^s
 
 -aAv 
 
 L.

 
 THE LILAC SUNBONNET 
 
 A LOVE STORY 
 
 "^ 
 
 -(< 
 
 BY 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE STICKIT MINISTER, THE RAIDERS, ETC. 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 189s
 
 Copyright, 1894, 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
 Electuottped and Printed 
 
 AT THE ApPLETON PreSS, U. S. A.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Prologue. — By the wayside 
 I. — The blanket-washing . 
 II. — The mother of King Lemuel 
 
 III. — A TREASURE-TROVE .... 
 
 IV. — A CAVALIER Puritan 
 
 V. — A LESSON IN BOTANY 
 
 VI. — Curled eyelashes. 
 VII. — Concerning taking exercise 
 VIII. — The minister's man arms for conquest 
 IX. — The advent of the Cuif 
 X. — The love-song of the mavis 
 XI. — Andrew Kissock goes to school 
 XII. — Midsummer dawn .... 
 XIII. — A string of the lilac sunbonnet 
 XIV. — Captain Agnew Greatorix , 
 XV. — On the edge of the orchard 
 XVI. — The Cuip before the session 
 XVII. — When the kye comes hame . 
 XVIII. — A daughter of the Picts . 
 XIX. — At the barn end .... 
 XX. — " Dark-isrowed Egypt" 
 XXI. — The return of Ebie Farrish 
 XXII. — A scarlet poppy .... 
 XXIII. — Concerning John Bairdieson 
 XXIV. — Legitimate sport .... 
 XXV. — Barriers breaking 
 XXVI. — Such sweet peril .... 
 XXVII. — The opinions of Saunders Mowdiewort upon besom 
 
 SHANKS 
 
 XXVIII. — That gipsy Jess .... 
 
 PAGE 
 
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 3 
 
 14 
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 28 
 35 
 41 
 40 
 50 
 64 
 69 
 
 83 
 92 
 
 97 
 102 
 109 
 112 
 110 
 122 
 126 
 132 
 137 
 147 
 154 
 158 
 
 167 
 178
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIX. — The dark of the moon at the Grannoch bridge 184 
 
 XXX.— The Hill gate 191 
 
 XXXI. — The study of the manse of Dullarg . . . 201 
 XXXIL— Outcast and alien from the commonwealth . 207 
 
 XXXIII. — Jock Gordon takes a hand 311 
 
 XXXIV. — The dew of their youth 217 
 
 XXXV. — Such sweet sorrow 230 
 
 XXXVL— Over the hills and far awa' 240 
 
 XXXVII. — LENDER the red heather 247 
 
 XXXVIII. — Before the reformer's chair 253 
 
 XXXIX. — Jemima, Kezia, and little Keren-happuch . . 259 
 
 XL. — A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION 265 
 
 XLI. — The meeting of the synod 209 
 
 XLII. — Purging and restoration 275 
 
 XLIII. — Threads drawn together 280 
 
 XLIV. — Winsome's last tryst 284 
 
 XLV. — The last of the lilac sunbonnet .... 290
 
 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 |)rolo9uc.— Cn tl)c tOajisibc. 
 
 As Ealpli Pedeu came along the dusty Cairn Edward 
 road from the coach which had set him down tliere on its 
 way to the Ferry town, he paused to rest in the evening 
 light at the head of the Long Wood of Larbrax. Here, un- 
 der boughs that arched the way, he took from his shoulders 
 his knapsack, filled with Hebrew and Greek books, and 
 rested his head on the larger bag of roughly tanned West- 
 land leather, in which were all his other belongings. They 
 were not numerous. He might, indeed, have left both his 
 bags for the Dullarg carrier on Saturday, but to lack his 
 beloved books for four days was not to be thought of for a 
 moment by Ealph Peden. He would rather have carried 
 them up the eight long miles to the manse of the Dullarg 
 one by one. 
 
 As he sat by the tipsy milestone, which had swayed side- 
 long and lay half buried amid the grass and dock leaves, a 
 tall, dark girl came by — half turning to look at the young 
 man as he rested. It was Jess Kissock, from the Herd's 
 House at Craig Ronald, on her way home from buying trim- 
 mings for a new hat. This happened just twice a year, and 
 was a solemn occasion. 
 
 " Is this the way to the manse of Dullarg ? " asked the 
 young man, standing up with his hat in his hand, the brim 
 just beneath his chin. He was a handsome young man 
 when he stood up straight.
 
 2 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Jess looked at him. attentively. They did Bot speak in 
 that way iu her country, nor did they take their hats in 
 their hands when they had occasion to speak to young 
 Avonien. 
 
 " I am myself going past the Dullarg," she said, and 
 paused with a hiatus like an invitation. 
 
 Ralph Peden was a simj^le young man, but he rose and 
 shouldered his knapsack without a word. The slim, dark- 
 haired girl with the bright, quick eyes like a bird, put out 
 her hand to take a share of the burden of Ralph's bag. 
 
 " Thank you, but I am quite able to manage it myself," 
 he said, " I could not think of letting you put your hand 
 to it." 
 
 " I am not a fine lady," said the girl, with a little impa- 
 tient movement of her brows, as if she had stamped her 
 foot. " I am nothing but a cottar's lassie." 
 
 "But then, how comes it that you speak as you do?" 
 asked Ralph. 
 
 " I have been long in England — as a lady's maid," she 
 answered with a strange, disquieting look at him. She had 
 taken one side of the bag of books in spite of his protest, 
 and now walked by Ralph's side through the evening cool- 
 ness. 
 
 " This is the first time you have been hereaway ? " his 
 companion asked. 
 • Ralph nodded a quick affirmative and smiled. 
 
 " Then," said Jess Kissock, the rich blood mantling her 
 dark cheeks, " I am the first from the Dullarg you have 
 spoken to I " 
 
 " The very first ! " said Ralph. 
 
 " Then I am glad," said Jess Kissock. But in the young 
 man's heart there was no answering gladness, though in 
 very sooth she was an exceeding handsome maid.
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 3 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 
 
 Ralph Peden lay well content under a thorn bush above 
 the Grannoch water. It was the second day of his sojourn- 
 ing in Galloway — the first of his breathing the heather 
 scent on which the bees grew tipsy, and of listening to the 
 grasshoppers chirring in the long bent by the loch side. 
 Yesterday his father's friend, Allan Welsh, minister of the 
 Marrow kirk in the parish of Dullarg, had held high dis- 
 course with him as to his soul's health, and made many in- 
 quiries as to how it sped in the great city with the preca- 
 rious handful of pious folk, who gathered to listen to the 
 precious and savoury truths of the jiure Marrow teaching. 
 Ralph Peden was charged with many messages from his 
 father, the metropolitan Marrow minister, to Allan Welsh — 
 dear to his soul as the only minister who had upheld the 
 essentials on that great day, when among the assembled 
 Presbyters so many had gone backward and walked no more 
 with him. 
 
 " Be faithful with the young man, my son," Allan 
 Welsh read in the quaintly sealed and delicately written 
 letter which his brother minister in Edinburgh had sent 
 to him, and which Ralph had duly delivered in the square, 
 grim manse of Dullarg, with a sedate and old-fashioned 
 reverence which sat strangely on one of his years. " Be 
 faithful with the young man," continued the letter ; " he 
 is well grounded on the fundamentals ; his head is filled 
 with godly lear, and he has sound views on the Headship ; 
 but he has always been a little cold and distant even to me, 
 his father according to the flesh. With his companions he 
 is apt to be distant and reserved. I am to blame for the
 
 4 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 solitude of our life here in James's Court, but to you 
 I do not need to tell the reason of that. The Lord give 
 you his guidance in leading the young man in the right 
 way." 
 
 So far Gilbert Peden's letter had run staidly and in 
 character like the spoken words of the writer. But here it 
 broke off. The writing, hitherto fine as a hair, thickened ; 
 and from this point became crowded and difficult, as 
 though the floods of feeling had broken some dam. " 
 man Allan, for my sake, if at all you have loved me, or 
 owe me anything, dig deep and see if the lad has a heart. 
 He shews it not to nie." 
 
 So that is why Ralph Peden lies couched in the sparce 
 bells of the liug, just where the dry, twisted timothy grasses 
 are beginning to overcrown the purple bells of the heather. 
 Tall and clean-limbed, with a student's pallor of clear-cut 
 face, a slightly ascetic stoop, dark brown curls clustering 
 over a white forehead, and eyes which looked steadfast and 
 true, the young man was sufficient of a hero. He wore a 
 broad straw hat, which he had a pleasant habit of pushing 
 back, so that his clustering locks fell over his brow after a 
 •fashion which all women thought becoming. But Ealph 
 Peden heeded not what women thought, said, or did, for he 
 was trysted to the kirk of the Marrow, the sole repertory 
 of orthodox truth in Scotland, which is as good as saying 
 in the wide world — perhaps even in the universe. 
 
 Ealph Peden had dwelt all his life with his father in an 
 old house in James's Court, Edinburgh, overlooking the 
 great bounding circle of the northern horizon and the east- 
 ern sea. He had been trained by his father to think more 
 of a professor's opinion on his Hebrew exercise than of a 
 woman's opinion on any subject whatever. He had been 
 told that women were an indispensable part of the economy 
 of creation ; but, though he accepted word by word the
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 5 
 
 Westminster Confession, and as an inexorable addition the 
 confessions and protests of the remnant of the true kirk in 
 Scotland (known as the Marrow kirk), he could not but 
 consider woman a poor makeshift, even as providing for the 
 continuity of the race. Surely she had not been created 
 when God looked upon all that he had made and found it 
 very good. The thought preserved Ealph's orthodoxy. 
 
 Ealph Peden had come out into the morning air, with 
 his note-book and a volume which he had been studying all 
 the way from Edinburgh. As he lay at length among the 
 grass he conned it over and over. He referred to passages 
 here and there. He set out very calmly with that kind of 
 determination with which a day's work in the open air with 
 a book is often begun. JS'ot for a moment did he break the 
 monotony of his study. The marshalled columns of strange 
 letters were mowed down before him. 
 
 A great humble-bee, barred with tawny orange, worked 
 his way up from his hole in the bank, buzzing shrilly in an 
 impatient, stifled manner at finding his dwelling blocked as 
 to its exit by a mountainous bulk. Ralph Peden rose in a 
 hurry. The beast seemed to be inside his coat. He had 
 instinctively hated bees and everything that buzzed ever 
 since as a child he had made experiments with the paper 
 nest of a tree-building wasp. The humble-bee buzzed a 
 little more, discontentedly, thought of going back, crept out 
 at last from beneath the Hebrew Lexicon, and appeared to 
 comb his hair with his feeler. Then he slowly mounted 
 along the broad blade of a meadow fox-tail grass, which 
 bent under him as if to afford him an elastic send-off upon 
 his flight. With a spring he lumbered up, taking his way 
 over the single field which separated his house from the 
 edge of the Grannoch water — where on the other side, above 
 the glistening sickle-sweep of sand which looked so inviting, 
 yet untouched under the pines by the morning sun, the
 
 6 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 hyacinths lay Hke a bhie wreath of peat smoke in the liol- 
 lows of the wood. 
 
 But there was a whiff of real peat smoke somewhere in 
 the air, and Ralph Peden, before he returned to his book, 
 was aware of the murmur of voices. He moved away from 
 the humble-bee's dwelling and established himself on a 
 quieter slope under a bush of broom. A whin-chat said 
 " check, check " above him, and flirted a brilliant tail ; but 
 Ealj)h Peden was not afraid of whin-chats. Here he settled 
 himself to study, knitting his brows and drumming on'the 
 ground with the toe of one foot to concentrate his attention. 
 The whin-chat could hear him murmuring to himself at 
 intervals, " Surely that is the sense — it must be taken this 
 way." Sometimes, on the contrary, he shook his head at 
 Luther's Commentary, which lay on the short, warm turf 
 before him, as if in reproof. Ralph was of ojainion that 
 LutKer, but for his great protective reputation, and the fact 
 that he had been dead some time, might have been served 
 with a libel for heresy — at least if he had ministered to the 
 Marrow kirk. 
 
 Then after a little he pulled his hat over his eyes to 
 think, and lay back till he could just see one little bit of 
 Loch Granuoch gleaming through the trees, and the farm 
 of Nether Crae set on the hillside high above it. He count- 
 ed the sheep on the green field over the loch, numbering 
 the lambs twice because they frisked irresponsibly about, 
 being full of frivolity and having no opinions upon Luther 
 to sober them. 
 
 Gradually a haze spun itself over the landscape, and 
 Ralph Peden's head slowly fell back till it rested somewhat 
 sharply upon a spikelet of prickly whin. His whole body 
 sat up instantly, with an exclamation which was quite in 
 Luther's manner. He had not been sleeping. He rejected 
 the thought ; yet he acknowledged that it was nevertheless
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 7 
 
 passing strange that, just where the old single-arched bridge 
 takes a long stride over the Grannoch lane, there was now a 
 great black pot a-swing above a blinking pale fire of peats 
 and fir-branches, and a couple of great tubs set close to- 
 gether on stones which he had not seen before. There was, 
 too, a ripple of girls' laughter, which sent a strange stirring 
 of excitement along the nerves of the young man. He 
 gathered his books to move away ; but on second thoughts, 
 looking through the long, swaying tendrils of the broom 
 under which he sat, he resolved to remain. After all, the 
 girls might be as harmless as his helper of yesterday. 
 
 " Yet it is most annoying," he said ; " I had been quieter 
 in James's Court." 
 
 Still he smiled a little to himself, for the broom did not 
 grow in James's Court, nor the blackbirds flute their mel- 
 low whistle there. 
 
 Loch Grannoch stretched away three miles to the south, 
 basking in alternate blue and white, as cloud and sky mir- 
 rored themselves upon it. The first broad rush of the ling* 
 Avas climbing the slopes of the Crae Hill above — a pale lav- 
 ender near the loch-side, deepening to crimson on the dryer 
 slopes where the heath-bells grew shorter and thicker to- 
 gether. The wimpling lane slid as silently away from the 
 sleeping loch as though it were eloping and feared to 
 awake an angry parent. The whole range of hill and 
 wood and water was drenched in sunshine. Silence clothed 
 it like a garment — save only for the dark of the shadow 
 under the bridge, from whence had come that ring of girl- 
 ish laughter which had jarred upon the nerves of Ralph 
 Peden. 
 
 Suddenly there emerged from the indigo shade where 
 the blue spruces overarched the bridge a girl carrying two 
 
 * Common heath {Erica tetralix).
 
