'The Cape Breton people are superstitious, I believe.' An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon the fine face of the eldest daughter.
'_We_ are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified reproach.

'I hope'-- here a timid glance, as if imploring support--'I hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading superstitions.' Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to him natural.
Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.
'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last in broad accents, 'still,'-- an honest shake of the head--'there's queer things happens.' 'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'-- Howitt was still impervious--'to hear some of these poor creatures talk.

I never thought it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.' 'Perhaps for the sake of the ministry ye'd better be careful how ye say your mind about it,' suggested Mr.Torrance; 'in the hearing of the poor and uneducated, of course, I mean.

But if ye like to make a study o' that sort of thing, I'd advise ye to go and have a talk with Mistress Betty M'Leod.

She's got a great repertory of tales, has Mistress Betty.' Mary spoke again.