I was so much interested in the old woman’s narrative—­for she was really possessed of no ordinary capacity, and, though rude and uneducated might have been a very superior person under different circumstances—­that I rummaged among my store, and soon found a piece of black silk, which I gave her for the hood she required.

The old woman examined it carefully over, smiled to herself, but, like all her people, was too proud to return a word of thanks.  One gift to the family always involved another.

“Have you any cotton-batting, or black sewing-silk, to give me, to quilt it with?”

“No.”

“Humph!” returned the old dame, in a tone which seemed to contradict my assertion.  She then settled herself in her chair, and, after shaking her foot awhile, and fixing her piercing eyes upon me for some minutes, she commenced the following list of interrogatories:—­

“Is your father alive?”

“No; he died many years ago, when I was a young girl.”

“Is your mother alive?”

“Yes.”

“What is her name?” I satisfied her on this point.

“Did she ever marry again?”

“She might have done so, but she loved her husband too well, and preferred living single.”

“Humph!  We have no such notions here.  What was your father?”

“A gentleman, who lived upon his own estate.”

“Did he die rich?”

“He lost the greater part of his property from being surety for another.”

“That’s a foolish business.  My man burnt his fingers with that.  And what brought you out to this poor country—­you, who are no more fit for it than I am to be a fine lady?”

“The promise of a large grant of land, and the false statements we heard regarding it.”

“Do you like the country?”

“No; and I fear I never shall.”

“I thought not; for the drop is always on your cheek, the children tell me; and those young ones have keen eyes.  Now, take my advice:  return while your money lasts; the longer you remain in Canada the less you will like it; and when your money is all spent, you will be like a bird in a cage; you may beat your wings against the bars, but you can’t get out.”  There was a long pause.  I hoped that my guest had sufficiently gratified her curiosity, when she again commenced:—­

“How do you get your money?  Do you draw it from the old country, or have you it with you in cash?”

Provoked by her pertinacity, and seeing no end to her cross-questioning, I replied, very impatiently, “Mrs. R—–­, is it the custom in your country to catechise strangers whenever you meet with them?”

“What do you mean?” she said, colouring, I believe, for the first time in her life.

“I mean,” quoth I, “an evil habit of asking impertinent questions.”

The old woman got up, and left the house without speaking another word.

THE SLEIGH-BELLS