The coach stopped--they were in the dull main street of the village. Mrs. Aytoun took out her list--at the head of the column stood "Mrs. Yammer"--the sea-bathing friend had particularly recommended the house, whose mistress bore so distressful a name. It was a short way out of the village, close upon the sea-side; they turned to seek it. The magnificent Firth lay bright before them, its islands standing out darkly from its bosom, and its sunny glories bounded by the fertile shores and distant hills of the ancient kingdom of Fife. The exuberant wealth of these rich Lothian lands was bursting out around into Spring's blythest green--a sunny April sky overhead, and April air waving in its golden breadths about them everywhere--it was impossible to think of sadness there. The shadow of her old woe floated away from Mrs. Aytoun's unselfish spirit--Alice was so gay, Anne so pleasantly exhilarated, that she could not refuse to rejoice with them. Mrs. Yammer's house promised well. It was seated upon a gentle elevation--its front, at least, for the elevation made a very abrupt descent, and so procured that the rooms which were on the ground-floor before, should be the second story behind. In front ran the road leading to the country town, beyond there were some brief intervening fields, and then the sands. It was not above ten minutes walk from the immediate shore. At some little distance further on, there stood a house close to the water, standing up, gaunt and tall, from among a few trees. In the bright, living spring-day, it had a spectral, desolate look about it. Anne remarked it with some curiosity as she glanced round; but Mrs. Aytoun had already knocked, and she had not time to look again. The door was opened by an energetic little servant, who ushered the ladies into an airy, lightsome parlor, with which Alice Aytoun was in ecstasies. One window looked out on the sea--the other, in a corner of the room, had a pleasant view of the fresh green country road, and glimpse of the village of Aberford itself in the distance; the furniture was very tolerable--the whole room particularly clean. "O, Anne!" exclaimed Alice Aytoun, "I will come to see you every week!" A little woman bustled into the room. She had on an old silk gown, curiously japanned by long service, and possessing in an uncommon degree the faculty of rustling--a comical, little, quick, merry, eccentric face--some curls which looked exceedingly like bits of twisted wire, covered by a clean cap of embroidered muslin, with a very plain border of well-darned lace. Mrs. Aytoun hesitated. To call this little person "Mrs." anything, was palpably absurd; yet they had asked for Mrs. Yammer. "It's no me, it's my sister," said the brisk little person before them. "I'm Miss Crankie. Will ye sit down ladies? I am very glad to see you."