She had a misgiving that her figure was rather mixed—that undertones did not shine nor serpents inhabit goblets; so she closed the book hastily without reading over what she had written, and went to bed to dream of Turkish gentlemen with any number of wives.
[CHAPTER IV.]
SUNDAY.
THE Sunday morning rose fair and beautiful, and every one was stirring in good time, for milk must be cared for and animals fed on Sunday as well as on other days. Marion was a little late—not a very uncommon occurrence; and when she came down, it was to find Aunt Christian doing her special work of setting the table, placing the porridge-basins and her father's pitcher of kirn milk (buttermilk) by his place as if she had always done it.
"That is my work, Aunt Christian," said Marion, trying to speak pleasantly, though she felt a little vexed, she hardly knew why.
"Is it? It always used to be mine. I believe setting the table is always the work of the youngest member of the family. It seemed very natural to fall into it again."
"Aunt Christian means to show us that she doesn't feel above us," thought Marion as she began to put things in order in the sitting-room; but she was mistaken.
It never occurred to Aunt Christian to think that any should suppose her capable of "feeling above" any one, least of all her own family.
"Did you preach while you were in Scotland, Duncan?" asked old Hector as after prayers they sat down to breakfast.
"Oh yes, several times—once at St. Andrew's, where I had a famous churchful of professors and students and the principal himself, two or three times in other places, and once at I—, where the duke himself did me the honour to come and hear me."