This is a great day at Killiecrankie Lodge. It is the end of April now, and already the days are long, and the sun himself stays up till after tea, and throws a slanting golden beam over the daylight table. Miss Willsie, herself presiding, is slightly heated. She says, “Bless me, it’s like July!” as she sets down upon the tray her heavy silver teapot. Miss Willsie is not half as tall as her brother, but makes up the difference in another direction. She is stout, though she is so restlessly active. Her face is full of wavering little lines and dimples, though she is an old lady; and there are the funniest indentations possible in her round chin and cheeks. You would fancy a laugh was always hiding in those crevices. Alas! Hannah knows better. You should see how Miss Willsie can frown! But the old lady is in grand costume to-night; she has her brown satin dress on, her immense cairngorm brooch, her overwhelming blue turban. This sublime head-dress has an effect of awe upon the company; no one was prepared for such a degree of grandeur, and the visitors consequently are not quite at their ease. These visitors are rather numerous for a Bellevue tea-party. There is Mr Richards from Buena Vista, Mrs Tavistock from Woburn Lodge, and Mr Gray, the other Scotch inhabitant, from Gowanbrae; and there is likewise Mr Foggo Silas Endicott, Miss Willsie’s American nephew, and her Scotch nephew, Harry Oswald; and besides all this worshipful company, there are all the Athelings--all except Bell and Beau, left, with many cautions, in the hands of Susan, over whom, in fear and self-reproach, trembles already the heart of Mamma. “So he would not hear of it--he was not blate!” said Miss Willsie. “My brother never had the like in his office--that I tell you; and there’s no good mother at home to do as much for Harry. Chairles, lad, you’ll find out better some time. If there’s one thing I do not like, it’s a wilful boy!” “But I can scarcely call him wilful either,” said Mrs Atheling, hastily. “He is very reasonable, Miss Willsie; he gives his meaning--it is not out of opposition. He has always a good reason for what he does--he is a very reasonable boy.” “And if there’s one thing I object to,” said Miss Willsie, “it’s the assurance of these monkeys with their reasons. When we were young, we were ill bairns, doubtless, like other folk; but if I had dared to make my excuses, pity me! There is Harry, now, will set up his face to me as grand as a Lord of Session; and Marian this very last night making her argument about these two spoiled babies of yours, as if she knew better than me! Misbehaviour’s natural to youth. I can put up with that, but I cannot away with their reasons. Such things are not for me.”