be desired. Then her hair has a kind of natural twist, not like positive curls, but just a wave over her brow; and though she is as neat and handsome as could be, she's not to call slender. But, to do her justice, Annie has so sensible and blythe and cheery a face, that everybody is pleased with it; and, though it may be true in a measure what Lexie says, that she is more given to fun and visible light-heartedness than staid folk like us may think desirable, I always mind that I was once young myself, and that the like of that is the most natural thing in the world. For Annie is not very much taken up with company; only, poor thing, having no sisters nor brothers, and nobody indeed but us, that have been spending all our thoughts on her all her life, she scarcely knew what trouble

or vexation was, till a year past, and even that was but for a time.

It may be now eighteen months byegone since Lexie and me were sitting by the fire, in an autumn night, just before the candle was lighted. There was a silk gown—a very grand flowered one, white and blue-that we were making for Mrs. Colonel Cranstoun, at Maviswood, spread out upon the black sofa, opposite the fire, and clippings of it were upon the table. It was just as near dark as it could be, not to be positive black night, and I mind the glimmering of the light silk in the darkness, and me looking at it, till I could almost fancy there was a lady lying there, and that the folds sometimes moved and altered. The fire was not very bright, but just burning quietly; and Lexie was sitting with her back to the window, and her feet on a little stool, having her hands clasped in her lap, as is her most common attitude when she is not working, looking just before her, and not thinking of anything, as I supposed. I was thinking myself about the things that were in the house, and how I would just slip away down to Mr. Mouter's for some tea, seeing Annie Orme would doubtless forget to bring it in with her, when suddenly my heart leaped to my mouth, and I nearly fell off my chair in astonishment, for-" Rechie," said my sister Lexie to me in a moment, "it's my desire that Annie Orme should be married."

"Dear me, Lexie," said I, when I had recovered my breath, "what has the poor thing done ?"

It was a minute or two before Lexie spoke, and then she did not just answer me.

"I am fifty year old, Rechie," said my sister, " and you're seven-and-forty. Both of us have pingled at our seams for forty year good. No doubt it's been our appointed lot, and Providence knew best, and it's not our part to complain; but mantua-making is a wearisome life, Rechie, and undoubtedly it takes away the credit of a family when the women of it have to work for their bread. You need not contradict me: I ken very well-none better. Moreover, though our manner of life, being single gentlewomen, is the most honourable of any, yet the canaille jeer at us-aye, Rechie Sinclair, jeer at me and it's my wish that Annie Orme should have another like lot from ours."

“Weel, Lexie,” said I, "no doubt you ken best; but I think our lot has just been as guid as other folk's. We've aye had enough ourselves, and we've brought up Annie Orme as well as she could have been in her father's house. cannot see, Lexie, what we have to complain of."

I

Lexie nodded her head, and shut her lips firm. "We've aye had enough! Rechie, Rechie, will nothing give ye a higher way of thinking? I tell ye it's no creditable to womenfolk to have to work for their bread, and Annie Orme must have a house of her ain-I have made up my mind."

Now, it certainly did come into my head, that Annie Orme would just be as happy living like us―aye, and may-be happier-as going away into a house of her own, to battle all her days with a strange man, and aye to be in trouble about the spending, though she had no share in making the siller. However, as it is not my habit to cross Lexie, I just let this be, and cast about in my own mind who was the most feasible person to make a good man to Annie Orme.

"There's Mr. Manson, at the distillery," said I to myself; "he is a big, red Highlander, no more like our Annie than he's like me, but I'll no say that he'll have less than a hundred a-year, and that would surely please Lexie. Then, there's Mr. Smith, the English exciseman; but he's a fat body-I would not have him if he had five hundred, let alone one. Then, there's Dr. Jamieson, the young doctor; but he's in little practice yet, and would be looking higher than our Annie. And, thenaye, there's young Mr. Mouter, at the grocery shop."

Now, young Mr. Mouter was a very decent young man, and a brisk, well-looking lad besides, and one that took care of himself. Besides that, his shop was an old-established shop, left to him by his father, and doing a good business, seeing he supplied Mavis-wood and many of the gentlemen's houses round about, besides having the trade of the town.

"Lexie," said I, "it was just last Whitsunday that young Mr. Mouter shifted his seat in the kirk, out of the gallery, to the one he's in now, which is just close by ours, on the other side of the passage; and I have noticed his brother Nicol and him, that they have a great trick of looking to our side-which I am of opinion, Lexie, is neither for you nor me."

