still
better the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, for they have real true
second sight, and can look in magic crystals and foresee things to
come.'

'Now it is my turn,' chimed in Bridget, 'I am the eldest but one, and
it is time I talked a little. Then when the Seventh Daughter of the
Seventh Daughter walks hand in hand with the Seventh Son of a Seventh
Son (neither of whom, allow me to remind you in passing, ever have
existed, or, it is to be hoped, ever will exist in a well-connected
family like ours), when they walk hand in hand under the shade of the
Seven Ancient Yew-trees which, we all know, have guarded Swarthmoor
for centuries ... the Seven Ancient Trees will be sure to overhear
them whispering honeyed nothings to each other. Then the oldest and
wisest of all the Trees (by the bye, it is that one behind you,
Isabel!) will say, "Dearly beloved Children, although the words you
say are incredibly foolish, yet to me they sound almost wise compared
with the still more incredibly foolish conversation carried on beneath
my old boughs in the Year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and
fifty-two by your ever venerable Great Aunt Isabel and your still more
venerable Great Aunt Sarah!"'

'O _Bridget_,' came in aggrieved tones from the two younger girls as
they flung themselves upon her and put laughing hands over her mouth,
'that is too bad, that is unkind.'

The eldest sister, Margaret, looked up from the low bench where she
was sitting with Mary and Susanna, the two youngest children beside
her. Seeing the struggling heap of muslin and ribbons on the grass she
resolutely turned the talk into less personal channels. 'I do not at
all agree with Sarah,' she said calmly, 'besides it is much too hot to
argue. For my part, _I_ think Six Sisters are fully enough for any
household. If I had more than five younger ones to look after, I don't
know what I should do. Even for the yew-trees it is better. There is
one now for each of us to sit under, and one to spare for my mother
when at last she comes home. I wonder what makes her so late? When
will she be here?'

A ripple of expectation stirred the maidens. Moved by the same
impulse, they all looked out under the dark yew branches and over the
sunlit orchard, beyond which lay the high road leading up the hill
from Ulverston. Nothing as yet was to be seen and no faintest rumble
of approaching wheels reached any of the listeners.

Everywhere the hot air quivered in the sunshi