Chance. These two
were Scotchwomen by birth, and both were widows. There was no other
resemblance between them that I can call to mind. My mother had lived all
her life in England, and had no more of the Scotch brogue on her tongue
than I have. My aunt Chance had never been out of Scotland until she came
to keep house with my mother after her husband's death. And when _she_
opened her lips you heard broad Scotch, I can tell you, if you ever heard
it yet!
As it fell out, there was a matter of some consequence in debate among us
that evening. It was this: whether I should do well or not to take a long
journey on foot the next morning.
Now the next morning happened to be the day before my birthday; and the
purpose of the journey was to offer myself for a situation as groom at a
great house in the neighboring county to ours. The place was reported as
likely to fall vacant in about three weeks' time. I was as well fitted to
fill it as any other man. In the prosperous days of our family, my father
had been manager of a training stable, and he had kept me employed among
the horses from my boyhood upward. Please to excuse my troubling you with
these small matters. They all fit into my story farther on, as you will
soon find out. My poor mother was dead against my leaving home on the
morrow.
"You can never walk all the way there and all the way back again by
to-morrow night," she says.
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