charge of the preserving-pan, for her want of sympathy in the nature of its contents had induced a degree of carelessness in watching their confection, whereof the result was—dark and cindery ruin. Hubbub followed: high upbraiding, and sobs rather loud than deep or real.
Caroline, once more turning to the little mirror, was shading her ringlets from her cheek to smooth them under her cottage bonnet, certain that it would not only be useless but unpleasant to stay longer; when, on the sudden opening of the back-door, there fell an abrupt calm in the kitchen: the tongues were checked, pulled up as with bit and bridle. "Was it—was it—Robert?" He often—almost always—entered by the kitchen-way on his return from market. No: it was only Joe Scott, who, having hemmed significantly thrice—every hem being meant as a lofty rebuke to the squabbling womankind—said,—
"Now, I thowt I heerd a crack?"
None answered.
"And," he continued, pragmatically, "as t' maister's comed, and as he'll enter through this hoyle, I considered it desirable to step in and let ye know. A houseful o' women is nivver fit to be comed on wi'out warning. Here he is: walk forrard, sir. They war playing up queerly, but I think I've quietened 'em."
