CHAPTER XVII.
AUNTIE BELL.
The slanting rays of the afternoon sun were throwing the old farmhouse, with its goodly barns and well-built stacks, into mellow lights and warm brown shadows, when Mr Hogg's pony drew up at the garden-gate. Before they had time to get down, Auntie Bell came out to greet them,—such a queer little woman, bent half double, and peering up at her visitors through her gold spectacles with keen expressive eyes. There was force of character in every line of her face and figure, even in the dowdy cap, the grey wincey gown, and snow-white apron.
"Why, it's Rachel Simpson," she said. "Come awa' ben. Dick'll tak' the powny."
"This is my cousin, Miss Maclean," said Rachel.
"Mona Maclean," corrected the owner of the name.
Auntie Bell gripped her hand and studied her face with as little regard to her feelings as if she had been a horse or a cow, the furrow on her own brow deepening the while.
"Eh, but she's like her faither," she said. "The mooth an' the chin——"
"Yes," said Rachel shortly. The subject of Mona's father was not a congenial one.
"What w'y are ye no' mairrit yet?" continued Auntie Bell severely, still maintaining her grasp of Mona's hand.