It did not take us much by surprise, therefore, when one morning, while we sat at breakfast, the Hempie dropped in with the announcement that she could not stand her father any longer, and that she had engaged herself to be governess in the house of a certain Major Randolph Fergus of Craignesslin.
To a young lady so determined there was no more to be said. Besides which, the Hempie was of full age, perfectly independent as far as money went, and more than independent in character.
"Now," she said, "I have just fifteen minutes to catch my train: how am I to get my bag up to the station?"
"If you wait," I said, "the gig will be round at the door in seven minutes. I have a case, or I should go up with you myself."
"Who is driving the gig?"
"Tad Anderson," said I.
The Hempie picked up a pair of tan gloves and straightened her tall lithe figure.
"Good-morning," she said; "give me a lift with my box and wraps to the door. I would not trust Tad Anderson to get to the station in time if he had seven hours to do it in!"
At the door a boy was passing with a grocer's barrow. The Hempie swung her box upon it with a deft strong movement.
"Take that to the station, boy," she commanded, "and tell Muckle Aleck that Elizabeth Chrystie of the Nether Neuk will be up in ten minutes."