“This hour! Why, ’tis but eight o’clock!” cries my Aunt Kezia. “What sort of a lig-a-bed do you think me, Doctor?”
“Madam, I think you the flower of creation!” cries he, bowing over her hand.
“You must have been reading the poets,” saith she, “and not to much good purpose.—Flora, child, you look but white! And is this Miss Annas Keith, your friend? I am glad to see you, my dear. Don’t mind an old woman’s freedom: I call all girls ‘my dear’.”
Annas smiled, and said she was very pleased to feel as though my Aunt Kezia reckoned her among her friends.
“My friends’ friends are mine,” saith my Aunt Kezia. “Well, Cary, I have brought you all the things in your minute, save your purple lutestring scarf, which I could not find. It was not in the bottom shelf, as you set down.”
“Why, where could I have put it?” said I. “I always keep it on that shelf.”
I was sorry to miss it, because it is my best scarf, and I thought I should want it in London, where I suppose everybody goes very fine. However, there was no more to be said—on my side. I found there was on my Aunt Kezia’s.
“Here, hold your hand, child,” saith she. “Your father sends you ten guineas to spend; and here are five more from me, and this pocket-piece from Sophy. You can get a new scarf in London, if you need it, or anything else you like better.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Kezia!” I cried. “Why, how rich I shall be!”
“Don’t waste your money, Cary: lay it out wisely, and then we shall be pleased. I will give you a good rule: Never buy anything without sleeping on it. Don’t rush off and get it the first minute it comes into your head. You will see the bottom of your purse in a veek if you do.”