 8 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 sliiuing pails of water. Her arms were bare, her sleeves 
 being rolled high above her elbow ; and her figure, tall and 
 shapely, swayed gracefully to the movement of the pails. 
 Ralph did not know before that there is an art in carrying 
 water. He was ignorant of many things, but even with his 
 views on woman's place in the economy of the universe, he 
 could not but be satisfied with the fitness and the beauty of 
 the girl who came up the path, swinging her pails with the 
 compensatory sway of lissom body, and that strong outward 
 flex of the elbow which kejjt the brimming cans swinging 
 in safety by her side. 
 
 Eal]3h Peden never took his eyes off her as she came, the 
 theories of James's Court notwithstanding. Xor indeed 
 need we for a little. For this is Winifred, better known as 
 Winsome Charteris, a very important young person indeed, 
 to whose beauty and wit the poets of three parishes did vain 
 reverence ; and, what she might well value more, whose but- 
 ter was the best (and commanded the highest price) of any 
 that went into Dumfries market on Wednesdays. 
 
 Fair hair, crisping and teudrilling over her brow, swept 
 back in loose and flossy circlets till caught close behind her 
 head by a tiny ribbon of blue — then again escaping it went 
 scattering and wavering over her shoulders wonderingly, like 
 nothing on earth but Winsome Charteris's hair. It was small 
 wonder that the local poets grew grey before their time in 
 trying to find a rhyme for " sunshine," a substantive which, 
 for the first time, they had applied to a girl's hair. For the 
 rest, a face rather oval than long, a nose which the school- 
 master declared was " statuesque " (used in a good sense, he 
 explained to the village folk, who could never be brought to 
 see the difference between a statue and an idol — the second 
 commandment being of literal interpretation along the Loch 
 Grannoch side), and eyes which, emulating the parish poet, 
 we can only describe as like two blue waves when they rise
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 9 
 
 Just far enough to catch a sparkle of light on their crests. 
 The subject of her mouth, though tempting, we refuse to 
 touch. Its descrij^tion has already wrecked three promising 
 reputations. 
 
 But withal Winsome Charteris set her pails as frankly 
 and plumply on the ground, as though she were plain as a 
 pike-staff, and bent a moment over to look into the gypsy- 
 pot swung on its birchen triangle. Then she made an im- 
 patient movement of her hand, as if to push the biting fir- 
 wood smoke aside. This angered Ealph, who considered it 
 ridiculous and ill-ordered that a gesture which showed only 
 a hasty temper and ill-regulated mind should be undeniably 
 pretty and pleasant to look upon, just because it was made by 
 a girl's hand. He was angry with himself, yet he hoped she 
 would do it again. Instead, she took up one pail of water 
 after the other, swung them upward with a single dexterous 
 movement, and poured the water into the pot, from which 
 the steam was rising. Ealph Peden could see the sunlight 
 sparkle in the water as it arched itself solidly out of the 
 pails. He was not near enough to see the lilac sprig on 
 her liglit summer gown ; but the lilac sunbonnet which 
 she wore, principally it seemed in order that it might 
 hang by the strings upon her shoulders, was to Ralph 
 a singularly attractive jDiece of colour in the landsca})e. 
 This he did not resent, because it is always safe to admire 
 colour. 
 
 Ealph would have been glad to have been able to slip 
 off quietly to the manse. He told himself so over and over 
 again, till he believed it. This process is easy. But he saw 
 very well that he could not rise from the lee of the whin bush 
 without being in full view of this eminently practical and 
 absurdly attractive young woman. So he turned to his He- 
 brew Lexicon with a sigh, and a grim contraction of deter- 
 mined brows which recalled his father. A country girl was
 
 10 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 nothing to the hunter after curious roots and the amateur 
 of finely shaded significances in Piel and Puah 
 
 " I will not be distracted ! " Ralph said doggedly, though 
 a Scot, correct for once in his grammar ; and he pursued a 
 recalcitrant particle through the dictionary like a sleuth- 
 hound. 
 
 A clear shrill whistle rang through the slumberous sum- 
 mer air. 
 
 " Bless me," said Ralph, startled, " this is most discom- 
 posing ! " . 
 
 He raised himself cautiously on his elbow, and beheld 
 the girl of the water-pails standing in the full sunshine with 
 her lilac sunbonnet in her hand. She waved it high above 
 her head, then she paused a moment to look right in his 
 direction under her hand held level with her brows. Sud- 
 denly she dropped the sunbonnet, put a couple of fingers 
 into her mouth in a manner which, if Ralph had only known 
 it, was much admired of all the young men in the parish, 
 and whistled clear and loud, so that the stone-chat fluttered 
 up indignant and scurried to a shelter deeper among the gorse. 
 A most revolutionary young person this. He regretted that 
 the humble-bee had moved him nearer the bridge. 
 
 Ralph was deeply shocked that a girl should whistle, and 
 still more that she should use two fingers to do it, for all the 
 world like a shepherd on the hill. He bethought him that 
 not one of his cousins. Professor Habakkuk Thriepneuk's 
 daughters (who studied Chaldaeic with their father), would 
 ever have dreamed of doing that. He imagined their horror 
 at the thought, and a picture, compound of Jemima, Kezia, 
 and Kerenhappuch, rose before him. 
 
 Down the hill, out from beneath the dark green solid- 
 foliaged elder bushes, there came a rush of dogs. 
 
 " Save us," said Ralph, who saw himself discovered, " the 
 deil's in the lassie ; she'll have the dogs on me ! " — an expres-
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. H 
 
 sion he had learned from John Bairdison, his father's 
 " man," * who in an nuhallowed youth had followed the sea. 
 
 Then he would have reproved himself for the unlicensed 
 exclamation as savouring of the " minced oath," had he not 
 been taken up with watching the dogs. There were two of 
 them. One was a large, rough deerhound, clean cut about 
 the muzzle, shaggy everywhere else, which ran first, taking 
 the hedges in his stride. The other was a small, short-haired 
 collie, which, with his ears laid back and an air of grim de- 
 termination not to be left behind, followed grimly after. 
 The collie went under the hedges, diving instinctively for 
 the holes which the hares had made as they went down to the 
 water for their evening drink. Both dogs crossed to wind- 
 ward of him, racing for their mistress. When they reached 
 the green level where the great tubs stood they leaped upon 
 her with short sharp barks of gladness. She fended them 
 off again with gracefully impatient hand ; then bending low, 
 she pointed to the loch-side a quarter of a mile below, where 
 a herd of half a dozen black Galloway cows, flecked with 
 the red and white of the smaller Ayrshires, could be seen 
 pushing its way through the lush heavy grass of the water 
 meadow. 
 
 " Away by there ! Fetch them, Eoger ! " she cried. 
 " Haud at them — the kye's in the meadow ! " 
 
 The dogs darted away level. The cows continued their 
 slow advance, browsing as they went, but in a little while 
 their dark fronts were turned towards the dogs as after a 
 momentary indecision they recognized an enemy. With a 
 startled rush the herd drove through the meadow and 
 poured across the unfenced road up to the hill pasture which 
 they had left, whose scanty grasses had doubtless turned slow 
 bovine thoughts to the coolness of the meadow grass, and 
 
 * Church officer and minister's servant.
 
 12 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the pleasure of standing ruminant knee-deep in the river, 
 with wavy tail flicking the flies in the shade. 
 
 For a little while Ralph Peden breathed freely again, but 
 his satisfaction was short-lived. One girl was discomposing 
 enough, but here were two. Moreover the new-comer, hav- 
 ing arranged some blankets in a tub to her satisfaction, 
 calmly tucked up her skirts in a professioual manner and 
 got bare-foot into the tub beside them. Then it dawned 
 upon Ealph, who was not very instructed on matters of 
 household economy, that he had chanced upon a Galloway 
 blanket- washing; and that, like the gentleman who spied 
 upon Musidora's toilet, of whom he had read in Mr. James 
 Thomson's Seasons, he might possibly see more than he had 
 come out to see. 
 
 Yet it was impossible to rise composedly and take his 
 way manseward. Ealph wished now that he had gone at 
 the first alarm. It had become so much more difticult now, 
 as indeed it always does in such cases. Moreover, he was cer- 
 tain that these two vagabonds of curs would return. And 
 they would be sure to find him out. Dogs were unnecessary 
 and inconvenient beasts, always sniffing and nosing about. 
 He decided to wait. The new-comer of the kilts was after 
 all no Naiad or Hebe. Her outlines did not resemble to any 
 marked degree the plates in his excellent classical diction- 
 ary. She was not short in stature, but so strong and of a 
 complexion so ruddily beaming above the reaming white 
 which filled the blanket tub, that her mirthful face shone 
 like the sun through an evening mist. 
 
 But Ealph did not notice that, in so far as she could, she 
 had relieved the taller maiden of the heavier share of the 
 work ; and that her laugh was hung on a hair trigger, to go 
 off at every jest and fancy of Winsome Charteris. All this 
 is to introduce Miss Meg Kissock, chief and favoured maid- 
 servant at the Dullarg farm, and devoted worshipper of Win-
 
 THE BLANKET-WASHING. 13 
 
 some, the young mistress thereof. Meg indeed, would have 
 thanked no one for an introduction, being at all times well 
 able (and willing) to introduce herself. 
 
 It had been a shock to Kalpli Peden Avhen Meg Kis- 
 sock walked up from the lane-side barefoot, and when slie 
 cleared the decks for the blanket tramping. But he had 
 seen something like it before on the banks of the water of 
 Leith, then running clear and limpid over its pebbles, save 
 for a Hour-mill or two on the lower reaches. But it was al- 
 together another thing when, plain as print, he saw his first 
 goddess of the shining water-pails sit calmly down on the 
 great granite boulder in the shadow of the bridge, and take 
 one small foot in her hand with the evident intention of 
 removing her foot-gear and occupying the second tub. 
 
 The hot blood surged in responsive shame to Ealph 
 Peden's cheeks and temples. He started up. Meg Kissock 
 was tramping the blankets rhythmically, holding her green 
 kirtle well up with both hands, and singing with all her 
 might. The goddess of the shining pails was also happily 
 unconscious, with her face to the running water. Ralph 
 bent low and hastened through a gap in the fence towards 
 the shade of the elder bushes on the slope. He did not 
 run — he has never acknowledged that ; but he certainly 
 came almost indistinguishably near it. As soon, however, 
 as he was really out of sight, he actually did take to his 
 heels and run in the direction of the manse, disconcerted 
 and demoralized. 
 
 The dogs completed his discomfiture, for they cauglit 
 sight of his flying figure and gave chase — contenting them- 
 selves, however, with pausing on the hillside where Ralph 
 had been lying, with indignant barkings and militant tails 
 high crested in air. 
 
 Winsome Charteris went up to the broom bushes which 
 fringed the slope to find out what was the matter with Tyke
 
 14 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 and Eoger. When she got there, a slim black figure was 
 just vanishing round the white bend of the Far Away 
 Turn. Winsome whistled, low this time, and without put- 
 ting even one finger into her mouth. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MOTHER OF KIIS^G LEMUEL. 
 
 It was not till Ralph Peden had returned to the study 
 of the manse of the Marrow kirk of Dullarg, and the colour 
 induced by exercise had had time to die out of his naturally 
 pale cheeks, that he remembered that he had left his He- 
 brew Bible and Lexicon, as well as a half-written exegesis 
 on an important subject, underneath the fatal whin bush 
 above the bridge over the Grannoch water. He would have 
 been glad to rise and seek it immediately — a task which, 
 indeed, no longer presented itself in such terrible colours 
 to him. He found himself even anxious to go. It would 
 be a serious thing were he to lose his father's Lexicon and 
 Mr. Welsh's Hebrew Bible. Moreover, he could not bear 
 the thought of leaving the sheets of his exposition of the 
 last chapter of Proverbs to be the sport of the gamesome 
 Galloway winds — or, worse thought, the laughing-stock of 
 gamesome young women who whistled with two fingers in 
 their mouths. 
 
 Yet the picture of the maid of the loch which rose be- 
 fore him struck him as no unpleasant one. He remem- 
 bered for one thing how the sun shone through the tangle 
 of her hair. But he had quite forgotten, on the other hand, 
 at what part of his exegesis he had left off. It was, how- 
 ever, a manifost impossibility for him to slip out again.
 
 THE MOTHER OF KING LEMUEL. 15 
 
 Besides, he was in mortal terror lest Mr, Welsh should ask 
 for his Hebrew Bible, or offer to revise his chapter of the 
 day with him. All the afternoon he was uneasy, finding 
 no excuse to take himself away to the loch-side in order to 
 find his Bible and Lexicon. 
 
 " I understand you have been studying, with a view to 
 license, the last chapter of the Proverbs of Solomon ? " said 
 Gilbert Welsh, interrogatively, bending his shaggy brows 
 and pouting his underlip at the student. 
 
 The Marrow minister was a small man, with a body so 
 dried and twisted ("shauchelt" was the local word) that 
 all the nerve stulf of a strong nature had run up to his 
 brain, so that when he walked he seemed always_ on the 
 point of falling forward, overbalanced by the weight of his 
 clilf-like brow. 
 
 " Ralph, will you ground the argument of the mother 
 of King Lemuel in this chapter ? But perhaps you would 
 like to refer to the original Hebrew ? " said the minister. 
 
 " Oh, no," interrupted Ralph, aghast at the latter sug- 
 gestion, " I do not need the text — thank you, sir." 
 
 But, in spite of his disclaimer, he devoutly desired to be 
 where the original text and his written comment upon it 
 were at that moment — which, indeed, was a consummation 
 even more devoutly to be wished than he had any suspicion 
 of. The Marrow minister leaned his head on his hand and 
 looked waitingly at the young man. 
 
 Ralph recalled himself with an effort. He had to repeat 
 to himself that he was in the manse study, and almost to pinch 
 his knee to convince himself of the reality of his experi- 
 ences. But this was not necessary a second time, for, as he 
 sat hastily down on one of Allen Welsh's hard-wood chairs, a 
 prickle from the gorse bush which he had brought back 
 with him from Loch Grannoch side was argument sharp 
 enough to convince Bishop Berkeley.
 
 16 THE LTLAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Compose yourself to answer my question," said the 
 minister, with some slight severity. Ralph wondered silently 
 if even a minister of the Marrow kirk in good standing, 
 could compose himself on one whin prickle for certain, and 
 the probability of several others developing themselves at 
 various angles hereafter. 
 
