CHAPTER XIV.
VISITORS AT THE MANSE.
On bringing home his bride, the minister showed her to us, and we thought she would do when she realized that she was not the minister.
She was a grand lady from Edinburgh, though very frank, and we simple folk amused her a good deal, especially when we were sitting cowed in the manse parlour drinking a dish of tea with her, as happened to Leeby, her father, and me, three days before Jamie came home.
Leeby had refused to be drawn into conversation, like one who knew her place, yet all her actions were genteel and her monosyllabic replies in the Englishy tongue, as of one who was, after all, a little above the common.

When the minister's wife asked her whether she took sugar and cream, she said politely, "If you please" (though she did not take sugar), a reply that contrasted with Hendry's equally well-intended answer to the same question.

"I'm no partikler," was what Hendry said.
Hendry had left home glumly, declaring that the white collar Jess had put on him would throttle him; but her feikieness ended in his surrender, and he was looking unusually perjink.

Had not his daughter been present he would have been the most at ease of the company, but her manners were too fine not to make an impression upon one who knew her on her every-day behaviour, and she had also ways of bringing Hendry to himself by a touch beneath the table.

It was in church that Leeby brought to perfection her manner of looking after her father.
When he had confidence in the preacher's soundness, he would sometimes have slept in his pew if Leeby had not had a watchful foot.