“My dear, that is the way of men,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “a bit of bread-and-butter in a strange place they will take for a ferlie: whereas it’s only a piece for the bairns at home.” “Oh, papa is not so bad as that,” said Susie; “and I’m very silly to mind. Now, just you lean back in your big chair and be quiet a little; and I will go ben to Janet and bring you a little new-made tea.” “I like to see you do it, Susie. I like to take it from your hand. It is not for the tea----” “No, it is not for the tea,” said the girl; and, though she was not fond of kissing, as she said, she touched Mrs Ogilvy’s old soft cheek tenderly with her fresh lips, and went away briskly on her errand with a tear in her eye. Perhaps it is something of a misnomer to call Susie Logan a girl. I fear she must have been thirty or a little more; but she had never left her home, and though she was full of experience, she retained all the freshness and openness of youth. Her hazel eyes were limpid and mildly bright; her features good if not remarkable; her colour fresh as a summer morning. Nowhere could she go without carrying a sense of youth and life with her; and here in this still existence at the Hewan among the old people she was doubly young, the representative of all that was wanting to make that house bright. She alone could make the mistress yield to this momentary indulgence, and permit herself to look tired and to rest. And for her Janet joyfully boiled the kettle over again, though she had just been congratulating herself on having finished for the day. Susan went back and administered the tea, that cordial which is half for the body and half for the mind, but which swallowed amid a crowd of visitors fulfils neither purpose: and then she seated herself by Mrs Ogilvy’s side. “How good it is to feel they’re all gone away and we are just left to our two selves!” “Have you anything particular to say to me, Susie?” “Oh no, nothing particular; everything is just in its ordinary: the little ones are sometimes rather a handful, and if papa would get them a governess I would be thankful. They mean no harm, the little things; but the weather is warm and the day is long, and they are not fond of their lessons--neither am I,” said Susie, with a laugh, “if the truth were told.” “And you are finding them a little too much for you--that is what your father was saying----” “I find them too much for me! did papa say that?” cried Susie, alarmed; “that was never, never in my head. I may grumble a little, half in fun; but too much for me, Mrs Ogilvy! me that was born to it, the eldest daughter! such a thing was never, never in my mind----” “I told him so, my dear, but he would not believe me; he just maintained it to my face that it was too much for you, and your health was beginning to fail.” “What would he mean by that?” said Susie, sitting up very upright on her chair. A shadow came over her brightness. “Oh, I hope he has not got any new idea in his head,” she cried.