"Young Mr. Mouter!" said Lexie, in a sharp tone, "young Tammas Mouter, auld Sandy Mouter's son. Rechie Sinclair, ye vulgar minded person! do you think I would let our Annie serve behind a counter! No; if I should slave for her all my days."

66

'Well, I'm sure, Lexie," said I-and I was

a little angered, for young Mr. Mouter was a fine lad, and I had a liking for him-"I do not ken what you would be at. He could keep her in a creditable way, and aye have plenty. I

would not wonder, with thrift and good management, if they made a fortune."

"I never thought you were mercenary before, Rechie," said my sister, disdainfully. "Do you think I care for the dirty siller? Its a fash, no doubt, when folk have not enough, and often makes sair hearts; but to think I would give away my niece, Annie Orme, brought up under my ain eye, and fit for better things, on such a consideration as siller! No, Rechie, its nothing but your ignorance; so I may tell you who I have my eye on. Young Peter Braird comes and goes to Edinburgh every Saturday night and Monday morning. He is only Windlestrae's second son, it's true, but then the oldest is married already. Peter Braird, as you ken, is in a writer's office, learning the business, and is a very decent-like lad. He could not do better, as I think, than take up with Annie Orme."

"Preserve me, Lexie," said I; "Peter Braird ?"

"Whatfor no?" said my sister.

I was so astonished, that I needed a rest before I could speak.

"Peter Braird! a lang, ill-grown lad, with a head that's so red you might see it on the tap of the Pentlands like a beacon. Peter Braird! that ye should even him to our bonnie Annie! And, Lexie, the lad, as you say, is only in a writer's office: he'll may-be never get to be a writer himself—nothing but a clerk, most likely, all his days-and if Annie would not be better sewing and working for herself than the like of that-"

Just at this moment a rap at the outer-door showed us that Annie was coming in; so I stopped in haste, and Lexie said quick, "Not a word to Annie;" and we were both sitting quiet in the dark when Annie Orme came in at the door.

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CHAPTER II.

Annie, my dear," said I, when I had stirred the fire, and got some light, "did you bring the tea ?"

But, as I never expected she had brought it, I put over my hand, and lifted the lid of the big box, where we kept millinery; for it happened, that when I came home in the afternoon I had put my bonnet there.

"Yes, aunt," said Annie, "its here;" and she laughed a low mischievous kind of laugh, as if she had been doing some trick to somebody.

So I put down the lid of the millinery-box, and lighted the candle. Lexie was sitting stiff

up in her chair, with her feet on the footstool, and a face of thought;-many a thought has gone through Lexie's head in her day, and it would be ill my part to set up for as good a judgment as hers. But in the matter of Peter Braird, when I looked at Annie, my heart rebelled; I could not but stand up against Lexie here, though I do not mind when I did it all my life before.

Annie was still laughing-not a loud laugh, but one that ran into all the corners of her face, and made dimples wherever it touched.

"You've been playing some trick, you monkey," said I;" but it was a wonder you minded the tea, after all."

"Phemie Mouter is to be a great friend of mine," said Annie; "she was at the door, and that minded me to go in. Phemie says we're to be very chief ever after this."

"And a very right thing, Annie," said I. Annie laughed again. "Young Mr. Mouter had an errand up the Dalkeith-road; he came with me to the door-and Nicol wanted to come too, to take care of his brother. There, Aunt Rechie, that's the tea."

And Annie threw the parcel on the table, and ran away laughing. It might be she was pleased; but the mischief was so strong in her, and she herself was so innocent, that what might may-be make a quarrel between the two brothers, and give a sore heart to one of them, was nothing but fun to her.

But, to my astonishment, Lexie took a grip of my arm, as I gathered up the clippings on the table, to be ready for the tea.

"Rechie, mind what you're doing," said my sister, with an angered voice; "I'll never give my consent to that lad or the like of him, mind; and if you encourage him, its on your ain head."

Me! I drew myself away out of Lexie's hand, with a black mark above my elbow from her fingers, and feeling as if I had done some evil; when the truth is I had not done one single thing, and had never even thought-to call thinking about young Mr. Mouter, or anybody like him, till she put it into my head.