 Ealph " grounded " himself as best as he could, explain- 
 ing the views of the mother of King Lemuel as to the 
 woman of virtue and faithfulness. He seemed to himself 
 to have a fluency and a fervour in exposition to which he 
 had been a stranger. He began to have new views about 
 the necessity for the creation of Eve. Woman might possi- 
 bly, after all, be less purely gratuitous than he had sup- 
 posed. 
 
 " The woman who is above rubies," said he, " is one 
 who rises early to care for the house, who oversees the 
 handmaids as they cleanse the household stuffs — in a " (he 
 just saved himself from saying " in a black pot ") — " in a 
 fitting vessel by the rivers of water." 
 
 " Well put and correctly mandated," said Mr. Welsh, 
 very much pleased. There was unction about this young 
 man. Though a bachelor by profession, he loved to hear 
 the j^raises of good women ; for he had once known one. 
 
 " She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and " 
 
 Here Ealph paused, biting his tongue to keep from de- 
 scribing the picture which rose before him. 
 
 " And what," said the minister, tentatively, leaning for- 
 ward to look into the open face of the young man, " what 
 is the distinction or badge of true beauty and favour of 
 countenance, as so well expressed by the mother of King 
 Lemuel ? " 
 
 " A LILAC SUNBONNET ! " said Ralph Peden, student in 
 divinity.
 
 A TliEASU RE-TROVE. 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A TREASURE-TKOVE. 
 
 Winsome Charteris was a self-possessed maid, but 
 undeniably her heart beat faster when she found on the 
 brae face, beneath the bush of broom, two books the like of 
 which she had never seen before, as well as an open note- 
 book with writing upon it in the neatest and delicatest of 
 hands. First, as became a prudent woman of experience, 
 she went up to the top of the hill to assure herself that the 
 owner of this strange treasure was not about to return. 
 Then she carefully let down her high-kilted print dress till 
 only her white feet " like little mice " stole in and out. It 
 did not strike her that this sacrifice to the conventions 
 was just a trifle belated. 
 
 As she returned she said " Shoo ! " at every tangled bush, 
 and flapped her apron as if to scare whatever curious wild 
 fowl might have left behind it in its nest under the broom 
 such curious nest-eggs as two great books full of strange, 
 bewitched-looking printing, and a note-book of curious and 
 interesting writings. Then, with a half sigh of disappoint- 
 ment. Winsome Charteris sat herself down to look into this 
 matter. Meg Kissock from the bridge end showed signs of 
 coming up to see what she was about ; but Winsome im- 
 periously checked the movement. 
 
 " Bide where you are, Meg ; I'll be down with you pres- 
 ently." 
 
 She turned over the great Hebrew Bible reverently. 
 " A. Welsh " was written on the fly-leaf. She had a strange 
 idea that she had seen it before. It seemed somehow 
 thrillingly familiar. 
 
 " That's the minister's Hebrew Bible book, no doubt,"
 
 18 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 she said. " For that's the same kind of printing as between 
 the double verses of the hundred-and-nineteenth Psalm in 
 my grandfather's big Bible," she continued, sapiently shak- 
 ing her head till the crispy ringlets tumbled about her eyes, 
 and she had impatiently to toss them aside. 
 
 (She laid the Bible down and peeped into the other 
 strange-looking book. There were single words here of 
 the same kind as in the other, but the most part was in 
 ordinary type, though in a language of which she could 
 make nothing. The note-book was a resource. It was at 
 least readable, and Winsome Charteris began expectantly to 
 turn it over. But something stirred reprovingly in her 
 heart. It seemed as if she were listening to a conversation 
 not meant for her. So she kept her finger on the leaf, but 
 did not turn it. 
 
 " No," she said, " I will not read it. It is not meant for 
 me." Then, after a pause, " At least I will only read this 
 page which is open, and then look at the beginning to see 
 whose it is ; for, you know, I may need to send it back to 
 him." The back she had seen vanish round the Far Away 
 Turn demanded the masculine pronoun. 
 
 She lifted the book and read : 
 
 " Alas ! " (so ran the writing, fluent and clear, small as 
 printer's type, Ralph Peden's beautiful Hellenic script), 
 " alas, that the good qualities of the housewives of Solo- 
 mon's days are out of date and forgotten in these degener- 
 ate times ! Women, especially the younger of them, are 
 become gadabouts, chatterers in the public ways, idle, 
 adorners of their vain selves, pamperers of their frail tab- 
 ernacles " 
 
 Winsome threw down the book and almost trod upon it 
 as upon a snake. 
 
 " 'Tis some city fop," she said, stamping her foot, "who 
 is tired of the idle town dames. I wonder if he has ever
 
 A TREASURE-TROVE. 19 
 
 seen the sun rise or done a day's work in his life? If only 
 I had the wretch ! But I will read no more ! " 
 
 In token of the sincerity of the last assertion, she picked 
 up the note-book again. There was little more to read. It 
 was at this point that the humble-bee had startled the 
 writer. 
 
 But underneath there were words faintly scrawled in 
 pencil : " Must concentrate attention " — " The proper study 
 of mankind is " — this last written twice, as if the writer 
 were practising copy-lines absently. Then at the very bot- 
 tom was written, so faintly that hardly any eyes but Win- 
 some's could have read the words : 
 
 " Of all colours I do love the lilac. I wonder all maids 
 do not wear gear of that hue ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Winsome Charteris quickly. 
 
 Then she gathered up the books very gently, and taking 
 a kerchief from her neck, she folded the two great books 
 within it, fastening them with a cunning knot. She was 
 carrying them slowly up towards the farm town of Craig 
 Eonald in her bare arms when Ralph Peden sat answering 
 his catechism in the study at the manse. She entered the 
 dreaming court-yard, and walked sedately across its silent 
 sun-flooded spaces without a sound. She passed the door 
 of the cool parlour where her grandfather and grandmother 
 sat, the latter with her hands folded and her great tortoise- 
 shell spectacles on her nose, taking her afternoon nap. A 
 volume of Waverley lay beside her. Into her own white 
 little room Winsome went, and laid the bundle of books in 
 the bottom of the wall-press, which was lined with sheets of 
 the Cairn Edward Miscellany. She looked at it some time 
 before she shut the door. 
 
 " His name is Ralph," she said. " I wonder how old he 
 is — I shall know to-morrow, because he will come back ; 
 but — I would like to know to-night."
 
 20 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 She sighed a little — so light a breath that it was only 
 the dream of a sigh. Then she looked at the lilac sunbon- 
 net, as if it ought to have known. 
 
 " At any rate he has very good taste," she said. 
 
 But the lilac suubounet said never a word. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CAVALIER PURITAN. 
 
 TnE farm town of Craig Ronald drowsed in the quiet of 
 noon. In the open court the sunshine triumphed, and only 
 the purple-grey marsh mallows along the side of the house 
 under the windows gave any sign of life. In them the bees 
 had begun to hum at earliest dawn, an hour and a half be- 
 fore the sun looked over the crest of Ben Gairn. They were 
 humming busily still. In all the chambers of the house 
 there was the same reposeful stillness. Through them Win- 
 some Charteris moved -with free, light step. She glanced in 
 to see that her grandfather and grandmother were wanting 
 for nothing in their cool and wide sitting-room, where the 
 brown mahogany-cased eight-day clock kept up an unequal 
 ticking, like a man walking upon two wooden legs of which 
 one is shorter than the other. 
 
 It said something for Winsome Charteris and her high- 
 hearted courage, that what she was accustomed to see in that 
 sitting-room had no effect upon her spirits. It was a pleas- 
 ant room enough, with two windows looking to the soutli — 
 little round-budded, pale-petalled monthly roses nodding 
 and peeping within the opened window-frames. Sweet it 
 was with a great peace, every chair covered with old 
 sprigged chintz, flowers of the wood and heather from the
 
 A CAVALIER PURITAN. 21 
 
 hill set in china vases about it. The room where the old 
 folk dwelt at Craig Ronald was fresh within as is the dew 
 on sweetbrier. Fresh, too, was the apparel of her grand- 
 mother, the flush of youth yet on her delicate cheek, though 
 the Psalmist's limit had long been passed for her. 
 
 As Winsome looked within, 
 
 " Are ye not sleeping, grandmother ? " she said. 
 
 The old lady looked up with a resentful air. 
 
 " Sleepin' ! The lassie's gane gyte ! [out of her senses]. 
 What for wad I be sleepin' in the afternune ? An' me wi' 
 the care o' yer gran'faither — sic a handling, him nae better 
 nor a bairn, an' you a bit feckless hempie wi' yer hair flee- 
 ing like the tail o' a twa-year-auld cowt! [colt]. Sleepin' 
 indeed ! Na, sleepin's nane for me ! " 
 
 The young girl came up and put her arms about her 
 grandmother. 
 
 " That's rale unceevil o' ye, uoo, Granny Whitemutch !" 
 she said, speaking in the coaxing tones to Avhich the Scots' 
 language lends itself so easily, " an' it's just because I hae 
 been sae lang at the blauket-washin', seein' till that hizzy 
 Meg. An' ken ye what I saw ! — ane o' the black dragoons 
 in full retreat, grannie ; but he left his camp equipage 
 
 ahint him, as the sergeant said when Ye ken the 
 
 story, grannie. Ye maun hae been terrible bonny in thae 
 days ! " 
 
 " 'Deed I'm nane sae unbonny yet, for a' yer helicat 
 fiichtmafleathers, sprigget goons, an' laylac bonnets," said 
 the old lady, shaking her head till the white silk top-knots 
 trembled. " No, nor I'm nane sae auld nayther. The gude- 
 man in the corner there, he's auld and dune gin'ye like, but 
 no me — no me ! Gin he warna spared to me, I could even 
 get a man yet," continued the lively old lady, " an' wliaur 
 wad ye be then, my lass, I wad like to ken ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I could get one too, grannie," she said. And
 
 22 THE LILAC SUNBON^^ET. 
 
 she shook her head with an air of triumph. Winsome 
 kissed her grandmother gently on the brow. 
 
 " Nane o' yer Englishy tricks an' trokin's," said she, 
 settling the white muslin band which she wore across her 
 brow wrinkleless and straight, where it had been disarrayed 
 by the onslaught of her impulsive granddaughter, 
 
 " Aye," she went on, stretching out a hand which would 
 have done credit to a great dame, so white and slender was 
 it in spite of the hollows which ran into a triangle at the 
 wrist, and the pale-blue veins which the slight wrinkles 
 have thrown into relief. 
 
 " An' I mind the time when three o' his Majesty's offi- 
 cers — nane o' yer militia wi' horses that rin awa' wi' them 
 ilka time they gang oot till exerceese, but rale sodgers wi' 
 sabre-tashies to tlieir heels and spurs like pitawtie dreels. 
 Aye, sirs, but that was before I married an elder in the Kirk 
 o' the Marrow. I wasna twenty- three when I had dune 
 wi' the gawds an' vanities o' this wicked world," 
 
 " I saw a minister lad the day — a stranger," said Win- 
 some, very quietly. 
 
 " Sirce me," returned her grandmother briskly ; " kenned 
 I e'er the like o' ye, Winifred Chayrteris, for licht-heedit- 
 ness an' lack o' a' common sense ! Saw a minister an' ne'er 
 thoclit, belike, o' say in' cheep ony mair nor if he had been 
 a wutterick [weasel]. An' what like was he, na ? Was he 
 young, or auld — or no sae verra auld, like mysel' ? Did he 
 look like an Establisher by the consequence o' the body, 
 or " 
 
 " But, grannie dear, how is it possible that I should 
 ken, when all that I saw of him was but his coat-tails ? It 
 was him that was running away." 
 
 " My certes," said grannie, " but the times are changed 
 since my day ! When I was as young as ye are the day it 
 wasna sodger or minister avther that wad hae run frae the
 
 A CAVALIER PURITAN. 23 
 
 sicht o' me. But a minister, and a fine, young-looking man, 
 I think ye said," continued Mistress Walter Skirving anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Indeed, grandmother, I said nothing '? began Win- 
 some. 
 
 " Hand yer tongue, Deil's i' the lassie, he'll be comin' 
 here. Maybes he's comin' np the loan this verra meenit. 
 Get me my best kep [cap], the French yin o' Flanders lawn 
 trimmed wi' Valenceenes lace that Captain Wildfeather, of 
 
 his Majesty's But na, I'll no think o' thae times, I canna 
 
 bear to think o' them wi' ony complaisance ava. But bring 
 me my kep — haste ye fast, lassie ! " 
 
 Obediently Winsome went to her grandmother's bedroom 
 and drew from under the bed the " mutch " box lined with 
 pale green paper, patterned with faded pink roses. She did 
 not smile when she drew it out. She was accustomed to her 
 grandmother's ways. She too often felt the cavalier looking 
 out from under her Puritan teaching ; for the wild strain of 
 the Gordon blood held true to its kind, and Winsome's 
 grandmother had been a Gordon at Lochenkit, whose father 
 had ridden with Kenmure in the great rebellion. 
 
 When she brought the white goffered mutch with its 
 plaits and puckers, granny tried it on in various ways, Win- 
 some meanwhile holding a small mirror before her. 
 
 " As I was sayin', I renounced thinkin' aboot the vani- 
 ties o' youth langsyne. Aye, it'll be forty years sin' — for ye 
 maun mind that I was marriet whan but a lassie. Aye me, 
 it's forty-five years since Ailie Gordon, as I was then, wed 
 wi' Walter Skirving o' Craig Ronald (noo o' his ain cham- 
 mer neuk, puir man, for he'll never leave it mair)," added 
 she with a brisk kind of acknowledgment towards the chair 
 of the semi-paralytic in the corner. 
 
 There silent and unregarding Walter Skirving sat — a 
 man still splendid in frame and build, erect in his chair, a
 
 24 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 shawl over his knees even in this day of fervent heat, look- 
 ing out dumbly on the drowsing, humming world of broad, 
 shadowless noonshine, and often also on the equable silences 
 of the night. 
 
 " No that I regret it the day, when he is but the name 
 o' the man he yince was. For fifty years since there was 
 nae lad like Walter Skirving cam into Dumfries High Street 
 frae Stewartry or frae Shire. No a fit in buckled shune sae 
 licht as his, his weel-shapit leg covered wi' the bonny ' rig- 
 an'-fur ' stockin' that I knitted mysel' frae the cast on o' 
 the ower-fauld [over-fold] to the bonny white forefit that 
 sets aff the blue sae weel. "Walter Skirving could button his 
 knee-breeks withoot bendin' his back — that nana could do 
 but the king's son himsel' ; an' sic a dancer as he was afore 
 guid an' godly Maister Cauldsowans took hand o' him at 
 the tent, wi' preachin' a sermon on booin' the kiiee to Baal. 
 Aye, aye, its a' awa' — an' its mony the year I thocht on 
 it, let alane thocht on wantin' back thae days o' vanity an' 
 the pride o' sinfu' youth ! " 
 
 " Tell me about the officer men, granny," said Winsome. 
 
