“I needna be idle _now_"--the Mistress said to herself, with a heavy sigh; and Huntley and Patie perceived that it was no longer too early to enter upon their own plans and views. With this purpose, they came to her about sunset, when she had settled herself after her old fashion to her evening’s work. She saw instinctively what was coming, and, with natural feeling, shrunk for the moment. She was a little impatient, too, her grief taking that form. “Keep a distance, keep a distance, bairns!” cried the Mistress; “let me have room to breathe in! and I’m sure if ye were but lassies, and could have something in your hands to do, it would be a comfort to me. There’s Jenny, the light-headed thing, taken her stocking to the door, as if nothing was amiss in the house. Pity me!--but I’ll not be fashed with _her_ long, that’s a comfort to think of. Laddies, laddies, can ye no keep still? What are ye a’wanting with me?” “Mother, it’s time to think what we’re to do; neither Patie nor me can keep quiet, when we think of what’s before us,” said Huntley--“and there’s little comfort in settling on any thing till we can speak of it to you.” The Mistress gave way at these words to a sudden little outbreak of tears, which you might almost have supposed were tears of anger, and which she wiped off hurriedly with an agitated hand. Then she proceeded very rapidly with the work she had taken up, which was a dark gray woolen stocking--a familiar work, which she could get on with almost without looking at it. She did look at her knitting, however, intently, bending her head over it, not venturing to look up at her children; and thus it was that they found themselves permitted to proceed. “Mother,” said Huntley, with a deep blush--“I’m a man, but I’ve learned nothing to make my bread by. Because I’m the eldest, and should be of most use, I’m the greatest burden. I understand about the land and the cattle, and after a while I might manage a farm, but that’s slow work and weary--and the first that should be done is to get rid of me.” “Hold your peace!” cried the Mistress, with a break in her voice; “how dare ye say the like of that to your mother? Are you not my eldest son, the stay of the house? Wherefore do ye say this to me?” “Because it’s true, mother,” said Huntley, firmly; “and though it’s true I’m not discouraged. The worst is, I see nothing I can do near you, as I might have done if I had been younger, and had time to spare to learn a trade. Such as it is, I’m very well content with my trade, too; but what could I do with it here? Get a place as a grieve, maybe, through Tyneside’s help, and the minister’s, and be able to stock a small farm by the time I was forty years old. But that would please neither you nor me. Mother, you must send me away!” The Mistress did not look up, did not move--went on steadily with her rapid knitting--but she said:-- “Where?” with a sharp accent, like a cry.