his father concluded a fine old boat-song
with a magnificent flourish worthy of an operatic _artiste_, "can any
one tell me any thing about the strange old woman that lives down in the
hut near the bridge?"

"Ha! ha!" laughed George, "I can tell you that she's an old witch, and a
very fierce one too."

A slight frown gathered on Flora's white forehead, and a flash shot from
her dark eyes, as George said this, but George saw it not. Lucy did,
however, and became observant, while George continued--

"But methinks, Fred, that the long visit you paid her lately must have
been sadly misapplied if you have not pumped her history out of her."

"I went to paint, not to pump. Perhaps Mr Macdonald can tell me about
her."

"Not I," said Hector, lighting a cigar. "I only know that she lost her
grandson about six years ago, and that she's been mad ever since, poor
thing."

"For shame, Hector," said Flora; "you know that poor old Moggy is no
more mad than yourself."

"Possibly not, sweet sister, but as you often tell me that I _am_ mad,
and as I never deny the charge, it seems to me that you have said
nothing to vindicate the old woman's character for sanity."

"Poor thing," said Flora, turning from her brother, and speaking with
warmth to Fred; "if you knew how much that unhappy old creature has
suffered, you would not be surprised to find her somewhat cross at
times. She is one of my people, and I'm very glad to find that you take
an interest in her."

"`My people!' Flora then takes an interest in the poor," thought the
observant Lucy. Another link was added to the chain of friendship.

"Do tell us about her, please," cried George. "There is nothing that I
love so much as a story--especially a horrible one, with two or three
dreadful murders to chill one's blood, and a deal of retributive justice
to warm it up again. I'm dying to know about old Moggy."

"Are you?" said Flora saucily. "I'm glad to hear that, because I mean
to keep you in a dying state. I will tell the story as a dead secret to
Lucy, when I take her to see my poor people, and you sha'n't hear it for
weeks to come."

George cast up his eyes in affected despair, and said with a groan, that
he "would endeavour to exist notwithstanding."

"Oh! _I_ know all about old Moggy," cried Jacky with energy.

Everyone looked at the boy in surprise. In the midst of the foregoing
dialogue he had suddenly ceased to tempt his fate, and sat down quietly
w