.

LIZA'S DEVICE.
When she reached the road, the little woman turned towards Wythburn.
Never pausing for an instant, she ran on and on, passing sundry groups of the country folks, and rarely waiting to exchange more than the scant civilities of a hasty greeting.
It was Sunday morning, and through the dense atmosphere that preceded rain came the sound of the bells of the chapel on the Raise, which rang for morning service.
"What's come over little Liza ?" said a young dalesman, who, in the solemnity of Sunday apparel, was wending his way thither, as the little woman flew past him, "tearing," as he said, "like a crazy thing." "Some barn to be christened afore the service, Liza ?" called another young dalesman after her, with the memory of the girl's enjoyment of a similar ceremony not long before.
Liza heeded neither the questions nor the banter.

Her destination was certainly not the church, but she ran with greater speed in that direction than the love of the Reverend Nicholas's ministrations had yet prompted her to compass.
The village was reached at length, and her father's house was near at hand; but the girl ran on, without stopping to exchange a word with her sententious parent, who stood in the porch, pipe in hand, and clad in those "Cheppel Sunday" garments with which, we fear, the sanctuary was rarely graced.
"Why, theer's Liza," said Matthew, turning his head into the house to speak to his wife, who sat within; "flying ower the road like a mad greyhound." Mrs.Branthwaite had been peeling apples towards the family's one great dinner in the week.

Putting down the bowl which contained them, she stepped to the door and looked after her daughter's vanishing figure.
"Sure enough, it is," she said.

"Whatever's amiss?
The lass went over to the Moss.