"I'm boilin' a hen to mak' broth for your denner, Mem.

Try and get a bit sleep now." The purport of the advice was clear, and Cousin Eugenie turned obediently on her pillow.
It was Mrs.Morran's custom of a Sunday to spend the morning in devout meditation.

Some years before she had given up tramping the five miles to kirk, on the ground that having been a regular attendant for fifty years she had got all the good out of it that was probable.

Instead she read slowly aloud to herself the sermon printed in a certain religious weekly which reached her every Saturday, and concluded with a chapter or two of the Bible.

But to-day something had gone wrong with her mind.