Comlie High Street was very quiet, especially at this tranquil after-dinner hour, when the little world rested after its meal. The children had returned to the school, and such men as had any business to do had gone back to it till the evening. Marjory watched young Hepburn walking up and down slowly, something between a spy and a sentinel, keeping watch, as she very well knew, for her own re-appearance. She smiled with a certain gentle contempt as she watched him, moving slowly across the unbroken light in the still street. What odd fancies boys take into their heads! What good could it do him to wait for her? When Hepburn disappeared, another figure became visible coming the other way--a man with a clump of his own shadow about his feet, which gradually disengaged itself as he “came east,” and stalked along by his side in a portentous lengthened line. The changes of this shadow diverted her as she sat talking to Aunt Jean. “Yes, there had been another letter about Charlie’s second baby--a note from Mrs. Charles herself--well, no, not a very nice letter--a consequential little personage, I think, aunty; as proud of her baby as if it was any virtue of hers.” And here Marjory gave a little laugh, not at Mrs. Charles, but at the dark shadow of the man approaching, which lay along the causeway, and moved so, as if it pushed itself along, lying on its side. After she had laughed, Marjory, half ashamed of herself, looked at the man, and saw he was one of the porters from the nearest railway station, and then that he was approaching the house. She raised herself up with a little thrill of--something--yes, surprise, and more than surprise--though probably it was only some parcel for Aunt Jean arrived by the railway, which was ten miles off. By the time he had reached the door, and had knocked heavily with his hand, May was sure that it was a parcel for her aunt, but nevertheless was aware of a little fluttering at her heart. “Do you often get things by the railway, aunty?” she asked. “Me get things by the railway? You forget I’m a lone old woman, and no acquainted with all your new-fangled ways. Not me. When I want anything not to be had in Comlie, which is not often, it comes in the boat to Anstruther, as was always our way, and then by the road, or private hand when there’s an opportunity. Railway! said she?--What’s a’ this, Betty?--what’s a’ this? A letter? Give it to me, you taupie, and make no fuss. Oh! for Miss Marjory! My certy! Miss Marjory’s in great request when her letters come following her here.” “Eh, Miss Jean! it’s what they call a telegraph--it’s come from the railway at Kinnucher, wi’ a man and horse. Eh, I’m awfu’ feared it’s ill news!”