He had left Allenders only the previous day, and had left it in good spirits, giving Harry particular charge about the “schooling” of Violet and Katie, which the old man perceived ran some risk of being neglected, at least by the heads of the house. But Uncle Sandy had great hopes of Harry, and was much interested about the occupation which Harry desired for his leisure. Nevertheless, the old man walked slowly towards the dwelling-place of Jean Calder. He needed to be a brave man who should venture to ask money from her. “Ou, ay, she’s aye steering,” said, discontentedly, the woman who occupied the lower story of Miss Jean’s house, “weary tak her! I have had nae peace o’ my life since ye took that little brat Katie away. She fees my wee lassie wi’ ten shillings in the year to kindle her fire, and do a’ her needs, and expects me forbye to wash her claes into the bargain, as if I hadna plenty to do wi’ a man, and a muckle laddie, and a’ thae weans! I wadna have let Aggie gang, but just I thought five shillings--though it didna come till the end o’ the half year--couldna weel come amiss where there’s aye sae muckle to do wi’t, and Aggie was just to gang up in the morning. Instead of that it’s Aggie here, Aggie there, the haill day through; and she never as muckle as says, have ye a mouth--except for that drap parritch in the morning, and sour milk.” “Poor woman! _she_ gets more ill than you,” said the old man, compassionately; “but Aggie has mother and father to look after her, and see she’s no ill used; whereas little Katie had but a widow woman to look to, who couldna have another mouth brought hame to her; and that makes a great difference; so now I’ll go up the stair and see Miss Jean.” But the old man’s heart almost failed him, as he paused at the half-opened door. He had no opportunity of escape, however, for the sharp, anxious, miser-ear had heard the approaching footstep; and the shrill, quivering voice of Miss Jean Calder demanded impatiently, “Wha’s there?” “It’s me,” said Alexander Muir, meekly. “If ye’re well enough, and your lane, I’ll come in, Miss Jean.” “Ay, come in, and gie us the news,” answered Miss Jean, appearing at the kitchen-door in a thick muslin cap, with great flaunting borders, borrowed from Aggie’s indignant mother. The poor lean cheeks looked thinner and more gaunt than usual within the wide full muslin wings which flaunted out from them on either side; and hot as this July day was, Miss Jean had been sitting, with an old faded woollen shawl over her shoulders, close by the fire. “Ye may come in, Sandy, since it’s you, and gie us the news--just inbye here. It’s nae guid standing on ceremony wi’ auld friends like you. Come inbye to the fire, Sandy Muir,” said Miss Jean, graciously. The old man entered the little kitchen with some trepidation, though he hailed this singular courtesy as a good omen, and was emboldened for his difficult errand.