As they went on together the children came to the very edge of the moorland. They ascended a few steps to a place where there were many tumbled crags and cunning hiding-places. From the edge of these they looked down upon a plain of tree tops, in the midst of which peeped out the front of a considerable mansion. The lower windows and the door were hidden in a green haze of beech leaves. "That is where I live, little boy," said Miss Briggs, grandly. "The propriety will belong to me some day. And then I shall send Peter away for good." Miss Briggs looked down on the house and gardens with the eye of the possessor of a "propriety." "Tissy, wissy—tissy—wissy!" she cried, suddenly forgetting her dignity. There was a stirring here and there among the trees. And lo! from off the roofs of the barn and the byre, out of the triangular wickets, from off round-topped corn-stacks and out of different doors in the dwelling-house, there sprang a host of cats. "See them," said Miss Briggs, impressively, "every one of them comes to meet me. That's Peter, wicked Peter," she said, pointing to a large brindled pussy which led the field by half-a-dozen lengths. Over the bridge they came, all mewing their best, and all arching their tails. "Their ten tails over their ten backs!" said Miss Briggs, as if she found much spiritual comfort in the phrase. The cats rubbed themselves against her. Some of them leaped upon her shoulder and sat there, purring loudly. Hugh Boy was unspeakably delighted. "I wish Vara could see," he said, remembering for the first time his sister and Gavin. A harsh voice broke in upon them. "Elizabeth Briggs! Elizabeth Briggs! What is all this play-acting? And what gangrel loon is this that ye are bringing to the door by the hand? Is there not enough wastry and ruination aboot the house of Rascarrel already, without your wiling hame every gypsy's brat and prowling sorrow of a gutter-bluid? Think shame o' yoursel', Elizabeth Briggs!" Hugh Boy dropped the hand which held his. He would not bring disgrace on the friend who had helped him. "Aunt Robina, you forget yourself," interposed the young lady with prim dignity, "and you forget 'what sayeth the Scripture.'" She took Boy Hugh's hand again, and held it tighter. "Forget the Scripture," cried a tall dark-browed woman who came limping out from a seat under a weeping elm. She was leaning heavily with both hands upon a staff, which she rattled angrily on the ground as she spoke. "Yes," said Miss Briggs, "do you not know that I am Pharaoh's daughter, and this is little Moses that I drew out of the water?" "Hold your tongue, Elizabeth Briggs, and come here instantly!" said the dark woman, tapping the ground again with her staff. Hugh Boy knew the tone. He had heard something like this before. "Is that your 'awfu' woman'?" he said aloud, pointing with his finger at the woman leaning upon the stick.