"Well, then, I'll go and get grannie made comfortable; and if you don't come to me by half-past nine, I'll come after you again." "Do, miss, if you please; for if father ain't come by that time--my poor head--" "You must put that ugly book away," said Lucy, "and take a better one." "Well, miss, I know I oughtn't to have taken this book, for there's no summer in it; and it talks like the wind at night." "Why did you take it, then?" "Because Syne told me to take it. But that's just why I oughtn't to ha' taken it." And she rose and put the book in one of the shelves over her head, moving her stool when she had done so, and turning her face toward the spot where the book now stood. Lucy watched her uneasily. "What do you mean by saying that Syne told you?" she asked. "Who is Syne?" "Don't you know Syne, miss? Syne is--you know 'Lord Syne was a miserly churl'--don't you?" Then, before Lucy could reply, she looked up in her face, with a smile hovering about the one side of her mouth, and said: "But it's all nonsense, miss, when you're standing there. There isn't no such person as Syne, when you're there. I don't believe there is any such person. But," she added with a sigh, "when you're gone away--I don't know. But I think he's up stairs in the nursery now," she said, putting her hand to her big forehead. "No, no; there's no such person." And Mattie tried to laugh outright, but failed in the attempt, and the tears rose in her eyes. "You've got a headache, dear," said Lucy. "Well, no," answered Mattie. "I cannot say that I have just a headache, you know. But it does buzz a little. I hope Mr. Kitely won't be long now." "I don't like leaving you, Mattie; but I must go to my grandmother," said Lucy, with reluctance. "Never mind me, miss. I'm used to it. I used to be afraid of Lord Syne, for he watched me, ready to pounce out upon me with all his men at his back, and he laughed so loud to see me run. But I know better now. I never run from him now. I always frown at him, and take my own time and do as I like. I don't want him to see that I'm afraid, you know. And I do think I have taught him a lesson. Besides, if he's very troublesome, you know, miss, I can run to Mr. Spelt. But I never talk to him about Syne, because when I do he always looks so mournful. Perhaps he thinks it is wicked. He is so good himself, he has no idea how wicked a body can be." Lucy thought it best to hurry away, that she might return the sooner; for she could not bear the child to be left alone in such a mood. And she was sure that the best thing for her would be to spend the day with her cheery old grandmother. But as she was leaving the shop, Mr. Kitely came in, his large, bold, sharp face fresh as a north wind without a touch of east in it. Lucy preferred her request about Mattie, and he granted it cordially. "I'm afraid, Mr. Kitely," said Lucy, "the darling is not well. She has such strange fancies."