“Have you ever heard,” asked the Counsellor, who enjoyed this talk with Annie, “that if you pass across the top, without breaking the surface, a string of beads, or polished glass, or anything of that kind, the cream will set three times as solid, and in thrice the quantity?”

“No, sir; I have never heard that,” said Annie, staring with all her simple eyes; “what a thing it is to read books, and grow learned!  But it is very easy to try it:  I will get my coral necklace; it will not be witchcraft, will it, sir?”

“Certainly not,” the old man replied; “I will make the experiment myself; and you may trust me not to be hurt, my dear.  But coral will not do, my child, neither will anything coloured.  The beads must be of plain common glass; but the brighter they are the better.”

“Then I know the very thing,” cried Annie; “as bright as bright can be, and without any colour in it, except in the sun or candle light.  Dearest Lorna has the very thing, a necklace of some old glass-beads, or I think they called them jewels:  she will be too glad to lend it to us.  I will go for it, in a moment.”

“My dear, it cannot be half so bright as your own pretty eyes.  But remember one thing, Annie, you must not say what it is for; or even that I am going to use it, or anything at all about it; else the charm will be broken.  Bring it here, without a word; if you know where she keeps it.”

“To be sure I do,” she answered; “John used to keep it for her.  But she took it away from him last week, and she wore it when—­I mean when somebody was here; and he said it was very valuable, and spoke with great learning about it, and called it by some particular name, which I forget at this moment.  But valuable or not, we cannot hurt it, can we, sir, by passing it over the cream-pan?”

“Hurt it!” cried the Counsellor:  “nay, we shall do it good, my dear.  It will help to raise the cream:  and you may take my word for it, young maiden, none can do good in this world, without in turn receiving it.”  Pronouncing this great sentiment, he looked so grand and benevolent, that Annie (as she said afterwards) could scarce forbear from kissing him, yet feared to take the liberty.  Therefore, she only ran away to fetch my Lorna’s necklace.

Now as luck would have it—­whether good luck or otherwise, you must not judge too hastily,—­my darling had taken it into her head, only a day or two before, that I was far too valuable to be trusted with her necklace.  Now that she had some idea of its price and quality, she had begun to fear that some one, perhaps even Squire Faggus (in whom her faith was illiberal), might form designs against my health, to win the bauble from me.  So, with many pretty coaxings, she had led me to give it up; which, except for her own sake, I was glad enough to do, misliking a charge of such importance.

Therefore Annie found it sparkling in the little secret hole, near the head of Lorna’s bed, which she herself had recommended for its safer custody; and without a word to any one she brought it down, and danced it in the air before the Counsellor, for him to admire its lustre.