"No, no, my dear friend," said Mrs. Hamilton, while she proceeded to make preparations for her evening meal, "don’t—if you please, say any more on that subject; it’s little I have, but, please God, that little shall always be at the service of the few friends I have now remaining; losh pity me, are you not my cousin, thrice removed on my mother’s side, and just to think o’ one relation taking money off another? I never heard tell o’ such a like thing; no, no, stay wi’ me as long as you like, and welcome;" so saying, Mrs. Hamilton proceeded leisurely to put one of her best damask cloths on the table, which she soon covered with plates of bread and butter, some newly-made jelly, etc; in short, the best of everything the house could afford, was brought forth to do honour to her welcome guests. "Now, sit your ways down," said Mrs. Hamilton, after she had completed the arrangements to her own satisfaction, and, taking Mrs. Johnstone by the arm, she seated her at the head of the table, motioning Jeanie to sit beside her, "sit your ways down, and partake of what is before you." Mrs. Johnstone proceeded, greatly to the delight of Mrs. Hamilton, to make an active onslaught on the good things with which the table was abundantly supplied. "That’s right, my dear," exclaimed the hospitable widow, her eyes beaming with pleasure, "but, Jeanie Irving, what has come over you, lassie?" she enquired, astonished beyond measure on perceiving that the maiden in question evinced not the slightest disposition to assist her aunt in the arduous undertaking of demolishing the huge pile of bread and butter placed so temptingly within her reach. Jeanie, by way of answer to this anxious inquiry, hastened to assure Mrs. Hamilton that she was indeed making an excellent meal; and wishing to turn the conversation into another channel, she expressed a desire to know whose was the sword hanging on the opposite wall. Mrs. Hamilton’s good-natured face lengthened considerably as she replied with a faltering accent, that it had belonged to her husband, who perished at the battle o’ Pentland Hills. "Indeed," said Jeanie Irving, greatly interested in hearing that her kind hostess had also been a sufferer from those sad religious differences; "and pray"—here she suddenly stopped short, on observing Mrs. Hamilton raise her apron to her eyes, and apparently wipe away an unbidden tear. After a pause of a few moments, during which time Jeanie Irving remained mute, with her eyes fixed on the sword, Mrs. Hamilton inquired of her friend what it was that had brought her to Edinburgh in these stormy times. In reply to this rather confusing question, Mrs. Johnstone pressed Mrs. Hamilton’s foot under the table, at the same time darting a glance in the direction of her niece, who entirely engrossed by her own sad thoughts, did not overhear the question, as if to warn Mrs. Hamilton against alluding to that subject in her presence.