* What we should call a cold in the head, then considered a matter of more consequence than now. Mrs. Deborah would have sent an excuse for the whole party, but Mrs. Chloe looked so greatly disappointed, that we begged Mrs. Deborah to go and leave me to nurse Amabel, with the help of old Elsie and Tupper to depend upon in case of an emergency. Amabel felt very uncomfortable all the morning, but she was better at night, and able to sit up to tea in our own room. The housekeeper sent us up all sorts of nice things, including a plate of short bread, and we would have Elsie sit down and take tea with us. After we had finished, we drew up to the fire, and coaxed Elsie to tell us tales of the two families—and when we had drawn her into the full tide of narration, I put into execution a scheme I had long had in mind. "Elsie, do you know the story of the beautiful lady whose picture hangs next the saloon door—the one who has a veil hanging over her picture?" "Aye, do I, my lammie!" answered Elsie. "And a gruesome story it is; they dinna like to speak o't in the family, but it's true for all that." "Oh, tell it to us!" we both exclaimed; and Amabel added,—"I love to hear ghost stories." "It's no just a ghost story as you call't," said Elsie. "However, I do not ken any harm the telling it will do, unless it makes you afraid to go to bed. But you must not tell Mrs. Deborah, for I'm jealous she would not wish it talked about." "She told us we might ask you!" said I, as indeed she had. "Aweel, then it is all right!" And as Elsie took up her distaff which was as much a part of herself as Aunt Chloe's knitting, we settled ourselves for the enjoyment of a story. "Aweel, young ladies!" Elsie began, dismissing her spindle to twirl upon the hearth-stone, and looking into the fire with her bright deep blue eyes. "You maun ken that there was once a Lord of Leighton, who was the last heir in the direct line. It behooved him to marry, for the estate had gone on from father to son, ever since before the Danes came into the country. He would have had no fash at all in finding a mate, forby the great estate which was far greater then as they say, and the fine house and a'; he was a weal favored lad, and knew how to make the leddies pleased wi' him." "His mother was at him night and day to take a wife, but he would not listen to her, and they say there used to be awful scenes betwixt them, for she was a Percy and proud as Lucifer, and he was as dour and obstinate as all the rest of the Leighton men—craving your pardon, mem." This to Amabel. "I don't think I am very dour—am I, Lucy?" said Amabel smiling. "You are never obstinate about little matters!" I answered. "But I think if you once made up your mind that a thing was right or wrong, you would be torn with wild horses before you would give up."