For an hour the box stood on the floor like a coffin, and then
Betty came, with red eyes and a red nose, and carried it downstairs.
Then auntie came up again, dressed in her Sunday clothes. She put on
Annie's best frock and bonnet--adorning the victim for sacrifice--at
least, so Annie's face would have suggested--and led her down to the
door. There stood a horse and cart. In the cart was some straw, and a
sack stuffed with hay. As auntie was getting into the cart, Betty
rushed out from somewhere upon Annie, caught her up, kissed her in a
vehement and disorderly manner, and before her mistress could turn
round in the cart, gave her into James Dow's arms, and vanished with
strange sounds of choking. Dowie thought to put her in with a kiss, for
he dared not speak; but Annie's arms went round his neck, and she clung
to him sobbing--clung till she roused the indignation of auntie, at the
first sound of whose voice, Dowie was free, and Annie lying in the
cart, with her face buried in the straw. Dowie then mounted in front,
with his feet on the shaft; the horse--one Annie did not know--started
off gently; and she was borne away helpless to meet the unknown.
And the road was like the going.
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