“I hope not,” said Anne, “but still, it is possible I may.”
“Miss Ross requires change of air,” said Mrs. Aytoun, faltering and endeavoring to excuse her equivocation, by noticing that Anne did look pale.
“Of scene, rather,” said Anne, slightly affected by the same hesitation. It was true, however, if not in the usual sense.
Miss Crankie fixed her odd little black eye upon Anne, nodded, and looked as if she comprehended perfectly.
“Will you be able to accommodate Miss Ross and her servant, Miss Crankie?”
“That will I; there’s no better accommodation in the haill Lothians; and, for change of scene, what could heart desire better than that—ay, or that either, young Miss, which is as bonnie a country view (no to be the sea) as can be seen. Will ye look at the bed-room?”
Miss Crankie darted out, leading the way. Mrs. Aytoun, Anne, and Alice followed. The bed-room was immediately behind the parlor, resplendent in all the glory of white covers, and chintz curtains, and with an embowered window looking out upon “the green,” which was separated from the kitchen-garden by a thick hedge of sweet-briar. Alice was delighted, and Anne so perfectly satisfied, that Mrs. Aytoun made the bargain. The rooms were taken, together with a little den up stairs for Jacky. Miss Crankie faithfully promised in her own name and Mrs. Yammer’s, that the apartments should be ready for Anne’s reception next day; and when they had partaken of a frugal refreshment—some very peculiar wine of Miss Crankie’s own manufacture, and cake to correspond—they left the house.
The day was so very beautiful, and Alice enjoyed the rare excursion so much, that they prolonged their walk. “Do you think I could walk out from Edinburgh, mother?” said Alice. “I should like so well to come and see Anne often; and, Anne, you will be dull alone.”
“But you will laugh at Miss Crankie, Alice,” said Anne, smiling, “and so get into her bad graces.”
Alice laughed. “Is she not a very strange person?”