almost to a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain.
This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as I
am still) of serious effects from the incidents of to-day and
yesterday. She returned presently, bringing a smoking basin and a
basket of work; and, having placed the former on the hob, drew in
her seat, evidently pleased to find me so companionable.

Before I came to live here, she commenced - waiting no farther
invitation to her story - I was almost always at Wuthering Heights;
because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was
Hareton's father, and I got used to playing with the children: I
ran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm
ready for anything that anybody would set me to. One fine summer
morning - it was the beginning of harvest, I remember - Mr.
Earnshaw, the old master, came down-stairs, dressed for a journey;
and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day,
he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me - for I sat eating my
porridge with them - and he said, speaking to his son, 'Now, my
bonny man, I'm going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I bring you?
You may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shall
walk there and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!'
Hindley named a fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy; she was
hardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable,
and she chose a whip. He did not forget me; for he had a kind
heart, though he was rather severe sometimes. He promised to bring
me a pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed his
children, said good-bye, and set off.

It seemed a long while to us all - the three days of his absence -
and often did little Cathy ask when he would be home. Mrs.