“‘Hish!’ says she, very soft, and comes over to me on tiptoe, and she says in a whisper:  ’Thank God, she’s asleep at last, and don’t ye make no noise till I come back, for I’m goin’ down to take my cup o’ tea, and I’ll be back i’ noo—­me and Mrs. Wyvern, and she’ll be sleepin’ in the room, and you can run down when we come up, and Judith will gie ye yaur supper in my room.’

“And with that she goes.

“I kep’ looking at the picture-book, as before, listenin’ every noo and then, but there was no sound, not a breath, that I could hear; an’ I began whisperin’ to the pictures and talkin’ to myself to keep my heart up, for I was growin’ feared in that big room.

“And at last up I got, and began walkin’ about the room, lookin’ at this and peepin’ at that, to amuse my mind, ye’ll understand.  And at last what sud I do but peeps into Madam Crowl’s bedchamber.

“A grand chamber it was, wi’ a great four-poster, wi’ flowered silk curtains as tall as the ceilin’, and foldin’ down on the floor, and drawn close all round.  There was a lookin’-glass, the biggest I ever sid before, and the room was a blaze o’ light.  I counted twenty-two wax candles, all alight.  Such was her fancy, and no one dared say her nay.

“I listened at the door, and gaped and wondered all round.  When I heard there was not a breath, and did not see so much as a stir in the curtains, I took heart, and walked into the room on tiptoe, and looked round again.  Then I takes a keek at myself in the big glass; and at last it came in my head, ‘Why couldn’t I ha’ a keek at the ald lady herself in the bed?

“Ye’d think me a fule if ye knew half how I longed to see Dame Crowl, and I thought to myself if I didn’t peep now I might wait many a day before I got so gude a chance again.

“Well, my dear, I came to the side o’ the bed, the curtains bein’ close, and my heart a’most failed me.  But I took courage, and I slips my finger in between the thick curtains, and then my hand.  So I waits a bit, but all was still as death.  So, softly, softly I draws the curtain, and there, sure enough, I sid before me, stretched out like the painted lady on the tomb-stean in Lexhoe Church, the famous Dame Crowl, of Applewale House.  There she was, dressed out.  You never sid the like in they days.  Satin and silk, and scarlet and green, and gold and pint lace; by Jen! ’twas a sight!  A big powdered wig, half as high as herself, was a-top o’ her head, and, wow!—­was ever such wrinkles?—­and her old baggy throat all powdered white, and her cheeks rouged, and mouse-skin eyebrows, that Mrs. Wyvern used to stick on, and there she lay proud and stark, wi’ a pair o’ clocked silk hose on, and heels to her shoon as tall as nine-pins.  Lawk!  But her nose was crooked and thin, and half the whites o’ her eyes was open.  She used to stand, dressed as she was, gigglin’ and dribblin’ before the lookin’-glass, wi’ a fan in her hand and a big nosegay in her bodice.  Her wrinkled little hands was stretched down by her sides, and such long nails, all cut into points, I never sid in my days.  Could it even a bin the fashion for grit fowk to wear their fingernails so?