devouring it greedily, savouring always the superiority of her son over the victim of the discussion.
But to-night Brodie kept silent, occupied by his reflections which, mellowed by the solace of his pipe, flowed into a less rancorous channel than that which they had followed at table. He would, he considered, have to tame Mary, who, somehow, did not seem like his child; who had never bowed down to him as lowly as he desired, from whom he had never received the full homage accorded him by
the others. She was getting a handsome lassie though, despite her unsubdued nature took the looks from him but he felt he must, tor his own satisfaction and her good, subdue that independent spirit. As for her acquaintance with that Denis Foyle, he was glad that the noise of it had reached his ears, that he had crushed the affair at the outset.
He had been astounded at her temerity in answering him as she had done to-night and could find no reason for it, but now that he had marked that tendency towards insubordination, he would watch her more carefully in the future and eradicate it utterly should it again occur.
His gaze then rested upon his wife, but only for an instant; considering it her only worth that she saved him the expense of a servant in the house, he quickly looked away from her with an involuntary, distasteful curl of his lips, and turned his mind to pleasanter things.
Yes, there was Matthew, his son! Not a bad lad; a bit sly and soft and sleek perhaps; wanted watching; and spoiled utterly by his mother. But going to India would, he hoped, make a man of him. It was getting near the time now and in only two or three weeks he would be off to that fine job Sir John Latta had got for him. Ah! Folks would talk about that! His features relaxed, as he considered how every one would recognise in this appointment a special mark of Sir John's
favour to him, and a further tribute to his prominence in the town, how, through it, his son's character would benefit and his own importance increase.
His eye then fell upon his mother, less harshly, and with a more indulgent regard than that he had directed towards her at table. She was fond of her food, and even as she sat nodding over the fire he read her mind shrewdly, knew that she was already anticipating, thinking of her next meal, her supper of pease brose and buttermilk. She loved it, repeated like a wise saw, 'There's naethin' like brose to sleep on! It's like a poultice to the stomach.' Ay! Her god was her belly, but losh! she was a tough old witch. The older she got, the tougher she grew; she must have good stuff in her to make her last like that, and even now she looked, to his mind, good for another ten years. If he wore as well as that, and he might wear better, he would be satisfied.
Finally he looked at Nessie and immediately his bearing became tinged, almost imperceptibly, with a faint indication of feeling, not manifest by any marked change of feature, but by his eye, which became flecked with a softer and more considerate light. Yes! Let Mamma keep her Matt, ay, and Mary too Nessie was his. He would make something of her, his ewe lamb. Although she was so young she had the look of a real smart wee thing about her and the Rector had said to him only the other night that she had the makings of a scholar if she stuck in hard to her work. That was the way to do it. Pick them out young and keep them at it. He was looking ahead too, with something up his sleeve for the future. The Latta Bursary! The crowning success of a brilliant scholastic career. She had it in her to take it, if she was nursed the right way. Gad! What a triumph! A girl to win the Latta the first girl to win it, ay, and a Brodie at that! He would see that she did it. Mamma had better keep her soft spoiling hands off his daughter. He would see to that.
He did not quite know what he would make of her, but education was education; there were degrees that could be taken later on at college, and triumphs to be won. They all knew in the Borough that he was a man of progress, of broad and liberal ideas, and he would bring this more emphatically before them, yes, ram it into their silly mouths. 'Did ye hear the latest!' he could hear them chatter. 'That clever lass o' Brodie's is awa' up to the College ay, she's taken the Latta fair scooped the pool at the Academy, and he's lettin' her travel up and down to the University. He's a liberal-minded man for sure, It's a feather in his bonnet right enough.'
Yes! He would show them in the town. His chest expanded, his nostrils quivered, his eye became fixed and distant, as he gave rein to his fancy, while his unnoticed pipe went out and grew cold. He would make them recognise him, make them look up to him, would force them somehow, some day, to see him as he really was.
The thought of Nessie faded gradually from his mind and he ceased to contemplate her future but, making himself the central figure of all his mental pictures, steeped himself delightfully in the glory she would bring to his name.
At length he bestirred himself. He knocked out the ashes of his pipe, replaced it in the rack and, with a last silent survey of his family, as though to say, 'I am going, but remember what I've said; I'll still have my eye on ye!' he went into the hall, put on his square felt hat with the smooth well-brushed nap, took up his heavy ash stick and was out of the house without a word. This was his usual method of departure. He never said good-bye. Let them guess where he was
going in his spare time, to a meeting, to the council or to the club; let them remain uncertain as to his return, as to its time and the nature of his mood; he liked to make them jump at his sudden step in the hall. That was the way to keep them in order and it would do them a deal of good to wonder where he went, he thought, as the front door closed behind him with a slam.
Nevertheless, the removal of his actual presence seemed to bring some measure of relief to his family, and with his departure a cloud of constraint lifted from the room. Mrs. Brodie relaxed the muscles which for the last hour had been unconsciously rigid and, while her shoulders sagged more limply, the tension of her mind was released and her spirit revived feebly.
'You'll clear up, won't you, Mary?' she said mildly. 'I feel kind of tired and far through to-night. It'll do me no harm to have a look at my book.'
“Mamma,' replied Mary, adding dutifully as was expected of her every evening, 'You've earned a rest. I'll wash up the dishes myself.'
Mrs. Brodie nodded her inclined head deprecatingly, but none the less in agreement, as she arose and, going to her own drawer in the dresser, took from its place of concealment a book, 'Devenham's Vow,' by one Amelia B. Edwards, which, like every book she read, was on loan from the Levenford Borough Library. Holding the volume tenderly against her heart she sat down, and soon Margaret
Brodie had sunk her own tragic, broken individuality in that of the heroine, comforting herself with one of the few solaces which life now held for her.
Mary quickly cleared the dishes from the table and spread upon it a drugget cover, then, retiring to the scullery, she rolled up her sleeves from her thin arms and began her task of washing up.
Nessie, confronted by the unencumbered table, which mutely reminded her of her father's incitement to work, glanced first at the engrossed figure of her mother, at her grandmother's unheeding back, at Matt now tilted back in his chair and picking his teeth with an air, then with a sigh began wearily to withdraw her books from her school satchel, laying them reluctantly one by one in front of her.
'Come and play draughts first, Mary,' she called out.
'No, dear, Father said home work. Perhaps we'll have a game after,' came the reply from without.
'Will I not dry the dishes for you to-night?' she suggested, insidiously trying to procrastinate the commencement of her toil.
'I'll manage all right, dear,' replied Mary.
Nessie sighed again and remarked to herself sympathetically, in a voice like her mother's,
'Oh! dear me!'
She thought of the other children she knew who would be fraternising to play skipping ropes, rounders, cat and bat, and other magical frolics of the evening, and her small spirit was heavy within her as she began to work.
Matthew, disturbed in his transitory reverie, by the reiterated murmurs close to his ear of: je suis, tu es, il est, now restored his quill to his vest pocket and got up from his chair. Since his father had gone his manner had changed, and he now adopted the air of being slightly superior to his surroundings, as he shot his cuffs, looked at the clock significantly and went out of the room, with a slight but pronounced swagger.
The room was now silent but for the rustle of a turning page, the slight clink of china invading it from without and the harrowing murmur: nous sommes, vous etes, ils sont; but in a few moments the audible evidence of activity in the scullery ceased and shortly afterwards Mary slipped quietly through the room into the hall, mounted the stairs and tapped at her brother's room. This was a nightly pilgrimage, but had she now been suddenly bereft of every