 " 'Deed wull I no. It wad be mair tellin' ye gin ye were 
 learnin' yer Caritches" [Westminster Catechism]. 
 
 " But, grandmammy dear, I thought that you said that 
 the officer men ran away from you " 
 
 " Hear till her ! Rin frae me ? Certes, ye're no blate. 
 They cam' frae far an' near to get a word wi' me. Na, there 
 was nae rinnin' frae a bonny lass in thae days. Weel, there 
 was three o' them ; an' they cam' ower the hill to see the 
 lasses, graund in their reed breeks slashed wi' yellow. An' 
 what for no, they war his Majesty's troopers ; an' though 
 nae doot they had been on the wrang side o' the dyke, they 
 were braw chiels for a' that ! " 
 
 " An' they cam' to see you, granny ? " asked Winsome, 
 who approved of the subject.
 
 A CAVALIER PURITAN. 25 
 
 " What else — but they got an unco begimk [cheat]. Ye 
 see, my faither had bocht an awfu' thrawn young bull at 
 the Dumfries fair, an' he had been gaun gilravagin' aboot; 
 an' whaur should the contrary beast betak' himsel' to but 
 into the Koman camp on Craig Konald bank, where the 
 big ditch used to be ? There we heard him routin' for 
 three days till the cotmen fund him i' the hinderend, 
 an' poo'ed him oot wi' cart-rapes. But when he got oot 
 — certes, but he was a wild beast ! He got at Jock Hin- 
 derlands afore he could climb up a tree ; an', fegs, he 
 gaed up a tree withoot clim'in', I'se warrant, an' there he 
 hung, hanket by the waistband o' his breeks, baa-haain' 
 for his minnie to come and lift him doon, an' him as 
 muckle a clampersome [awkward] hobbledehoy as ever 
 ye saw ! 
 
 " Then what did Carlaverock Jock do but set his held 
 to a yett [gate] and ding it in flinders ; fair fire-wood he 
 made o't ; an' sae, rampagin' into the meadow across whilk," 
 continued the old lady, with a rising delight in her eye, 
 " the three cavalry men were comin' to see me, wi' the 
 spurs on them jangling clear. Eeed breeks did na suit 
 Jock's taste at the best o' times, and he had no been brocht 
 up to countenance yellow facin's. So the three braw King 
 George's sodgcrs that had dune sic graund things at Water- 
 loo took the quickest road through the meadow. Captain 
 St. Clair, he trippit on his sword, an' was understood to cry 
 oot that he had never eaten beef in his life. Ensign Wither- 
 shins threw his shako ower his shoother and jumpit iutil 
 the water, whaur he expressed his opinion o' Carlaverock 
 Jock stan'in' up to his neck in Luckie Mowatt's pool — the 
 words I dinna juist call to mind at this present time, which, 
 indeed, is maybe as weel ; but it was Lieutenant Licht- 
 body, o' his Majesty's Heavy Dragoons, that cam' afT at 
 the waurst. He made for the stane dyke, the sven-fite
 
 26 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 marcli dyke that rins up the hill, ye ken. Weel, he made 
 as if he wad mak' ower it, but Boreland's big Heelaut bull 
 had heard the routin' o' his friend Carlaverock Jock, an' 
 was there wi' his horns sj^read like a man keppin' yowes 
 [catching sheep]. Aye, my certes ! " here the old lady 
 paused, overcome by the humour of her recollections, laugh- 
 ing in her glee a delightfully catching and mellow laugh, 
 in which Winsome joined. 
 
 " Sae there was my braw beau, Lieutenant Lichtbody, 
 sittin' on his hunkers on the dyke tap giruin' at Carlaver- 
 ock Jock an' the Boreland Hielantman on baith sides o' 
 him, an' tryin' tae hit them ower the nose wi' the scabbard 
 o' his sword, for the whinger itsel' had drappit oot in what 
 ye micht ca' the forced retreat. It was bonny, bonny to 
 see ; an' whan the three cam' up the loanin' the neist day, 
 ' Sirs,' I said, ' I'm thinkin' ye had better be gaun. I saw 
 Carlaverock Jock the noo, fair tearin' up the greensward. 
 It wudua be bonny gin his Majesty's officers had twice to 
 mak' sae rapid a march to the rear — an' you. Lieutenant 
 Lichtbody, canna hae a'thegither gotten the better o' yer 
 lang sederunt on the tap o' the hill dyke. It's a bonny 
 view that ye had. It was a peety that ye had forgotten yer 
 perspective glasses.' 
 
 " And wad ye believe it, lassie, the threesome turned on 
 the braid o' their fit an' marched doon the road withoot as 
 muckle as Fair-guid-e'en or Fair-guid-day ! " 
 
 "And what said ye, grannie dear?" said Winsome, who 
 sat on a low seat looking up at her granny. 
 
 " lassie, I juist set my braid hat ower my lug wi' the 
 bonny white cockade intil 't an' gied them ' The Wee, Wee 
 German Laird ie ' as they gaed doon the road, an' syne on 
 the back o't : 
 
 " ' Awa, Whigs, awa' ! 
 Ye're but a jiack ' "
 
 A CAVALIER PURITAN. 27 
 
 But the great 23laid-swathed figure of Winsome's grand- 
 father turned a,t the words of the long-forgotten song as 
 though waking from a deep sleep. A slumberous fire gleamed 
 momentarily in his eye. 
 
 " Woman," he said, " hold your peace ; let not these words 
 be heard in the house of Walter Skirving ! " 
 
 Having thus delivered himself, the fire faded out of his 
 eyes dead as black ashes ; he turned to the window, and lost 
 himself again in meditation, looking with steady eyes across 
 the ocean of sunshine which flooded the valley beneath. 
 
 His wife gave him no answer. She seemed scarce to 
 have heard the interruption. But Winsome went across 
 and pulled the heavy plaid gently off her grandfather's 
 shoulder. Then she stood quietly by him with one hand 
 upon his head and with the other she gently stroked his 
 brow. A milder light grew in his dull eye, and he put up 
 his hand uncertainly as if to take hers. 
 
 " But what for should I be takin' delicht in speakin' o' 
 thae auld unsanctified regardless days," said her grand- 
 mother, " that 'tis raony a year since I hae ta'en ony pleesure 
 in thiukin' on? Gae wa', ye hempie that ye are ! " she cried, 
 turning with a sudden and uncalled-for sparkle of temper on 
 her granddaughter ; " There's nae time an' little inclination 
 in this hoose for yer flichty conversation. I wonder muckle 
 that yer thouchts are sae set on the vanities o' young men. 
 And such are all that delight in them." She went on some- 
 what irrelevantly, " Did not godly Maister Cauldsowans 
 redd up [settle] the doom o' such — ' all desirable young 
 men riding upon horses ' " 
 
 " An' I'll gae redd up the dairy, an' kirn the butter, 
 grannie ! " said Winsome Charteris, breaking in on the flow 
 of her grandmother's reproaches.
 
 28 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LESSON IN" BOTANY. 
 
 No lassie in all the hill country went forth more heart- 
 whole into the June morning than Winsome Charteris. 
 She was not, indeed, wholly a girl of the south uplands. 
 Her grandmother was never done reminding her of her 
 " Englishy " ways, which, according to that authority, she 
 had contracted during those early years she had sj)ent in 
 Cumberland. From thence she had been brought to the 
 farm town of Craig Ronald, soon after the death of her only 
 uncle, Adam Skirving — whose death, coming after the loss 
 of her own mother, had taken such an effect upon her 
 grandfather that for years he had seldom spoken, and now 
 took little interest in the ongoings of the farm. 
 
 Walter Skirving was one of a class far commoner iu 
 Gralloway sixty years ago than now. He was a " bonnet 
 laird " of the best type, and his farm, which included all 
 kinds of soil — arable and pasture, meadow and moor, hill 
 pasture and wood — was of the value of about £300 a year, a 
 sum sufficient iu those days to make him a man of substance 
 and consideration in the country. 
 
 He had been all his life, except for a single year in his 
 youth when he broke bounds, a Marrow man of the strictest 
 type ; and it had been the wonder and puzzle of his life (to 
 others, not to himself) how he came to make up to Ailie 
 Gordon, the daughter of the old moss-trooping Lochenkit 
 Gordons, that had ridden with the laird of Redgauntlet in 
 the killing time, and more recently had been out with Max- 
 well of Nithsdale, and Gordon of Kenmure, to strike a blow 
 for the " King-over-the- Water." And to this very day, 
 though touched with a stroke which prevented her from
 
 A LESSON IN BOTANY. 29 
 
 moving far out of her chair, Ailie Skirving showed the good 
 blood and high-hearted lightsomeness that had won the 
 young laird of Craig Eonald upon tlie Loch Grannoch side 
 nearly fifty years before. 
 
 It was far more of a wonder how Ailie Gordon came to 
 take Walter Skirving. It may be that she felt in her heart 
 the accent of a true man in the unbending, nonjuring elder 
 of the Marrow kirk. Two great heart-breaks had crossed 
 their lives : the shadow of the life story of Winsome's moth- 
 er, that earlier Winsome whose name had not been heard 
 for twenty years in the house of Craig Eonald ; and the 
 more recent death of Adam, the strong, silent, chivalrous- 
 natured son who had sixteen years ago been killed, falling 
 from his horse as he rode home alone one winter's night 
 from Dumfries. 
 
 It was a natural thing to be in love with Winsome Char- 
 teris. It seemed natural to Winsome herself. Ever since 
 she was a little lass running to school in Keswick, with a 
 touse of lint-white locks blowing out in the gusts that came 
 swirling off Skiddaw, Winsome had always been conscious 
 of a train of admirers. The boys liked to carry her books, 
 and were not so ashamed to walk home with her, as even at 
 six years of age young Cumbrians are wont to be in the 
 company of maids. Since she came to Galloway, and opened 
 out with each succeeding year, like the bud of a moss rose 
 growing in a moist place, Winsome had thought no more of 
 masculine admiration than of the dull cattle that " goved " 
 [stared stupidly] upon her as she picked her deft way 
 among the stalls in the byre. In all Craig Ronald there was 
 nothing between the hill and the best room that did not 
 bear the mark of Winsome's method and administrative ca- 
 pacity. In perfect dependence upon Winsome, her granny 
 had gradually abandoned all the management of the house 
 to her, so that at twenty that young woman was a veritable
 
 30 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Napoleon of finance and capacity. Only old Richard Clel- 
 land of the Borelaud, grave and wise pillar of the kirk by 
 law established, still transacted her market business and 
 banked her siller — being, as he often said, proud to act as 
 " doer " for so fair a priucij^al. So it happened that all the 
 reins of government about this tiny lairdship of one farm 
 were in the strong and capable hands of a girl of twenty. 
 
 And Meg Kissock was her true admirer and faithful 
 slave — Winsome's heavy band, too, upon occasion ; for all 
 the men on the farm stood in awe of Meg's prowess, and 
 very especially of Meg's tongue. So also the work fell 
 mostly upon these two, and in less measure upon a sister of 
 Meg's, Jess Kissock, lately returned from England, a young 
 lady whom we have already met. 
 
 During the night and morning Winsome had studied 
 with some attention the Hebrew Bible, in which the name 
 Allan Welsh appeared, as well as the Latin Luther Com- 
 mentary, and the Hebrew Lexicon, on the first page of 
 which the name of Ealph Peden was written in the same 
 neat print hand as in the note-book. 
 
 This was the second day of the blanket-washing, and 
 Winsome, having in her mind a presentiment that the pro- 
 prietor of these learned quartos would appear to claim his 
 own, carried them down to the bridge, where Meg and her 
 sister were already deep in the mysteries of frothing tubs 
 and boiling pots. Winsome from the broomy ridge could 
 hear the shrill " giff-gaff " [give and take] of their colloquy. 
 She sat down under Ralph's very broom bush, and absently 
 turned over the leaves of the note-book, catching sentences 
 here and there. 
 
 " I wonder how old he is ? " she said, meditatively ; " his 
 coat-tails looked old, but the legs went too lively for an old 
 
 man ; besides, he likes maids to be dressed in lilac " She 
 
 paused still more thoughtfully. " Well, we shall see." She
 
 A LESSON IN BOTANY. 31 
 
 bent over and pulled the milky-stalked, wliite-seeded head 
 of a dandelion. Taking it between the finger and thumb of 
 her left hand she looked critically at it as though it were a 
 glass of wine. " He is tall, and he is fair, and his age is " 
 
 Here she pouted her pretty lips and blew, 
 
 " One — ha, ha ! — he was an active infant when he ran from 
 the blanket-tramping — two, three, four " 
 
 Some tiny feather-headed spikelets disengaged them- 
 selves unwillingly from the round and venerable down- 
 polled dandelion. They floated lazily up between the tas- 
 sels of the broom upon the light breeze. 
 
 " Five, six, seven, eight — faith, he was a clean-heeled lad- 
 die yon. Ye couldna see his legs or coat-tails for stour as 
 he gaed roon' the Far Away Turn." 
 
 AVinsome was revelling in her broad Scots. She had 
 learned it from her grandmother. 
 
 " Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen — 
 I'll no can set the dogs on him then — sixteen, seventeen, 
 eighteen — dear me, this is becoming interesting." 
 
 The plumules were blowing off freely now, like snow from 
 the eaves on a windy day in winter. 
 
 " Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one — I must reverence my 
 elders. If I don't blow stronger he'll turn out to be fi^fty — 
 twenty-three, twenty-f " 
 
 A shadow fell across the daintily-held dandelion and lay 
 a blue patch on the grass. Only one pale grey star stood 
 erect on the stem, the vacant green sheathing of the calyx 
 turning suddenly down. 
 
 '•'■ Tiomty-four r'' said Ealph Peden quietly, standing 
 with his hat in his hand and an eager flush on his check. 
 The last plumule floated away. 
 
 Winsome Charteris had risen instinctively, and stood 
 looking with crimson cheeks and quicker-coming breath at 
 this young man who came upon her in the nick of time.
 
 32 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 He was startled and a little indignant. So they stood 
 facing one another while one might count a score — silent 
 and drinking each the other in, with that flashing transfer- 
 ence of electric sympathy possible only to the young and 
 the innocent. 
 