We had our tea when Annie Orme came ben again, and there was little more said about it— though Annie herself was very ready to laugh the whole night, and was speaking something about Phemie Mouter and Nicol and Thomas whenever she could get an opportunity; but Lexie put in a sharp word about his fatherLexie has an extraordinary recollection of folk's fathers-which stopped Annie, though it made her laugh again.

Now, young Mr. Mouter had the principal

shop in Lasswade just as we were the principal mantua-makers. He might be about five-andtwenty at that time, and had served his time in Edinburgh, and was a well-educated lad. He was very particular in his dress, when he got off the white apron, and came from behind the counter; and, as he was a well-looking young man, and had, as I say, been brought up in Edinburgh, he was much thought of in our little place ;—so that I think it was a very natural thing of me to be pleased when I saw him seeking after Annie Orme.

Nicol, his brother, was at the sea-a fine lad, too, though a thought coarse, like most seafaring folk-but a very cheerful, happyspirited young man he was, and all the bairns in the town were out of their wits about Nicol Mouter; but, for all that, I felt at once that Nicol was not half so suitable as Thomas for Annie Orme.

Now, there was not much choice in Lasswade, as I think I have before said, even if all the lads in the town had been seeking Annie, which, indeed, they were not, nor anything like it; so that I was in every way proud in secret-the like of me to be proud!-at having made up my mind for young Mr. Mouter, and not being content, as Lexie was, with a redheaded lad like Peter Braird.

The next night, which was Saturday, Peter went past in the afternoon, and, after his manner, stopped to say a word at the door. On common days, it was just "Good-day," and the lad went on; but this time Lexie behoved to have him in, and began a discourse, calling him "Mr. Peter" at every word. Poor lad, he was very bashful, and did not know what to do with his long legs, and the great red hands, which he commonly carries in his pockets. I am sure he was very glad to get away, and so was I when he went.

Just as he left the door, the milk-cart from Butterbraes drove past, going home from Edinburgh. The man that was driving it was a very uncommon looking young man, who had been in service with Mr. Lait all the summer. On the Sabbath days, when he was at the kirk, we were constantly taking him for some strange gentleman, and often have I thought and said, that that lad was something above the common; but he just went about his work at the Butterbraes farm, and drove in the cart every Saturday to Edinburgh, like any other man. Well, as I say, Robbie drove past in his cart, just as Peter Braird went away from our door, and I could not help but let my eye fall, first on the one and then on the other. 66 Well," said I, and I was not aware I was speaking it

out loud, so as Lexie and Annie could hear me; "its no doubt a grand thing to be come of a good family--but there's Robbie at the Butterbraes is a different looking man from Peter Braird."

"Rechie!" cried my sister; and the start she gave me with that fierce voice made me lose, I am sure, as much as a quarter of a yard of Mrs. Cranstoun's beautiful rich silk. But that was not the worst; lifting up my eyes— I was shaking a little with the thought of having angered Lexie-what should I see but a blush on the face of Annie Orme, as red as blush could be. I never had a greater start in my life to think that she, a young creature choosing for herself, should have that thought for Peter Braird!

CHAPTER III.

On the Monday morning, a quiet Sabbathday having come between, I was a little surprised to see Peter Braird rapping at the door. We were just at our breakfast ourselves; and, seeing I did not know what business he had at our house so soon again, I never moved to open the door.

"Let Mr. Peter in, Annie Orme," said Lexie. "Poor lad, he never likes to pass the house."

And Annie started up in a moment, in a way that it made me angry to see; but, however, our little maid, Beenie, was beforehand with her, and in a minute we heard a heavy foot in the passage, and Peter Braird put in his shoulder at the door, and gave a shy glance over it, like an awkward colt of a lad as he was.

"Come in, Mr. Peter," said Lexie. "Are they all well at Windlestrae this morning? You should call oftener, for its aye a pleasure to see you. Come in, and take a seat and a rest; its a long walk to Edinburgh."

So he came in, and sat down on the edge of the wooden chair-there is only one wooden chair in the parlour. He had a fine rose in his hand, in a pot-a monthly rose, but a very fine one of its kind.

"Are you going to carry it all the way to Edinburgh? How fresh it is, and bonnie," said Annie Orme.

"Na, its for you," said Peter; and he looked at me-not at Annie Orme.

"You've brought it in a present to Annie? Well, now, that is very considerate," said my sister; "for she has little in her power, Mr. Peter, seeing she will work to help us; though I am sure she need not unless she liked."

