I made no answer beyond nodding my head. Flora’s words came back to me,—“It is well to take sin seriously.” I could not laugh and jest, as I dare say I should have done but for them.
When I came into the parlour, I only found three of all the gentlemen in the house,—Father, Mr Keith, and Ambrose Catterall. I thought Father seemed rather cross, and he was finding fault with everybody for something. Sophy’s hair was rough, and Hatty had put on a gown he did not like, and Fanny’s ruffle had a hole in it; and then he turned round and scolded my Aunt Kezia for not having us in better order. My Aunt Kezia said never a word, but I felt sure from her drawn brow and set lips, as she stood making tea, that she could have said a great many. Mr Keith was silent and grave. Ambrose Catterall seemed to think it his duty to make fun for everybody, and he laughed and joked and chattered away finely. I asked where old Mr Catterall was.
“Oh, in bed with a headache,” laughed Ambrose, “like everybody else this morning.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Mr Keith. “I have not one.”
“Well, mine’s going,” returned Ambrose, gaily. “A cup of Mrs Kezia’s capital tea will finish it off.”
“Finish what off?” asked my Aunt Kezia.
“My last night’s headache,” said he.
“That tea must have come from Heaven, then, instead of China,” replied she. “Nay, Ambrose Catterall; it will take blood to finish off the consequence of your doings last night.”
“Why, Mrs Kezia, are you going to fight me?” asked he, laughing.
“Young man, why don’t you fight the Devil?” answered my Aunt Kezia, looking him full in the face. “He does not pay good wages, Ambrose.”