At last, and all at once, Flora—honest, straightforward Flora—laid her work on her knee, and looked up at my Aunt Kezia’s grim set face.
“Aunt Kezia, will you tell me, is something the matter?”
“Yes, my dear,” my Aunt Kezia seemed to snap out. “Satan’s the matter.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Aunt,” said Flora.
“’Tis a mercy if you don’t. No, child, there is not much the matter for you. The matter’s for me and these girls here. Well, to be sure! there’s no fool like an old f— Caroline! (I fairly jumped) can’t you look what you are doing? You are herring-boning that seam on the wrong side!”
Alas! the charge was true. I cannot tell how or why it is, but if there are two seams to anything, I am sure to do one of them on the wrong side. It is very queer. I suppose there is something wanting in my brains. Hatty says—at least she did once when I said that—the brains are wanting.
However, we sat on and sewed away, till at last Amelia woke up and went up-stairs; Flora finished her petticoat, and my Aunt Kezia told her to go into the garden. Only we four sisters were left. Then my Aunt Kezia put down her flannel, wiped her spectacles, and looked round at us.
I knew something was coming, and I felt quite sure that it was something disagreeable; but I could not form an idea what it was.
“Girls,” said my Aunt Kezia, “I think you may as well hear at once that I am going to leave Brocklebank.”
I fairly gasped in astonishment. Brocklebank without my Aunt Kezia! It sounded like hearing that the sun was going out of the sky. I could not imagine such a state of things.