Marjory then betook herself to the kitchen to try her powers of persuasion upon Lisbeth.
The kitchen at Hunters' Brae was a picture to see. A large room, bright and airy, plates in orderly rows upon the dresser, copper pans that shone like mirrors, spotless table and spotless floor, a big open fire throwing out a cheerful glow--such was Lisbeth's domain. To complete the picture, there was Lisbeth herself, a most wholesome hearty-looking old lady, with rosy cheeks and kindly eyes. Her dress was made of lilac-coloured print, and her apron was an immense size. She wore a round cap with a goffered frill and strings which tied under her chin. She was firmly convinced that no finer family than the Hunters of Hunters' Brae ever existed, and that the world did not contain such another man as her Peter--two beliefs which went a long way towards maintaining that domestic peace which was the rule at Hunters' Brae.
"Weel, Marjory, what is't?" she asked, as Marjory entered the kitchen. Lisbeth had never adopted the formal "Miss" in her mode of addressing Marjory, the baby she had seen grow up. She had determined that when the "bairn" should reach the age of fifteen, then would be time enough to begin it.
"I want to ask you a favour," said Marjory.
"Ask awa," replied Lisbeth, her arms akimbo.
"Well, I want you to make some shortbread for tea."
"Shortbread the day?" asked the old woman in surprise; "the morn's no the Sawbath."
"I know; but Blanche Forester, my new friend, is coming to tea, and I want her to taste it. You know very well that you make the best shortbread and wear the biggest aprons in Heathermuir. You will make us some, won't you? Peter has promised to do what I asked him," added naughty Marjory.
"I suppose I micht just as weel, though there's scones and cookies enough for a regiment only bakit yesterday."
"That's a good Lisbeth," said Marjory, delighted with the result of her mission, and feeling that the success of the afternoon's entertainment was assured.
"They looked upon me from the pictured wall; They--the great dead-- Stood still upon the canvas while I told The glorious memories to their ashes wed."
The day passed very slowly for Marjory until four o'clock, which was the time appointed for the arrival of her visitor. She wondered whether Uncle George would have tea with them, and, it must be confessed, she secretly hoped that he would not, telling herself that it would be much nicer without him, because Blanche and she would then feel free to talk to each other. It must not be supposed that a better understanding of her uncle could be reached by leaps and bounds. The change from the confidence of the baby child to the constraint and awkwardness of the older girl had been gradual, and the return to that fearless confidence must be gradual too; but Marjory had taken a step in the right direction that morning, and she really meant to try hard.