'My aunt,' I said, smiling.
'A thousand parrdons, ma'am!' he pleaded, once more making a pyramid of his 'bonnet,' while the colour mounted to his brow. 'A thousand parrdons!'
Like most of his countrymen, he spoke broader when 66 taken off his guard or when excited. At such times the r's were thundered or rolled out.
Aunt Cecilia smiled most graciously, and I feel sure she did not object to be mistaken for our sister.
'It seems,' he added, 'we are to be fellow-passengers. My name is Moncrieff, and if ever I can be of the slightest service to you, pray command me.'
'You mentioned your mother,' said aunt, by way of saying something. 'Is the old—I mean, is she going with you?'
'What else, what else? And you wouldn't be wrong in calling her "old" either. My mither's no' a spring chicken, but—she's a marvel. Ay, mither's a marvel.'
'I presume, sir, you've been out before?'
'I've lived for many years in the Silver West. I've made a bit of money, but I couldn't live a year longer without my mither, so I just came straight home to take her out. I think when you know my mither you'll agree with me—she's a marvel.'
On pausing here for a minute to review a few of the events of my past life, I cannot agree with those pessimists who tell us we are the victims of chance; that our fates and our fortunes have nothing more certain to guide them to a good or a bad end than yonder thistle-down which is the sport of the summer breeze.