The house lasses were at the burnside washing, and saw her pass with her loose, weary, dowdy gait.
"She's a terrible feckless wife, the mistress!" said the one.
"Tut," said the other, "the wumman's seeck." "Weel, I canna see nae differ in her," returned the first.

"A fushionless quean, a feckless carline." The poor creature thus discussed rambled a while in the grounds without a purpose.

Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed, and carried her to and fro like seaweed.

She tried a path, paused, returned, and tried another; questing, forgetting her quest; the spirit of choice extinct in her bosom, or devoid of sequency.

On a sudden, it appeared as though she had remembered, or had formed a resolution, wheeled about, returned with hurried steps, and appeared in the dining-room, where Kirstie was at the cleaning, like one charged with an important errand.
"Kirstie!" she began, and paused; and then with conviction, "Mr.Weir isna speeritually minded, but he has been a good man to me." It was perhaps the first time since her husband's elevation that she had forgotten the handle to his name, of which the tender, inconsistent woman was not a little proud.