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Updated: May 18, 2025
One day I was admiring a photograph of my sister Charty in the window of Macmichael's, when a footman touched his hat and asked me if I would speak to "her Grace" in the carriage. After shaking hands, she said: "Jump in, dear child! I can't bear to see you look so sad. Jump in and I'll take you for a drive and you can come back to tea with me."
But to-day something had gone wrong with her mind. She could not follow the thread of the Reverend Doctor MacMichael's discourse. She must always be getting up to look at the pot on the fire, or to open the back door and study the weather. For a little she fought against her unrest, and then she gave up the attempt at concentration.
The ruins of the Priory lay behind Mr Macmichael's cottage indeed, in the very garden of which, along with the house, he had purchased the fen that is, the place was his own, so long as he paid a small sum not more than fifteen shillings a year, I think to his superior.
"Do you think you're a doctor because your father is, you little ape?" they said. "No, no," answered Willie, laughing heartily, but thinking, as he went on with his work, that he might be one some day. When the drawing of the letters was finished, there stood, all round the slate, "Doctor Macmichael's Willie, The Ruins, Priory Leas." Then out came his knife.
The next house and garden, although called the Manse, because the clergyman of the parish lived there, were Mr Shepherd's own property. The ruins formed a great part of the boundary between the two, and it was plain to see that the Priory had extended a good way into what was now the other garden. Indeed Mr Shepherd's house, as well as Mr MacMichael's, had been built out of the ruins.
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