 It was the young man Avho spoke first. Winsome was a 
 little indignant that he should dare to come upon her while 
 so engaged. Not, of course, that she cared for a moment 
 what he thought of her, but he ought to have known better 
 than to have stolen upon her wliile she was behaving in 
 such a ridiculous, childish way. It showed what he was 
 capable of. 
 
 " My name is Ealph Peden," he said humbly. " I came 
 from Edinburgh the day before yesterday. I am staying 
 with Mr. Welsh at the manse." 
 
 Winsome Charteris glanced down at the books and 
 blushed still more deeply. The Hebrew Bible and Lexicon 
 lay harmlessly enough on the grass, and the Luther was 
 swinging in a frivolous and untheological way on the strong, 
 bent twigs of broom. But where was the note-book ? Like 
 a surge of Sol way tide the remembrance came over her that, 
 when she had plucked the dandelion for her soothsaying, 
 she had thrust it carelessly into the bosom of her lilac- 
 sprigged gown. Indeed, a corner of it peeped out at this 
 moment. Had he seen it? — monstrous thought ! She knew 
 young men and the interpretations that they put upon noth- 
 ings ! This, in spite of his solemn looks and mantling bash- 
 fulness, was a young man. 
 
 " Then I suppose these are yours," said Winsome, turn- 
 ing sideways towards the indicated articles so as to conceal 
 the note-book. The young man removed his eyes momen- 
 tarily from her face and looked in the direction of the books. 
 He seemed to have entirely forgotten what it was that had 
 brought him to Loch Grannoch bridge so early this June
 
 A LESSON IN BOTANY. 33 
 
 morning. Winsome took advantage of his glance to feel 
 that her sunbonnet sat straight, and as her hand was on its 
 way to her clustering curls she took this oj^portunity of 
 thrusting Ealph's note-book into more complete conceal- 
 ment. Then her hands went up to her head only to dis- 
 cover that her sunbonnet had slipped backward, and was 
 now hanging down her back by the strings. 
 
 Ralph Peden looked up at her, apparently entirely satis- 
 fied. What was a note-book to him now? lie saw the sun- 
 bonnet resting upon the wavy distraction of the pale gold 
 hair. He had a luxurious eye for colour. That lilac and 
 gold went well together, was his thought. 
 
 Trammelled by the fallen head-gear, Winsome threw her 
 head back, shaking out her tresses in a way that Ealph Pe- 
 den never forgot. Then she caught at the strings of the 
 errant bonnet. 
 
 " Oh, let it alone ! " he suddenly exclaimed. 
 
 " Sir ? " said Winsome Charteris — interrogatively, not 
 imperatively. Ralph Peden, who had taken a step forward 
 in the instancy of his appeal, came to himself again in a 
 moment. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said very humbly, "I had no 
 right " 
 
 He paused, uncertain what to say. 
 
 Winsome Charteris looked up quickly, saw the simplici- 
 ty of the young man, in one full eye-blink read his heart, 
 then dropped her eyes again and said : 
 
 " But I thought you liked lilac sunbonnets ! " 
 
 Ralph Peden had now his turn to blush. Hardly in the 
 secret of his own heart had he said this thing. Only to 
 Mr. Welsh had his forgetful tongue uttered the word that 
 was in his mind, and which had covered since yesterday 
 morn all the precepts of that most superfluous wise woman, 
 the mother of King Lemuel.
 
 34 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Are you a witch ? " asked Ralph, blundering as an 
 honest and bashful man may in times of distress into the 
 boldest speech. 
 
 " You want to go up and see my grandmother, do you 
 not?" said Winsome, gravely, for such conversation was 
 not to be continued on any conditions. 
 
 " Yes," said the young man, perjuring himself with a 
 readiness and facility most unbecoming in a student desir- 
 ing letters of probation from the Protesting and Covenant- 
 keeping Kirk of the Marrow. 
 
 Ralph Peden lightly picked up the books, which, as 
 Winsome knew, were some considerable weight to carry. 
 
 " Do you find them quite safe ? " she asked. 
 
 " There was a heavy dew last night," he answered, " but 
 in spite of it they seem quite dry. 
 
 " We often notice the same thing on Loch Graunoch 
 side," said Winsome. 
 
 " I thought — that is, I was under the impression — tliat 
 I had left a small book with some manuscript notes ! " said 
 the young man, tentatively. 
 
 "It may have dropped among the broom," replied the 
 simple maid. 
 
 Whereupon the two set to seeking, both bareheaded, 
 brown cropped head and golden wilderness of tresses not far 
 from one another, while the " book of manuscript notes " 
 rose and fell to the quickened heart-beating of that wicked 
 and deceitful girl, Winsome Charteris.
 
 CURLED EYELASHES. 35 
 
 CHAPTEE VL 
 
 CURLED EYELASHES. 
 
 Now Meg Kissock could stand a great deal, and she 
 would put up with a great deal to pleasure her mistress ; 
 but half an hour of loneliness down by the washing was 
 overly much for her, and the struggle between loyalty and 
 curiosity ended, after the manner of her sex, in the victory 
 of the latter. 
 
 As Ealph and Winsome continued to seek, they came 
 time and again close together and the propinquity of 
 flushed cheek and mazy ringlet stirred something in the 
 lad's heart which had never been touched by the Mistresses 
 Thriepneuk, who lived where the new houses of the Plain- 
 stones look over the level meadows of the Borough Muir. 
 His father had often said within himself, as he walked the 
 Edinburgh streets to visit some sick kirk member, as he had 
 written to his friend Adam Welsh, "Has the lad a heart?" 
 Had he seen him on that broomy knowe over the Grannoch 
 water, he had not doubted, though he might well have been 
 fearful enough of that heart's too sudden awakening. 
 
 Never before had the youth come within that delicate 
 aura of charm which radiates from the bursting bud of the 
 finest womanhood. Ealph Peden had kept his affections 
 ascetically virgin. His nature's finest juices had gone to 
 feed the brain, yet all the time his heart had waited expect- 
 ant of the revealing of a mystery. Winsome Charteris had 
 come so suddenly into his life that the universe seemed new- 
 born in a day. He sprang at once from the thought of 
 woman as only an unexplained part of the creation, to the 
 conception of her (meaning thereby Winsome Charteris) as 
 an angel who had not lost her first estate.
 
 36 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 It was a strange thing for Ralph Peden, as indeed it Is 
 to every true man, to come for the first time within the 
 scope of the unconscious charms of a good girl. There is, 
 indeed, no better solvent of a cold nature, no better antidote 
 to a narrow education, no better bulwark of defence against 
 frittering away the strength and solemnity of first love, 
 than a sudden, strong plunge into its deep waters. 
 
 Like timid bathers, who run a little way into the tide 
 and then run out again with ankles wet, fearful of the first 
 chill, many men accustom themselves to love by degrees. 
 So they never taste the sweetness and strength of it as did 
 Kalph Peden in these days, when, never having looked upon 
 a maid with the level summer lightning of mutual interest 
 flashing in his eyes, he plunged into love's fathomless mys- 
 teries as one may dive upon a still day from some craggy 
 platform among the westernmost isles into Atlantic depths. 
 
 Winsome's light summer dress touched his hand and 
 thrilled the lad to his remotest nerve centres. He stood 
 light-headed, taking in as only they twain looked over the 
 loch with far-away eyes, that subtle fragrance, delicate and 
 free, which like a garment clothed the maid of the Gran- 
 noch lochside. 
 
 " The water's on the boil," cried Meg Kissock, setting 
 her ruddy shock of hair and blooming, amplified, buxom 
 form above the knoll, wringing at the same time the suds 
 from her hands, " an' I canna lift it aff mysel'." 
 
 Her mistress looked at her with a sudden suspicion. 
 Since when had Meg grown so feeble? 
 
 " We had better go down, " she said simply, turning to 
 Ealph, who would have cheerfully assented had she sug- 
 gested that they should together Avalk into the loch among 
 the lily beds. It was the " we " that overcame him. His 
 father had used the pronoun in quite a different sense, 
 " We will take the twenty-ninth chapter of second Chroni-
 
 CURLED EYELASUES. 37 
 
 clcs this morning, Ealph — what do we understand by this 
 peculiar use of vav conversive ? " 
 
 But it was quite another thing when Winsome Charteris 
 said simply, as though he had been her brother : 
 
 " We had better go down ! " 
 
 So they went down, taking the little stile at which Win- 
 some had meditated over the remarks of Ralpli Peden con- 
 cerning the creation of Eve upon their way. Meg Kissock 
 led the van, and took the dyke vigorously without troubling 
 the steps, her kirtle fitting her for such exercises. Winsome 
 came next, and Ealph stood aside to let her pass. She 
 sprang up the low steps light as a feather, rested her finger- 
 tips for an appreciable fraction of a second on the hand 
 which he instinctively held out, and was over before he real- 
 ized that anything had happened. Yet it seemed that in 
 that contact, light as a rose-leaf blown by the winds of late 
 July against his cheek, his past life had been shorn clean 
 away from all the future as with a sharp sword. 
 
 Ralph Peden had dutifully kissed his cousins Jemima, 
 Kezia, and Kerenhappuch ; but, on the whole, he had felt 
 more pleasure when he had partaken of the excellent ban- 
 nocks prepared for him by the fair hands of Kerenhappuch 
 herself. But this was wholly a new thing. His breath 
 came suddenly short. He breathed rapidly as though to 
 give his lungs more air. The atmosphere seemed to have 
 grown rarer and colder. Indeed, it was a diiferent world, 
 and the blanket-washing itself was transferred to some de- 
 liciously homely outlying annex of paradise. 
 
 Yet it seemed the most natural thing in tlie world that 
 he should be helping this girl, and he went forwai-d with 
 the greatest assurance to lift the black pot off the fire for 
 her. The keen, acrid swirls of wood-smoke blew into his 
 eyes, and the rank steam of yellow home-made soap, manu- 
 factured with bracken ash for lye, rose to his nostrils. Now,
 
 38 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Ralph Peden was well made and strong. Spare in body but 
 accurately compacted, if he had ever struggled with any- 
 thing more formidable than the folio hide-bound Calvins 
 and Turretins on his father's lower shelf in James's Court, 
 he had been no mean antagonist. 
 
 But, though he managed with a great effort to lift the 
 black pot otf its gypsy tripod, he would have let the boiling 
 contents swing dangerously against his legs had not Win- 
 some caught sharply at his other hand and leaned over, so 
 balancing the weight of the boiling water. So they walked 
 down the path to where the tubs stood under the shade of 
 tlie great ash-trees, with their sky-tossing, dry-rustling 
 leaves. There Ealph set his burden down. Meg Kissock 
 had been watching him keenly. She saw that he had se- 
 verely burned his hand, and also that he said nothing what- 
 ever about it. He was a man. This gained for the young 
 man Meg's hearty aj)proval almost as much as his bashful- 
 ness and native good looks. What Meg Kissock did not 
 know was that Ralph was altogether unconscious of the 
 wound in his hand. It was a deeper wound which was 
 at that time monopolising his thoughts. But this little 
 incident was more than a thousand certificates in the eyes 
 of Meg Kissock, and Meg's friendship was decidedly worth 
 cultivating. Even for its own sake she did not give it 
 lightly. 
 
 Before Winsome Charteris could release her hand, Ralph 
 turned and said : 
 
 " Do you know you have not yet told me your name?" 
 
 Winsome did know it very well, but she only said, " My 
 name is Winsome Charteris, and this is Meg Kissock." 
 
 "Winsome Charteris, Winsome Charteris," said Ralph's 
 heart over and over again, and he had not even the grace to 
 say " Thank you " ; but Meg stepped up to shake him by 
 the hand.
 
 CURLED EYELASHES. 39 
 
 " I'm braw an' prood to ken yc, sir," said Meg. " That 
 muckle sumpli [stupid], Saunders Mowdiewort, telled me a' 
 aboot ye comin' an' the terrible store o' lear [learning] ye 
 hae. He's the minister's man, ye ken, an' howks the graves 
 ower by at the parish kirk-yard, for the auld betheral there 
 winna gang ablow three lit deep, and them that haes ill- 
 tongued wives to baud doon disna want ony mistake " 
 
 " Meg," said her mistress, " do not forget yourself." 
 
 " Deil a fear," said Meg ; " it was auld Sim o' Glower- 
 ower-'em, the wizened auld hurcheon [hedgehog], that set 
 a big thruch stane ower his first wife ; and when he buried 
 his second in the neist grave, he just turned the broad fiat 
 stone. ' Guid be thankit ! ' he says, ' I had the forethocth 
 to order a stane heavy eneuch to baud them baith doon ! ' " 
 
 " Get to the washing, Meg," said Winsome. 
 
 " Fegs ! " returned Meg, " ye waur in nae great hurry 
 yersel' doon aff the broomy knowe ! What's a' the steer sae 
 sudden like ? " 
 
 Winsome disdained an answer, but stood to her own tub, 
 where some of the lighter articles — pillow-slips, and fair 
 sheets of " seventeen-hundred " linen were waiting her 
 daintier hand. 
 
 As Winsome and Meg washed, Ralph Peden carried 
 water, learning the wondrous science of carrying two cans 
 over a wooden hoop ; and in the frankest tutelage Winsome 
 put her hand over his to teach him, and the relation of mas- 
 ter and pupil asserted its ancient danger. 
 
 It had not happened to Winsome Charteris to meet any 
 one to whom she was attracted with such frank liking. She 
 had never known what it was to have a brother, and she 
 thought that this clear-eyed young man might be a brother 
 to her. It is a fallacy common among girls that young men 
 desire them as sisters. Ralph himself was under no such 
 illusion, or at least would not have been, liad he had tlie
 
 4,0 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 firmness of mind to sit down half a mile from his emotions 
 and coolly look them over. But in the meanwhile he was 
 only conscious of a great and rising delight in his heart. 
 
 As Winsome Charteris bent above the wash-tub he was 
 at liberty to observe how the blood mantled on the clear 
 oval of her cheek. He had time to note — of course entirely 
 as a philosopher — the pale purple shadow under the eyes, 
 over which the dark, curling lashes came down like the 
 fringe of the curtain of night. 
 
 " Why — I wonder why ? " he said, and stopped aghast 
 at his utterance aloud of his inmost thought. 
 
 " What do you wonder ? " said Winsome, glancing up w4th 
 a frank dewy freshness in her eyes. 
 
 " I wonder why — I wonder that you are able to do all 
 this work," he said, with an attempt to turn the corner of 
 his blunder. 
 
 Winsome shook her head. 
 
