Yesterday, when Flora and I sat at our sewing in the manse parlour,
something happened which has set everything in a turmoil. We had been
talking, but we were silent just then: and I was thinking over what my
Uncle Drummond and Mr Whitefield had said, when all at once we heard
the gate dashed open, and Angus came rushing up the path with his plaid
flying behind him. Flora sprang up and ran to meet him.
"What is the matter?" she said. "'Tis so unlike Angus to come dashing
up in that way. I do hope nothing is wrong with Father."