With this slight introduction, the reader will know as much of
Aunt Margaret and her nephew as is necessary to comprehend the
following conversation and narrative.
Last week, when, late in a summer evening, I went to call on the
old lady to whom my reader is now introduced, I was received by
her with all her usual affection and benignity, while, at the
same time, she seemed abstracted and disposed to silence. I
asked her the reason. "They have been clearing out the old
chapel," she said; "John Clayhudgeons having, it seems,
discovered that the stuff within--being, I suppose, the remains
of our ancestors--was excellent for top-dressing the meadows."
Here I started up with more alacrity than I have displayed for
some years; but sat down while my aunt added, laying her hand
upon my sleeve, "The chapel has been long considered as common
ground, my dear, and used for a pinfold, and what objection can
we have to the man for employing what is his own to his own
profit? Besides, I did speak to him, and he very readily and
civilly promised that if he found bones or monuments, they should
be carefully respected and reinstated; and what more could I ask?
So, the first stone they found bore the name of Margaret
Bothwell, 1585, and I have caused it to be laid carefully aside,
as I think it betokens death, and having served my namesake two
hundred years, it has just been cast up in time to do me the same
good turn.
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