MRS. WEIR
otherwise, sighed, and shook her head, and proceeded on her rounds alone. The house lasses were at the burnside washing, and saw het pass with her loose, weary, dowdy gait.
'She's a terrible feckless wife, the mistress!' said the one.
'Tut,' said the other, 'the wumman's seeck.'
'Weel, I canna see nae differ in her,' returned the first. 'A füshionless quean, a feckless carline.'
The poor creature thus discussed rambled a while in the grounds without a purpose. Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed, and carried her to and fro like seaweed. She tried a path, paused, returned, and tried another; questing, forgetting her quest; the spirit of choice extinct in her bosom, or devoid of sequency. On a sudden, it appeared as though she had remembered, or had formed a resolution, wheeled about, returned with hurried steps, and appeared
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