The maid had a somewhat forward, familiar manner; she sat down to rest.
'What like is she?'

The shopkeeper bridled. 'Is it Mistress Macdonald?' There was reproof in
the voice. 'She is much respectet--none more so. It would be before you
were born that every one about here knew Mistress Macdonald.'

'Well, what family is there?' The maid had a sweet smile; her voice fell
into a cheerful coaxing tone, which had its effect.

'Ye'll be the new servant they'll be looking for. Is it walking ye are
from the station? Well, she had six children, had Mistress Macdonald.'

'What ages will they be?'

The woman knit her brows; the problem set her was too difficult. 'I
couldna tell ye just exactly. There's Miss Macdonald--she that's at home
yet; she'll be over fifty.'

'Oh!' The maid gave a cheerful note of interested understanding. 'It'll
be her perhaps that wrote to me; the mistress'll be an old lady.'

'She'll be nearer ninety than eighty, I'm thinking.' There was a
moment's pause, which the shop-woman filled with sighs. 'Ye'll be aware
that it's a sad house ye're going to. She's verra ill is Mistress
Macdonald. It's sorrow for us all, for she's been hale and had her
faculties. She'll no' be lasting long now, I'm thinking.'

'No,' said the maid, with good-hearted pensiveness; 'it's not in the
course of nature that she should.' She rose as she spoke, as if it