Elizabeth had a way of throwing her whole heart into the subject that interested her for the moment, and it surprised and pleased people to find this large and beautiful person taking such a passionate (if passing) interest in them and their concerns. Now it was obvious she was thinking of nothing in the world but this little best parlour with its newly papered walls. After approving the new wall-paper, she proceeded to examine intently the old steel engravings in their deep rose-wood frames. The subjects were varied: "The Murder of Archbishop Sharp" hung above a chest of drawers; "John Knox dispensing the Communion" was skyed above the sideboard; "Burns at the Plough being crowned by the Spirit of Poesy" was partially concealed behind the door; while over the fireplace brooded the face of that great divine, Robert Murray M'Cheyne. These and a fine old bureau filled with china proclaimed their owner as being "better," of having come from people who could bequeath goods and gear to their descendants. Elizabeth admired the bureau and feasted her eyes on the china. "Just look at these cups--isn't it a _brave_ blue?" "Ay," said Mrs. Veitch rather uncertainly; "they were ma granny's. I wud raither hev hed rose-buds masel'--an' that wide shape cools the tea awfu' quick." She nodded mysteriously toward the door at the side of the fire which hid the concealed bed. "We've got a lodger," she said. "What!" cried Elizabeth, startled. "Is she in there now?" "Now!" said Mrs. Veitch in fine scorn. "What for wud she be in the now? She's at her wark. She's in a shop in Argyle Street." "Oh!" said Elizabeth. "Is she a nice lodger?" "Verra quiet; gives no trouble," said Mrs. Veitch. "And you'll make her so comfortable. Do you bake treacle scones for her? If you do, she'll never leave you." "I was bakin' this verra day. Could ye--wud it bother ye to carry a scone hame? Mr. Seton's terrible fond o' treacle scone. I made him a cup o' tea wan day he cam' in and he ett yin tae't, he said he hedna tastit onything as guid sin' he was a callant." "I know," said Elizabeth. "He told me. Of course I can carry the scones, if you can spare them." In a moment Mrs. Veitch had got several scones pushed into a baker's bag and was thrusting it into Elizabeth's hands. "I'll keep it dry under my waterproof," Elizabeth promised her. "My umbrella? Did I leave it at the door?" "It's drippin' in the sink. Here it's. Good-bye, then." "Good-bye, and very many thanks for everything--the subscription and the scones--and letting me see your room." At the next house she made no long visitation. It was washing-day, and the mistress of the house was struggling with piles of wet clothes, sorting them out with red, soda-wrinkled hands, and hanging them on pulleys round the kitchen. Having got the subscription, Elizabeth tarried not an unnecessary moment.