for all the cold, I sat down on a stone to smoke a pipe and think about the old times and how happy we all were before the fire came. And there was Mr. Donald, walking about the broken walls, peering here and peering there, but not stepping within for he is of the sort that are always careful of the safety of their precious skins."
He stopped again to rest his trembling voice.
"Don't try to tell us, Michael, if it is so hard," Elizabeth said.
"I must tell you, Miss Betsey," he replied, "I have hid it in my heart too long. He says to me, 'I am just looking to see where the fire really started, it seems that it must have been at this end where the workshop stood.' I says 'Yes, sir,' not being wishful to have any talk with him. And after a little he says again, 'It was a beautiful old place. I can see plainly why Miranda longs for it and cannot be happy where she is.' And this time I says nothing but puffs away at my pipe. It roused my anger, some way, to see him peering about, though I am a slow-witted fellow and had no guess at what he was looking for. At last he speaks once more. 'Why don't they build it up again, Michael?' he says. 'They could if they weren't such a careless impractical pair. They should be living here again, I have no patience with them.' Then my wrath boils up in me and I tells him what I thinks. 'You