Now, this was very true; for my sister Lexie had that great a pride in Annie Orme, that

she would rather have worked double herself, to keep Annie like a lady.

"I was not meaning Miss Annie," said Peter, scraping about the floor with his foot, and holding the pot firm in his hand. "Miss Rechie, it's for you."

And saying that, he shoved it down upon the table beside me, with a very red face, and made me that I spilled my tea upon the clean table-cloth with the shake he gave my arm.

I thanked him the best way I could, and thought it was very kind; but all the time I was watching Annie Orme, to see if she looked disappointed-which she did not, so far as I could perceive.

And away went Peter with his red head. He was a good-natured callant, and I am sure it was very mindful of him; but, for all that, he need not have left the mark of the pot and his own big thumb upon my clean table-cloth.

Next day, Mrs. Cranstoun, of Mavis-wood, called about another gown. When we saw the little carriage she drives stop at the door, my first thought was to make the room right, and get some of the clippings out of the way; but Lexie aye has such a pride.

"Annie Orme," said my sister, "take your seam up the stair till this lady's away."

"I think you should let me stay, aunt," said Annie; for, now that I am a woman, I should work for you, and not you for me."

"Do what I bid you," said Lexie, in a peremptory manner; "it is not my purpose you should be a mantua-maker all your days, like Rechie and me. Go up the stair-I have other views for you, Annie Orme."

So, Annie having gone up stairs, Mrs. Cranstoun came in, and we got our business with her done. Afterwards, Lexie went out to Miss Trotter's, to see if she could get some trimmings; though I always said she would have to go in to Edinburgh for them.

"Aunt, what views has my Aunt Lexie for me?" said Annie Orme, when she came down. "What am I to be, if I'm no to be a mantuamaker? Surely-surely, she does not want me to be a lady's maid, Aunt Rechie?"

"Na, Annie Orme, no such thing," said I. "Lexie would never stoop to that; she says you're to have a house of your own."

Annie looked at me for a moment, in an uncertain way, and asked, "What do you say, auntie?" But before I could get time to answer, she put up her hands to her face, and threw down her seam, and burst into a laugh. I cannot just tell how long this laugh lasted; but that whole forenoon, till Lexie came home, it returned about every ten minutes, till she

had to wipe her eyes, and laugh at herself again for laughing. But, along with this, there was a bit little blush going and coming, as if the same idea might have entered her own head before. No doubt it had; for these young creatures, you see, are so rash, and never consider what they are undertaking with, until the thing is past remeid, and, ill or well, they must go on.

"Your Aunt Lexie says you're to have a house of your own--the which has never happened to either her or me," said I; "and, more than that, Annie, my dear, she has her eye on the lad, too."

When Annie could speak for laughing, which was not for a while, she came and put her arms about my neck, and begged me to tell her who it was. Now, I'll not deny it was a great temptation; but I was honourable to LexieI would not tell her-for my heart smote me when I looked at the little rose-tree, and I could not speak an ill word of Peter Braird, though he had a red head.

"But I'll tell you a most sensible young lad, that would make a good man to you, Annie Orme, or else I'm much mistaken," said I. "He's in good business, and has plenty to maintain you in a creditable way; and he's a very wise-like young man. I see you have but to look kindly at him, and he'll do whatever you like."

"Who is that, Aunt Rechie?" said Annie; and what surprised me was, that her lips opened a little, by reason of the breath coming fast and short, and that she looked up for the moment without laughing, as if this was more earnest than joke.

"I've had my eye upon him this while," said I," and a fine lad he is, I can answer for him, though your Aunt Lexie thinks he's far below your degree, and will not hear of him; but, for all that, he's a likely lad, Annie Orme."

Annie did not look up at me this time: she looked down close at her work, and her needle flew through her fingers like lightning, and her face turned so red, that I saw the cheeks must just be throbbing and beating with heat.

"Hold up your head, Annie, my dear," said I; "you'll get yourself a head-ache, if you stoop down that way;-and you need not think any shame, for young Mr. Mouter is a lad anybody might be pleased with; so there's no need for thinking shame."

But, before I had done speaking, Annie was standing on the floor, laughing like to bring down the house. I thought it was may-be only her agitation, poor thing; for I have seen folk cover a thing that moved them by laughing at it. But. however that might be, she

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