 " Now you are trying to be like other people," she said ; 
 " I do not think you will succeed. That was not what you 
 were going to say. If you are to be my friend, you must 
 speak all the truth to me and speak it always." A thing 
 which, indeed, no man does to a woman. And, besides, 
 nobody had- spoken of Ralph Peden being a friend to her. 
 The meaning was that their hearts had been talking while 
 their tongues had spoken of other things ; and though 
 there was no thought of love in the breast of Winsome 
 Charteris, already in the intercourse of a single morning 
 she had given this young Edinburgh student of divinity a 
 place which no other had ever attained to. Had she had a 
 brother, she thought, what would he not have been to her? 
 She felt specially fitted to have a brother. It did not occur 
 to her to ask whether she would have carried her brother's 
 college note-book, even by accident, where it could be stirred 
 by the beating of her heart.
 
 CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE. 41 
 
 " Well," Ealph said at last, " I will tell you what I was 
 wondering. You have asked me, and you shall know : I 
 only wondered why your eyelashes were so much darker 
 than your hair." 
 
 Winsome Charteris was not in the least disturbed. 
 
 " Ministers should occupy their minds with something 
 else," she said, demurely. " What would Mr. Welsh say ? 
 I am sure he has never troubled his head about such things. 
 It is not fitting," Winsome said severely. 
 
 " But I want to know," said this persistent young man, 
 wondering at himself. 
 
 " Well," said Winsome, glancing up with mischief in 
 her eye, " I suppose because I am a very lazy sort of per- 
 son, and dark window-blinds keep out the light." 
 
 " But why are they curled up at the end? " asked un- 
 blushingly the author of the remarks upon Eve formerly 
 quoted. 
 
 " It is time that you went up and saw my grandmother ! " 
 said Winsome, with great composure. 
 
 " Juist what I was on the point o' remarkin' mysel' ! " 
 said Mes: Kissock. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE. 
 
 Winsome and Ralph walked silently and composedly side 
 by side up the loaning under the elder-trees, over the brook at 
 the watering-place to which in her hoydenish girlhood Win- 
 some had often ridden the horses when the ploughmen 
 loosed Bell and Jess from the plough. In these days she 
 rode without a side-saddle. Sometimes she did it yet when 
 the spring gloamings were gathering fast, but no one know
 
 42 TEE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 this except Jock Forrest, the ploughman, who never told 
 any more than he could help. 
 
 Silence deep as that of yesterday wrapped about the 
 farmhouse of Craig Ronald. The hens were all down under 
 the lee of the great orchard hedge, chuckling low to them- 
 selves, and nestling with their feathers spread balloon-wise, 
 while they flirted the hot summer dust over them. Down 
 where the grass was in shadow a mower was sharpening 
 his blade. The clear metallic sound of the " strake " or 
 sharpening strop, covered with pure white Loch Skerrow 
 sand set in grease, which scythemen universally use in Gal- 
 loway, cut through the slumberous hum of the noonday air 
 like the blade itself through the grass. The bees in the 
 purple flowers beneath the window, boomed a mellow bass, 
 and the grasshoppers made love by millions in the couch 
 grass, chirring in a thousand fleeting raptures. 
 
 " Wait here while I go in," commanded Winsome, indi- 
 cating a chair in the cool, blue-flagged kitchen, which Meg 
 Kissock had marked out in white, with whorls and crosses 
 of immemorial antiquity — the same that her Pictish fore- 
 fathers had cut deep in the hard Silurian rocks of the south- 
 ern uplands. 
 
 It was a little while before, in the dusk of the doorway 
 Winsome appeared, looking paler and fairer and more in- 
 finitely removed from him than before. Instinctively he 
 wished himself out with her again on the broomy knowe. 
 He seemed somehow nearer to her there. Yet he followed 
 obediently enough. 
 
 Within the shadowed " ben "-room of Craig Ronald all 
 the morning this oddly assorted pair of old peojile had been 
 sitting — as indeed every morning they sat, one busily read- 
 ing and often looking up to talk ; while the other, the mas- 
 ter of the house himself, sat silent, a majestic and altogether 
 pathetic flgure, looking solemnly out with wide-open, dreamy
 
 CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE. 43 
 
 eyes, waking to the actual world of speech and purposeful 
 life only at rare intervals. 
 
 But Walter Skirving was keenly awake when Ealph 
 Peden entered. It was in fact he, and not his jDartner, who 
 spoke first — for Walter Skirving's wife had among other 
 things learned when to be silent — which was, when she 
 must. 
 
 " You honour my hoose," he said ; " though it grieves 
 me indeed that I canna rise to receive yin o' your family an' 
 name 1 But what I have is at your service, for it was your 
 noble faither that led the faithful into the wilderness on the 
 day o' the Great Apostasy ! " 
 
 The young man shook him by the hand. He had no 
 bashfulness here. He was on his own ground. This was 
 the very accent of the society in which he moved in Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 " I thank you," he said, quietly and courteously, step- 
 ping back at once into the student of divinity ; " I have 
 often heard my father speak of you. You were the elder 
 from the south who stood by him on that day. He has 
 ever retained a great respect for you." 
 
 " It ivas a great day," Walter Skirving muttered, letting 
 his arm rest on the little square deal table which stood be- 
 side him with his great Bible open upon it—" a great day — 
 aye, Maister Peden's laddie i' my hoose ! He's welcome, he's 
 mair nor welcome." 
 
 So saying, he turned his eyes once more on the blue mist 
 that filled the wide Grannoch Valley, and the bees hummed 
 again in the honey-scented marshmallows so that all heard 
 them. 
 
 " This is my grandmother," said Winsome, who stood 
 quite quiet behind her chair, swinging the sunbonnet in her 
 hand. From her flower-set corner the old lady lield out her 
 hand. With a touch of his father's old-fashioned courtesy
 
 44 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 he stooped and kissed it. Winsome instinctively put her 
 hand quickly behind her as though he had kissed that. 
 Once such practices have a beginning, who knows where 
 they may end ? She had not expected it of him, though, 
 curiously, she thought no worse of him for his gallantry. 
 
 But the lady of Craig Ronald was obviously greatly 
 pleased. 
 
 " The lad has gaid bluid in him. That's the minnie 
 [mother] o' him, nae doot. She was a Gilchrist o' Linwood 
 on Nithsdale. What she saw in your faither to tak' him I 
 dinna ken ouy mair than I ken hoo it cam' to pas8 that I 
 am the mistress o' Walter Skirving's hoose the day. — Come 
 cot ahint my chair, lassie ; dinna be lauchin' ahint folks's 
 backs. D'ye think I'm no mistress o' my ain hoose yet, for 
 a' that ye are sic a grand hoosekeeper wi' your way o't." 
 
 The accusation was wholly gratuitous. Winsome had 
 been grave with a great gravity. But she came obediently 
 out, and seated herself on a low stool by her grandmother's 
 side. There she sat, holding her hand, and leaning her elbow 
 on her knee. Ralph thought he had never seen anything so 
 lovely in his life — an observation entirely correct. The old 
 lady was clad in a dress of some dark stiff material, softer 
 than brocade, which, like herself, was more beautiful in its 
 age than even in youth. Folds of snowy lawn covered her 
 breast and fell softly about her neck, fastened there by a 
 plain black pin. Her face was like a portrait by Henry 
 Raeburn, so beautifully venerable and sweet. The twinkle 
 in her brown eyes alone told of the forceful and restless 
 spirit which was imprisoned within. She had been reading 
 a new volume of the Great Unknown which the Lady Eliza- 
 beth had sent her over from the Big House of Greatorix. 
 She had laid it down on the entry of the young man. Now 
 she turned sharp upon him. 
 
 " Let me look at ye, Maister Ralph Peden. Whaur gat
 
 CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE. 45 
 
 ye the ' Ralph ' ? That's nae westland Whig name. Aye, 
 aye, I mind — what's comin' o' my memory? Yer grand- 
 faither was auld Ralph Gilchrist ; but ye dinna tak' after 
 the Gilchrists — na, na, there was no ane o' them weel faured 
 — muckle moo'd [large-mouthed] Gilchrists they ca'ed them. 
 It'll be your faither that you favour." 
 
 And she turned him about for inspection with her hand. 
 
 " Grandmother — " began Winsome, anxious lest she 
 should say something to offend the guest of the house. But 
 the lady did not heed her gentle monition. 
 
 " Was't you that ran awa' frae a bonny lass yestreen ? " 
 she queried, sudden as a flash of summer lightning. 
 
 It was now the turn of both the younger folk to blush. 
 Winsome reddened with vexation at the thought that he 
 should think that she had seen him run and gone about 
 telling of it. Ralph grew redder and redder, and remained 
 speechless. He did not think of anything at all. 
 
 " I am fond of exercise," he said falteringly. 
 
 The gay old lady rippled into a delicious silver stream of 
 laughter, a little thin, but charmingly provocative. Win- 
 some did not join, but she looked np imploringly at her 
 grandmother, leaning her head back till her tresses swept 
 the ground. 
 
 When Mistress Skirving recovered herself, 
 
 " Exerceese, quo' he, heard ye ever the like o' that ? In 
 their young days lads o' speerit took their exerceese in comin' 
 to see a bonny lass — juist as I was sayin' to Winifred yes- 
 treen nae faurer gane. Hoot awa', twa young folk ! The 
 simmer days are no lang. Waes me, but I had my sliare o' 
 them ! Tak' them while they shine, bankside an' burnside 
 an' the bonny heather. Aince they bloomed for Ailie Gor- 
 don. Once she gaed hand in hand alang the braes, where 
 noo she'll gang nae mair. Awa' wi' ye, ye're young an' hon- 
 est. Twa auld cankered carles are no fit company for twa
 
 46 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 young folks like yon. Awa' wi' ye ; dinna be strange wi' his 
 mither's bairn, say I — an' the guid man hae's spoken for the 
 daddy o' him." 
 
 Thus was Ealph Peden made free of the Big Iloose of 
 Craig Ronald. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE minister's man ARMS FOR CONQUEST. 
 
 Saunders Mowdiewort, minister's man and grave-dig- 
 ger, was going a sweethearting. He took off slowly the 
 leathern " breeks " of his craft, sloughing them as an adder 
 casts his skin. They collapsed upon the floor with a hide- 
 ous suggestion of distorted human limbs, as Saunders went 
 about his further preparations. Saunders was a great, soft- 
 bodied, fair man, of the cliuby flaxen type so rare in Scot- 
 land — the type which looks at home nowhere but along the 
 south coast of England. Saunders was about thirty-five. 
 He was a widower in search of a wife, and made no secret 
 of his devotion to Margaret Kissock, the " lass " of the farm 
 town of Craig Ronald. 
 
 Saunders was slow of speech when in company, and bash- 
 ful to a degree. He was accustomed to make up his mind 
 what he would say before venturing within the range of the 
 sharp tongue of his well-beloved — an excellent plan, but one 
 which requires for success both self-possession and a good 
 memory. But for lack of these Saunders had made an ex- 
 cellent courtier. 
 
 Saunders made his toilet in the little stable of the 
 manse above which he slept. As he scrubbed himself he 
 kept up a constant sibilant hissing, as though he were an 
 equine of doubtful steadiness witli whom the hostler be-
 
 THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS FOR CONQUEST. 47 
 
 hooved to be careful. First he carefully removed the dirt 
 down to a kind of Plimsoll load-line midway his neck ; 
 then he frothed the soap-suds into his red rectangular ears, 
 which stood out like speaking trumpets ; there he let it 
 remain. Soap is for putting on the face, grease on the 
 hair. It is folly then to wash either off. Besides being 
 wasteful. His flaxen hair stood out in wet strands and 
 clammy tags and tails. All the while Saunders kept mut- 
 tering to himself : 
 
 " An' says I to her : ' Meg Kissock, ye're a bonny wom- 
 an,' says I. ' My certie, but ye hae e'en like spunkies [will- 
 o'-the-wisps] or maybes," said Saunders in a meditative tone. 
 " I had better say ' like whurlies in a sky-licht.' It micht 
 be considered mair lovin' like ! " 
 
 " Then she'll up an' say : ' Saunders, ye mak' me fair 
 ashamed to listen to ye. Be mensefu' [polite], can ye no ? ' " 
 
 This pleased Saunders so much that he slapped his thigh 
 so that the pony started and clattered to the other side of 
 his stall. 
 
 " Then I'll up an' tak' her roun' the waist, an' I'll look 
 at her like this — " (here Saunders practised the effect of his 
 fascinations in the glass, a panorama which was to some ex- 
 tent marred by the necessary opening of his mouth to en- 
 able the razor he was using to excavate the bristles out of 
 the professional creases in his lower jaw. Saunders pulled 
 down his mouth to express extra grief when a five-foot 
 grave had been ordered. His seven-foot manifestations of 
 respect for the deceased were a sight to see. He held the 
 opinion that anybody that had no more ' conceit 0' themsel' ' 
 [were so much left to themselves] than to be buried in a 
 three-foot grave, did not deserve to be mourned at all. This 
 crease, then, was one of Saunders's assets, and had there- 
 fore to be carefully attended to. Even love must not in- 
 terfere with it.
 
 48 THE LILAC S'JNBONNET. 
 
 " Sae after that, I shall tak' her roun' the waist, juist 
 like this — " said he, insinuating his left arm circumferen- 
 tially. It was an ill-judged movement, for, instead of cir- 
 cling Meg Kissock's waist, he extended his arm round the 
 off hindleg of Birsie, the minister's pony, who had become 
 a trifle short tempered in his old age. Now it was upon 
 that very leg and at that very place that, earlier in the day, 
 a large buzzing horse-fly had temporarily settled. Birsie 
 was in no condition, therefore, for argument upon the sub- 
 ject. So with the greatest readiness he struck straight out 
 behind and took Saunders what he himself called a " dinnle 
 on the elbuck." Nor was this all, for the razor suddenly 
 levered upwards by Birsie's hoof added another and entirely 
 unprofessional wrinkle to his face. 
 
 Saunders uprose in wrath, for the soap was stinging furi- 
 ously in the cut, and expostulated with Birsie with a hand- 
 ful of reins which he lifted off the lid of the corn-chest. 
 
 " Ye ill-natured, thrawn, upsettin' blastie, ye donnart 
 auld deevil ! " he cried. 
 
 " Alexander Mowdiewort, gin ye desire to use minced 
 oaths and braid oaths indiscriminately, ye shall not use 
 them in my stable. Though ye be but a mere Erastian and 
 uncertain in yer kirk membership, ye are at least an occa- 
 sional hearer, whilk is better than naething, at the kirk o' 
 the Marrow ; and what is more to the point, ye are my own 
 hired servant, and I desire that ye cease from makin' use o' 
 any such expressions upon my premises." 
 
