"The scones will keep till to-morrow," Miss Christie reminded her. "Yes," said Elizabeth, "but Mrs. Veitch will perhaps be thinking we are having them to-night, and I would feel mean to neglect her present. You needn't smile in that superior way, Kirsty Christie." "They are excellent scones," said Mr. Seton, "and I'm greatly obliged to Mrs. Veitch. She is a fine woman--comes of good Border stock." "She's a dear," said Elizabeth; "though she scares me sometimes, she is so utterly sincere. That's grievous, isn't it, Father?--to think I live with such double-dealers that sincerity scares me." Mr. Seton shook his head at her. "You talk a great deal of nonsense, Elizabeth," he said, a fact which Elizabeth felt to be so palpably true that she made no attempt to deny it. Later, when the tea-things had been cleared away and the three boys lay stretched on the carpet looking for a picture of the roc's egg in a copy of _The Arabian Nights_, James Seton sat down rather weariedly in one of the big chintz-covered chairs by the fire. "You're tired, Father," said Elizabeth. James Seton smiled at his daughter. "Lazy, Lizbeth, that's all--lazy and growing old!" "Old?" said Elizabeth. "Why, Father, you're the youngest person I have ever known. You're only about half the age of this weary worldling your daughter. You can never say you're old, wicked one, when you enjoy fairy tales just as much as Buff. I do believe that you would rather read a fairy tale than a theological book. He can't deny it, Kirsty. Oh, Father, Father, it's a sad thing to have to say about a U.F. minister, and it's sad for poor Kirsty, who has been so well brought up, to have all her clerical illusions shattered." "Oh, girl," said her father, "do you never tire talking?" "Never," said Elizabeth cheerfully, "but I'm going to read to you now for a change. Don't look so scared, Kirsty; it's only a very little poem." "I'm sure I've no objection to hearing it," said Miss Christie, sitting up in her chair. Elizabeth lifted a blue-covered book from a table, sat down on the rug at her father's feet, and began to read. It was only a very little poem, as she had said--a few exquisite strange lines. When she finished she looked eagerly up at her father and--"Isn't it magical?" she asked. "Let me see the book," said Mr. Seton, and at once became engrossed. "It's very nice," said Miss Christie; "but your voice, Elizabeth, makes anything sound beautiful." "Kirsty, my dear, how pretty of you!" Elizabeth's hands were clasped round her knees, and she sat staring into the red heart of the fire as she repeated: "Who said 'All Time's delight Hath she for narrow bed: Life's troubled bubble broken'? That's what I said." Kirsty, I love that--'Life's troubled bubble broken'." "Say it to me Lizbeth," said Buff, who had left his book when his sister began to read aloud. "You wouldn't understand it, sonny."