"You don't suppose poor Mr Bagnall will be sent there, for a little too much champagne at a hunt-supper?" said I. I did not like it, for I thought of Father. I have heard him singing "Old King Cole" and half a dozen more songs, all mixed up in a heap, after a hunt-supper. "Men always do it there. And I can assure you Mr Bagnall is thought a first-class preacher. People go to hear him even from Cockermouth." "That is worse than ever," said Flora, "A man who preaches the truth and serves the Devil--that must be awful!" "Flora, you do say the queerest things!" said I. "Does your father never do so?" "My father?" she answered in an astonished, indignant voice. "_My father_! Cary! but,"--with a change in the tone--"you do not know him, of course. Why, Cary, if he knew that Angus had been for once in the midst of such a scene as that, I think it would break my father's heart." I wondered how Angus had fared, and if he were singing snatches of Scotch songs in some bed-chamber at the other end of the long gallery, but I had not the cruelty to say it to Flora. When we came down the next morning, I was curious to peep into the dining-room, just to see what it was like. The wreck of a ship is the only thing I can think of, which might look like it. Half the chairs were flung over in all directions, and two broken to pieces; a quantity of broken glass was heaped both on the floor and the table; dark wine stains on the carpet, and pools upon the table, not yet dry, were sufficient signs of what the night had been. Bessy stood in the window, duster in hand, picking up the chairs, and setting them in their places. "Didn't the gentlemen enjoy theirselves, Miss Cary?" said she. "My word, but they made a night on't! I'd like to ha' been wi' 'em, just for to see!" I made no answer beyond nodding my head. Flora's words came back to me,--"It is well to take sin seriously." I could not laugh and jest, as I dare say I should have done but for them. When I came into the parlour, I only found three of all the gentlemen in the house,--Father, Mr Keith, and Ambrose Catterall. I thought Father seemed rather cross, and he was finding fault with everybody for something. Sophy's hair was rough, and Hatty had put on a gown he did not like, and Fanny's ruffle had a hole in it; and then he turned round and scolded my Aunt Kezia for not having us in better order. My Aunt Kezia said never a word, but I felt sure from her drawn brow and set lips, as she stood making tea, that she could have said a great many. Mr Keith was silent and grave. Ambrose Catterall seemed to think it his duty to make fun for everybody, and he laughed and joked and chattered away finely. I asked where old Mr Catterall was. "Oh, in bed with a headache," laughed Ambrose, "like everybody else this morning." "Speak for yourself," said Mr Keith. "I have not one." "Well, mine's going," returned Ambrose, gaily. "A cup of Mrs Kezia's capital tea will finish it off."