 " Weel, minister," said Saunders, penitently, " I ken 
 brawly I'm i' the wrang ; but ye ken yersel', gin ye had got- 
 ten a dinnle i' the elbuck that garred ye loup like a troot i' 
 Luckie Mowatt's pool, or gin ye had cuttit yersel' wi' yer 
 ain razor, wad ' Efiiectual Callin',' think ye, hae been the 
 first word i' yer mooth ? Noo, minister, fair Hornie ! " 
 
 " At anv rate," said the minister, " what I would have
 
 THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS FOR CONQUEST. 49 
 
 said or done is no excuse for you, as ye well know. But how 
 did it happen ? " 
 
 " Weel, sir, ye see the way o't was this : I was thinkin' 
 to mysel', ' There's twa or three ways o' takin' the bulks intil 
 the pulpit — There's the way consequential — that's Gilbert 
 Prettiman o' the Kirkland's way. Did ever ye notice the 
 body ? He bauds the Bibles afore him as if he war Moses 
 an' Aaron gaun afore Pharaoh, wi' the coat-taillies o' him 
 fleein' oot ahint, an' his chin pointin' to the soon'in'-board 
 o' the pulpit." 
 
 " Speak respectfully of the patriarchs," said Mr. Welsh 
 sententiously. Saunders looked at him with some wonder 
 expressed in his eyes. 
 
 " Far be it f rae me," he said, " to speak lichtly o' ony ane 
 o' them (though, to tell the truth, some o' them war gye 
 boys). I hae been ower lang connectit wi' them, for I hae 
 carriet the bulks for fifteen year, ever since my faither racket 
 himsel' howkin' the grave o' yer predecessor, honest man, 
 an' I hae leeved a' my days juist ower the wa' frae the kirk." 
 
 " But then they say, Saunders," said the minister, smil- 
 ingly, " ' the nearer the kirk the farther frae grace.' " 
 
 " 'Deed, minister," said Saunders, " Grace Kissock is a 
 nice bit lassie, but an' Jess will be no that ill in a year or 
 twa, but o' a' the Kissocks commend me till Meg. She wad 
 mak' a graund wife. What think ye, minister?" 
 
 Mr. Welsh relaxed his habitual severe sadness of expres- 
 sion and laughed a little. He was accustomed to the sud- 
 den jumps which his man's conversation was wont to take. 
 
 " Nay," he said, " but that is a question for you, Saun- 
 ders. It is not I that think of marrying her." 
 
 "The Lord be thankit for that! for gin the minister 
 gaed speerin', what chance wad there be for the betheral ? " 
 
 " Have you spoken to Meg herself yet ? " asked Mr. 
 Welsh.
 
 50 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Na," said Saunders ; " I haena that, though I hae made 
 up my mind to hae it oot wi' her this verra nicht — if sae it 
 micht be that ye warna needin' me, that is — " he added, 
 doubtfully, " but I hae guid reason to hope that Meg — " 
 
 " What reason have you, Saunders ? Has Margaret ex- 
 pressed a preference for you in any way ? " 
 
 " Preference ! " said Saunders ; " 'deed she has that, 
 minister ; a maist marked preference. It was only the last 
 Tuesday afore Whussanday [Whitsunday] that she gied me 
 a clour [knock] i' the lug that fair dang me stupid. Caa 
 thatyenocht?" 
 
 " Well, Saunders," said the minister, going out, " cer- 
 tainly I wish you good speed in your wooing ; but see that 
 you fall no more out with Birsie, lest you be more bruised 
 than you are now ; and for the rest, learn wisely to restrain 
 your unruly member." 
 
 " Thank ye, minister," said Saunders ; " I'll do my best 
 endeavours to obleege ye. Meg's clours are to be borne wi' 
 a' complaisancy, but Birsie's dunts are, so to s^jeak, gra- 
 tuitous ! " 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF. 
 
 "Here's theCuif!" said Meg Kissock, who with her 
 company gown on, and her face glowing from a brisk wash, 
 sat knitting a stocking in the rich gloaming light at the 
 gable end of the house of Craig Eonald. Winsome usually 
 read a book, sitting by the window which looked up the 
 long green croft to the fir-woods and down to the quiet 
 levels of Loch Grannoch, on which the evening mist was 
 gathering a pale translucent blue. It was a common thing
 
 THE ADVENT OP THE CUIP. 51 
 
 for Meg and Jessie Kissock to bring their knitting and 
 darning there, and on their milking-stools sit below the 
 window. If Winsome were in a mood for talk she did not 
 read much, but listened instead to the brisk chatter of tlie 
 maids. Sometimes the ploughmen, Jock Forrest and Ebie 
 Farrish, came to " ca' the crack," and it was Winsome's 
 delight on these occasions to listen to the flashing claymore 
 of Meg Kissock's rustic wit. Before she settled down, Meg 
 had taken in the three tall candles " ben the hoose," where 
 the old people sat — Walter Skirving, as ever, silent and far 
 away, his wife deep in some lively book lent her by the 
 Lady Elizabeth out of the library of Greatorix Castle. 
 
 A bank of wild thyme lay just beneath Winsome's win- 
 dow, and over it the cows were feeding, blowing softly 
 through their nostrils among the grass and clover till the 
 air was fragrant with their balmy breath. 
 
 " Guid e'en to ye, ' Cuif,' " cried Meg Kissock as soon as 
 Saunders Mowdiewort came within earshot. He came stol- 
 idly forward tramping through the bog with his boots newly 
 greased with what remained of the smooth candle " dowp " 
 with which he had sleeked his flaxen locks. He wore a 
 broad blue Kilmarnock bonnet, checked red and white in a 
 "dam-brod" [draught-board] pattern round the edge, and a 
 blue-buttoned coat with broad pearl buttons. It may be 
 well to explain that there is a latent meaning, apparent 
 only to Galloway folk of the ancient time, in the word 
 "cuif." It conveys at once the ideas of inefficiency and 
 folly, of simplicity and the ignorance of it. The cuif is a 
 feckless person of the male sex, who is a recognized butt 
 for a whole neighbourhood to sharpen its wits upon. 
 
 The particular cuif so addressed by Meg came slowly 
 over the knoll. 
 
 " Guid e'en to ye," ho said, with his best visiting man- 
 ners.
 
 52 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Can ye no see me as weel, Saunders? " said Jess, archly, 
 for all was grist that came to her mill. 
 
 Saunders rose like a trout to the fly. 
 
 " Ow aye, Jess, lass, I saw ye brawly, but it disna do to 
 come seekin' twa lasses at ae time." 
 
 " Dinna ye be thinkin' to put awa' Meg, an' then come 
 coortin' me ! " said Jess, sharply. 
 
 Saunders was hurt for the moment at this pointed allu- 
 sion both to his profession and also to his condition as a 
 " seekin' " widower. 
 
 " Wha seeks you, Jess, 'ill be sair ill-aff ! " he replied 
 very briskly for a cuif. 
 
 The sound of Meg's voice in round altercation with Jock 
 Gordon, the privileged " natural " or innocent fool of the 
 parish, interrupted this interchange of amenities, which was 
 indeed as friendly and as much looked for between lads and 
 lasses as the ordinary greeting of " Weel, hoo's a' wi' ye the 
 nicht ? " which began every conversation between responsi- 
 ble folks. 
 
 " Jock Gordon, ye lazy ne'er-do-weel, ye hinna carried in 
 a single peat, an' it comin' on for parritch-time. D'ye 
 think my maister can let the like o' you sorn on him, week 
 in, Aveek oot, like a mawk on a sheep's hurdie? Gae wa' 
 cot o' that, lyin' sumphin' [sulking] an' sleepin' i' the mid- 
 dle o' the forenicht, an' carry the water for the boiler an' 
 bring in the peats frae the stack." 
 
 Tlien there arose a strange elricht quavering voice — the 
 voice of those to whom has not been granted their due share 
 of wits. Jock Gordon was famed all over the country for 
 his shrewd replies to those who set their wits in contest with 
 his. Jock is remembered on all Deeside, and even to Niths- 
 dale. He Avas a man well on in years at this time, certainly not 
 less than forty-five. But on his face there was no wrinkle 
 set, not a fleck of gray upon his bonuetless fox-red shock of
 
 THE ADVENT OF THE CUIP. 53 
 
 hair, weather-rusted and usually stuck full of feathers and 
 short pieces of hay. Jock Gordon was permitted to wander 
 as a privileged visitor through the length and breadth of the 
 south hill country. He paid long visits to Craig Eonald, 
 where he had a great admiration and reverence for the 
 young mistress, and a hearty detestation for Meg Kissock, 
 who, as he at all times asserted, " was the warst maister to 
 serve atween the Cairnsmuirs." 
 
 " Eicht weel I'll do yer biddin', Meg Kissock," he an- 
 swered in his shrill falsetto, " but no for your sake or the sake 
 o' ony belangin' to you. But there's yae bonny doo [dove], 
 wi' her hair like gowd, an' a fit that she micht set on Jock 
 Gordon's neck, an' it wad please him weel. An' said she, 
 ' Do the wark Meg Kissock bids ye,' so Jock Gordon, Lord 
 o' Kelton Hill an' Earl o' Clairbrand, will perform a' yer 
 wuU. Otherwise it's no in any dochter o' Hurkle-backit 
 [bent-backed] Kissock to gar Jock Gordon move haund 
 or fit." 
 
 So saying, Jock clattered away with his water-pails, mut- 
 tering to himself. 
 
 Meg Kissock came out again to sit down on her milking- 
 stool under the westward window, within which was Win- 
 some Charteris, reading her book unseen by the last glow 
 of the red west. 
 
 Jess and Saunders Mowdiewort had fallen silent. Jess 
 had said her say, and did not intend to exert herself to en- 
 tertain her sister's admirer. Jess was said to look not un- 
 kindly on Ebie Farrish, the younger ploughman who had 
 recently come to Craig Ronald from one of the farms at the 
 " laigli " end of the parish. Ebie had also, it was said, 
 with better authority, a hanging eye to Jess, who had the 
 greater reason to be kind to him, that he was the first since 
 her return from England who had escaped the more bravura 
 attractions of her sister.
 
 54 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Can ye no find a seat guid eneuch to sit doon on, 
 cuif ? " inquired Meg with quite as polite an intention as 
 though she had said, " Be so kind as to take a seat." The 
 cuif, who had been uneasily balancing himself first on one 
 foot and then on the other, and apologetically passing his 
 hand over the sleek side of his head which was not covered 
 by the bonnet, replied gratefully : 
 
 " 'Deed I wull that, Meg, since ye are sae pressin'." 
 
 He went to the end of the milk-house, selected a small 
 tub used for washing the dishes of red earthenware and 
 other domestic small deer, turned it upside down, and seated 
 himself as near to Meg as he dared. Then he tried to think 
 what it was he had intended to say to her, but the words 
 somehow would not now come at call. Before long he 
 hitched his seat a little nearer, as though his present posi- 
 tion was not quite comfortable. 
 
 But Meg checked him sharply. 
 
 " Keep yer distance, cuif," she said ; " ye smell o' the 
 muils " [churchyard earth]. 
 
 " Na, na, JMeg, ye ken brawly I haena been howkin' 
 [digging] since Setterday fortnicht, when I burriet Tarn 
 Eogerson's wife's guid-brither's auntie, that leeved grain- 
 in' an' deein' a' her life wi' the rheumatics an' Avame 
 disease, an' died at the last o' eatin' swine's cheek an' 
 guid Cheddar cheese thegither at Sandy Mulquharchar's 
 pig-killin'." 
 
 " Noo, cuif," said Meg, with an accent of warning in her 
 voice, " gin ye dinna let alane deevin' [deafening] us wi' yer 
 kirkyaird clavers, ye'll no sit lang on my byne " [tub]. 
 
 From the end of the peat-stack, out of the dark hole 
 made by the excavation of last winter's stock of fuel, came 
 the voice of Jock Gordon, singing : 
 
 " The deil he sat on the high lumtap, 
 Ilech Jiou', black an' reeky !
 
 THE ADVENT OP THE CUIF. 55 
 
 Gang yer ways and drink yer drap, 
 Ye'll need it a' whan ye come to stap 
 In my hole sae black an' reeky, ! 
 Ilech how, black an' reeky ! 
 
 " Hieland kilt an' Lawland hose, 
 Parritch-fed an' reared on brose, 
 Ye'll drink nae drap whan yc come tae stap 
 In my hole sae black an' reeky, ! 
 Ilech how, black an' reeky ! " 
 
 Meg Kissock and her sweetheart stopped to listen. 
 Saunders Mowdiewort smiled an unprofessional smile when 
 he heard the song of the natural. 
 
 " That's a step ayont the kirkyaird, Meg," he said. " Gin 
 ye hae sic objections to hear aboot honest men in their hon- 
 est graves, what say ye to that elricht craitur scraichin' aboot 
 the verra deil an' his hearth -stane ? " 
 
 Certainly it sounded more than a trifle uncanny in the 
 gloaming, coming out of that dark place where even in the 
 daytime the black Galloway rats cheeped and scurried, to 
 hear the high, quavering voice of Jock Gordon singing his 
 unearthly rhymes. 
 
 By-and-bye those at the house gable could see that the 
 innocent had climbed to the top of the peat-stack in some 
 elvish freak, and sat there cracking his thumbs and singing 
 with all his might : 
 
 " Ilech hnic, black an reeky, 
 In my hole sae black an' reeky, ! " 
 
 " Come doon oot o' that this meenit, Jock Gordon, yc 
 gomeral ! " cried Meg, shaking her fist at the uncouth shape 
 twisting and singing against the sunset sky like one de- 
 mented. 
 
 The song stopped, and Jock Gordon slowly turned his 
 head in their direction. All were looking towards him, ex-
 
 56 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 cept Ebie Farrish, the new ploughman, who was wondering 
 what Jess Kissock would do if he put his arm around her 
 waist. 
 
 " What said ye ? " Jock asked from his perch on the top 
 of the peat-stack. 
 
