one up to see that old Judith Squailes is awake,' says Mrs.
Wyvern. 'Judith sits with Madam Crowl when me and Mrs. Shutters'--that
was my aunt's name--'is away. She's a troublesome old lady. Ye'll hev
to be sharp wi' her, or she'll be into the fire, or out o' t' winda.
She goes on wires, she does, old though she be.'

"'How old, ma'am?' says I.

"'Ninety-three her last birthday, and that's eight months gone,' says
she; and she laughed. 'And don't be askin' questions about her before
your aunt--mind, I tell ye; just take her as you find her, and that's
all.'

"'And what's to be my business about her, please, ma'am?' says I.

"'About the old lady? Well,' says she, 'your aunt, Mrs. Shutters, will
tell you that; but I suppose you'll hev to sit in the room with your
work, and see she's at no mischief, and let her amuse herself with her
things on the table, and get her her food or drink as she calls for
it, and keep her out o' mischief, and ring the bell hard if she's
troublesome.'

"'Is she deaf, ma'am?'

"'No, nor blind,' says she; 'as sharp as a needle, but she's gone
quite aupy, and can't remember nout rightly; and Jack the Giant
Killer, or Goody Twoshoes will please her as well as the king's court,
or the affairs of the nation.'

"'And what did the little girl go away for, ma'am, that went on Friday
last? My aunt wrote to my mother she was to go.'

"'Yes; she's gone.'

"'What for?' says I again.

"'She didn't answer Mrs. Shutters, I do suppose,' says she. 'I don't
know. Don't be talkin'; your aunt can't abide a talkin' child.'

"'And please, ma'am, is the old lady well in health?' says I.

"'It ain't no harm to ask that,' says she. 'She's torflin a bit
lately, but better this week past, and I dare say she'll last out her
hundred years yet. Hish! Here's your aunt coming down the passage.'

"In comes my aunt, and begins talkin' to Mrs. Wyvern, and I, beginnin'
to feel more comfortable and at home like, was walkin' about the room
lookin' at this thing and at that. There was pretty old china things
on the cupboard, and pictures again the wall; and there was a door
open in the wainscot, and I sees a queer old leathern jacket, wi'
straps and buckles to it, and sleeves as long as the bed-post hangin'
up inside.

"'What's that you're at, child?' says my aunt, sharp enough, turning
about when I thought she least minded. 'What's that in your hand?'

"'This, ma'am?' says I, turning about with the leathern jacket.