ludicrous dismay of Aunt Betsey, who followed her about rectifying
her mistakes, and watching over her as if this sudden absence of
mind had roused suspicions of her sanity.

"Uncle, I want to go away, and get my own living, if you please,"
was Christie's abrupt beginning, as they sat round the evening fire.

"Hey! what's that?" said Uncle Enos, rousing from the doze he was
enjoying, with a candle in perilous proximity to his newspaper and
his nose.

Christie repeated her request, and was much relieved, when, after a
meditative stare, the old man briefly answered:

"Wal, go ahead."

"I was afraid you might think it rash or silly, sir."

"I think it's the best thing you could do; and I like your good
sense in pupposin' on't."

"Then I may really go?"

"Soon's ever you like. Don't pester me about it till you're ready;
then I'll give you a little suthing to start off with." And Uncle
Enos returned to "The Farmer's Friend," as if cattle were more
interesting than kindred.

Christie was accustomed to his curt speech and careless manner; had
expected nothing more cordial; and, turning to her aunt, said,