 " Hae ye fetched in the peats an' the water, as I bade 
 ye ? " asked Meg, with great asperity in her voice. " D'ye 
 think that ye'll win aff ony the easier in the hinnerend, by 
 sittin' up there like yin o' his ain bairns, takkin' the deil's 
 name in vain ? " 
 
 " Gin ye dinna tak' tent to [care of J yersel', Meg Kis- 
 sock," retorted Jock, " wi' yer eternal yammer o' ' Peats, Jock 
 Gordon, an' ' Water, Jock Gordon,' ye'll maybes find yersel' 
 whaur Jock Gordon'll no be there to serve ye ; but the 111 
 Auld Boy'll keep ye in routh o' peats, never ye fret, Meg 
 Kissock, wi' that reed-heed [red head] o' yours to set them 
 a-lunt [on fire]. Faith an' ye may cry 'Water! water!' 
 till ye crack yer jaws, but nae Jock Gordon there — na, na 
 — nae Jock Gordon there. Jock kens better." 
 
 But at this moment there was a prolonged rumble, and 
 the whole party sitting by the gable end (the " gavel," as it 
 was locally expressed) rose to their feet from tub and hag- 
 clog and milking-stool. There had been a great land-slip. 
 The whole side of the peat-stack had tumbled bodily into 
 the great " black peat-hole " from which the winter's peats 
 had come, and which was a favourite lair of Jock's own, 
 being ankle-deep in fragrant dry peat " coom " — which is, 
 strange to say, a perfectly clean and even a luxurious bed- 
 ding, far to be preferred as a couch to " flock " or its kin- 
 dred abominations. 
 
 All the party ran forward to see what had become of 
 Jock, whose song had come to so swift a close. 
 
 Out of the black mass of down-fallen peat there came a 
 strange, pleading voice.
 
 THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF. 5Y 
 
 " guid deil, kind deil, dinna yirk awa' puir Jock to 
 that ill bit — puir Jock, that never yet did ye ony hairm, but 
 aye wished ye weel ! Lat me alf this time, braw deil, an' I'll 
 sing nae mair ill sangs aboot ye ! " 
 
 " Save us ! " exclaimed Meg Kissock, " the craitur's pray- 
 in' to the 111 Body himsel'." 
 
 Ebbie Farrish began to clear away the peat, which was, 
 indeed, no difficult task. As he did so, the voice of Jock 
 Gordon mounted higher and higher : 
 
 " mercy me, I hear them clawin' and skrauchelin' ! 
 Dinna let the wee yins wi' the lang riven taes and the nebs 
 like gleds [beaks like kites] get baud o' me ! I wad rayther 
 hae yersel', Maister o' Sawtan, for ye are a big mensefu' 
 deil. Ouch ! I'm dune for noo, althegither ; he haes gotten 
 puir Jock ! Sirce me, I smell the reekit rags o' him ! " 
 
 But it was only Ebie Farrish that had him by the roll 
 of ancient cloth which served as a collar for Jock's coat. 
 When he was pulled from under the peats and set upon his 
 feet, he gazed around with a bewildered look. 
 
 " man, Ebie Farrish," he said solemnly, " If I didna 
 think ye war the deil himsel' — ye see what it is to be misled 
 by ootward appearances ! " 
 
 There was a shout of laughter at the expense of Ebie, in 
 which Meg thought that she heard an answering ripple 
 from within Winsome's room. 
 
 " Surely, Jock, ye were never prayin' to the deil ? " asked 
 Meg from the window, very seriously. " Ye ken far better 
 than that." 
 
 " An' what for should I no pray to the deil ? lie's a 
 desperate onsonsy chiel yon. It's as weel to be in wi' him 
 as oot wi' him ony day. AVha' kens what's afore them, or 
 wha they may be behaudin' to afore the morrow's morn?" 
 answered Jock stoutly. 
 
 " But d'ye ken," said John Scott, the theological herd,
 
 58 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 who had quietly " daundered doon " as he said, from his cot- 
 house up on the hill, where his bare-legged bairns played 
 on the heather and short grass all day, to set his shoulder 
 against the gable end for an hour with the rest. 
 
 " D'ye ken what Maister AVelsh was sayin' was the new 
 doctrine amang thae New Licht Moderates — 'hireling shep- 
 herds,' he ca'd them ? Noo I'm no on mysel' wi' sae muckle 
 speakin' aboot the deil. But the minister was sayin' that 
 the New Moderates threep [assert] that there's nae deil at a'. 
 He dee'd some time since ! " 
 
 " Gae wa' wi' ye, John Scott ! wha's gaun aboot doin' sae 
 muckle ill then, I wad like to ken?" said Meg Kissock. 
 
 " Dinna tell me," said Jock Gordon, " that the puir 
 deil's deed, and that we'll hae to pit up wi' Ebie Farrish. 
 Na, na, Jock's maybe daft, but he kens better than that ! " 
 
 " They say," said John Scott, pulling meditatively at his 
 cutty, " that the pooer is vested noo in a kind o' comy-tee 
 [committee] ! " 
 
 " I dinna baud wi' comy-tees mysel'," replied Meg ; " it's 
 juist haein' mony maisters, ilka yin mair cankersome and 
 thrawn than anither ! " 
 
 " Weel, gin this news be true, there's a heep o' f owk in 
 this parish should be mentioned in his wull," said Jock 
 Gordon, significantly. " They're near kin till him — forby a 
 heep o' bairns that he has i' the laich-side o' the loch. 
 They're that hard there, they'll no gie a puir body a meal 
 o' meat or the shelter o' a barn." 
 
 " But," said Ebie Farrish, who had been thinking that, 
 after all, the new plan might have its conveniences, " gin 
 there's nae deil to tempt, there'll be nae deil to punish," 
 
 But the herd was a staunch ^larrow man. He was not 
 led away by any human criticism, nor yet by the new 
 theology. 
 
 " New Licht here, New Licht there," he said ; " I canna'
 
 THE ADVENT OP TUE CUIF. 59 
 
 pairt wi' ma deil. Na, na, that's ower muckle to expecc o' 
 a man o' my age ! " 
 
 Having thus defined his theological position, witliout a 
 word more he threw his soft checked plaid of Galloway- 
 wool over his shoulders, and fell into the herd's long swing- 
 ing heather step, mounting the steep brae up to his cot on 
 the hillside as easily as if he were walking along a level road. 
 
 There was a long silence; then a ringing sound, sud- 
 den and sharp, and Ebie Farrish fell inexplicably from the 
 axe-chipped hag-clog, which he had rolled up to sit upon. 
 Ebie had been wondering for more than an hour what would 
 happen if he put his arm round Jess Kissock's waist. He 
 knew now. 
 
 Then, after a little Saunders Mowdiewort, who was not 
 unmindful of his prearranged programme nor yet oblivious 
 of the flight of time, saw the stars come out, he knew that 
 if he were to make any progress, he must make haste ; so 
 he leaned over towards his sweetheart and whispered, " Meg, 
 my lass, ye're terrible bonny." 
 
 " D'ye think ye are the first man that has telled me that, 
 cuif ? " said Meg, with point and emphasis. 
 
 Jock Forrest, the senior ploughman — a very quiet, sedate 
 man with a seldom stirred but pretty wit, laughed a short 
 laugh, as though he knew something about that. Again 
 there was a silence, and as the night wind began to draw 
 southward in cool gulps of air off the hills. Winsome Char- 
 teris's window was softly closed. 
 
 " Hae ye nocht better than that to tell us, cuif?" said 
 Meg, briskly, " nocht fresh-like ? " 
 
 " Weel," said Saunders Mowdiewort, groping round for 
 a subject of general interest, his profession and his af- 
 fection being alike debarred, "there's that young Enbra' 
 lad that's come till the manse. He's a queer root, him." 
 
 "What's queer aboot him?" nsked Meg, in a semi-bcl-
 
 QQ THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 ligerent manner. A young man who had burned his fingers 
 for her mistress's sake must not be lightly spoken of. 
 
 " Oh, nocht to his discredit ava, only Manse Bell heard 
 him arguin' wi' the minister aboot the weemen-folk the day 
 that he cam'. He canna' bide them, she says." 
 
 " He has but puir taste," said Ebie Farrish ; " a snod bit 
 lass is the bonniest work o' Natur'. Noo for mysel' " 
 
 " D'ye want anither ? " asked Jess, without apparent 
 connection. 
 
 " He'll maybe mend o' that opeenion, as mony a wise 
 man has dune afore him," said Meg, sententiously. " Gae 
 on, cuif ; what else aboot the young man ? " 
 
 " Oh, he's a lad o' great lear. He can read ony lan- 
 guage back or forrit, up or doon, as easy as suppin' sowens. 
 He can speak byordinar' graund. They say he'll beat the 
 daddy o' him for preachin' when he's leecensed. He rade 
 Birsie this mornin' too, after the kickin' randie had cuist 
 me aff his back like a draff sack." 
 
 " Then what's queer aboot him ? " said Jess. 
 
 Meg said nothing. She felt a draft of air suck into 
 Winsome's room, so that she knew that the subject was of 
 such interest that her mistress had again opened her win- 
 dow. Meg leaned back so far that she could discern a glint 
 of yellow hair in the darkness. 
 
 The cuif was about to light his pipe. Meg stopped 
 him. 
 
 " Nane o' yer lichts here, cuif," she said ; " it's time ye 
 were thinkin' aboot gaun ower the hill. But ye haena' tailed 
 us yet what's queer aboot the lad." 
 
 " Weel, woman, he's aye write — writin', whiles on sheets 
 o' paper, and whiles on bulks." 
 
 " There's nocht queer aboot that," says Meg; "so does 
 ilka minister." 
 
 " But Manse Bell gied me ane o' his writings, that she
 
 THE ADVENT OP THE CUIP. 61 
 
 had gotten aboot his bedroom somewhere. She said that 
 the wun' had blawn't aff his table, but I misdoot her." 
 
 " Yer ower great wi' Manse Bell an' the like o' her, for 
 a man that comes to see me ! " said Meg, who was a very 
 particular young woman indeed. 
 
 " It was euttit intil lengths like the metre psalms, but it 
 luikit gye an' daft like, sae I didna' read it," said the cuif 
 hastily. " Here it's to ye, Meg. I was e'en gaun to licht my 
 cutty wi't." Something shone gray-white in Saunders's hand 
 as he held it out to Meg. It passed into Meg's j)alm, and 
 then was seen no more. 
 
 The session at the house end was breaking up. Jess 
 had vanished silently. Ebie Farrish was not. Jock For- 
 rest had folded his tent and stolen away. Meg and Saun- 
 ders were left alone. It was his supreme opportunity. 
 
 He leaned over towards his sweetheart. His blue bon- 
 net had fallen to the ground, and there was a distinct odour 
 of warm candle-grease in the air. 
 
 " Meg," he said, " yer niaist amazin' bonny, an' I'm that 
 fond o' ye that I am faain' awa' frae my meat ! Meg, 
 woman, I think o' ye i' the mornin' afore the Lord's Prayer, 
 I sair misdoot ! Guid forgie me ! I find mysel' whiles won- 
 derin' gin I'll see ye the day afore I can gang ower in my 
 mind the graves that's to howk, or gin Birsie's oats are dune. 
 Meg, Meg, I'm that fell fond o'ye that I gruppit that 
 thrawn speldron Birsie's hint leg juist i' the fervour o' 
 thiukin' o' ye." 
 
 " Hoo muckle hae ye i' the week ? " said Meg, practically, 
 to bring the matter to a point. 
 
 " A pound a week," said Saunders Mowdiewort, prompt- 
 ly, who though a cuif was a business man, "an' a cottage 
 o' three rooms wi' a graun' view baith back an' front ! " 
 
 "Ow aye," said Meg, sardonically, "I ken yer graund 
 view. It's o' yer last wife's tombstane, wi' the inscriptions
 
 62 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the length o' my rami aboot Betty Mowdiewort au' a' her 
 virtues, that Robert Paterson cuttit till ye a year past in 
 Aprile. Na, na, ye'll no get me to leeve a' my life iookin' 
 cot on that ilk' time I wash my dishes. It wad mak' yin be 
 wantin' to dee afore their time to get sic-like. Gang an' 
 speer [ask] Manse Bell. She's mair nor half blind onyway, 
 an' she's fair girnin' fain for a man, she micht even tak' 
 you." 
 
 With these cruel words Meg lifted her milking-stool and 
 vanished within. The cuif sat for a long time on his byne 
 lost in thought. Then he arose, struck his flint and steel 
 together, and stood looking at the tinder burning till it 
 went out, without having remembered to put it to the pijie 
 which he held in his other hand. After the last sparks ran 
 every way and flickered, he threw the glowing red embers 
 on the ground, kicked the pail on which he had been sit- 
 ting as solemnly as if he had been performing a duty to the 
 end of the yard, and then stepped stolidly into the darkness. 
 
 The hag-clog was now left alone against the wall be- 
 neath Winsome's window, within which there was now the 
 light of a candle and a waxing and waning shadow on the 
 blind as some one went to and fro. Then there Avas a sharp 
 noise as of one clicking in the " steeple " or brace of the 
 front door (which opened in two halves), and then the 
 metallic grit of the key in the lock, for Craig Ronald was 
 a big house, and not a mere farm which might be left all 
 night with unbarred portals. 
 
 Winsome stepped lightly to her own door, which opened 
 "without noise. She looked out and said, in a compromise 
 between a coaxing whisper and a voice of soft command : 
 
 " Meg, I want ye."' 
 
 Meg Kissock came along the passage with the healthy 
 glow of the night air on her cheeks, and her candle in her 
 hand. She seemed as if she would pause at the door, but
 
 TIIK ADVEXT OF THE CUIP. fi3 
 
 Winsome motioned her imjieriously within. So Meg came 
 within, and Winsome shut to the door. Then she simply 
 held out her hand, at which Meg gazed as silently. 
 
 " Meg ! " said Winsome, warningly. 
 
 A queer, faint smile passed momentarily over the face of 
 Winsome's handmaid, as though she had been long trying 
 to solve some problem and had suddenly and unexpectedly 
 found the answer. Slowly she lifted ujj her dark-green 
 druggit skirt, and out of a pocket of enormous size, which 
 was swung about her waist like a captured leviathan heav- 
 ing inanimate on a ship's cable, she extracted a sheet of 
 crumpled paper. 
 
 Winsome took it without a word. ITer eye said " Good- 
 night " to Meg as plain as the minister's text. 
 
 Meg Kissock waited till she was at the door, and then, 
 just as she was making her silent exit, she said : 
 
 " Ye'll tak' as guid care o't as the ither yin ye fand. 
 Ye can pit them baith thegither." 
 
 Winsome took a step towards her as if with some pur- 
 pose of indignant chastisement. But the red head and 
 twinkling eyes of mischief vanished, and Winsome stood 
 with the paper in her hand. Just as she had begun to 
 smooth out the crinkles produced by the liands of Manse 
 Bell who could not read it, Saunders who would not, and 
 Meg Kissock who had not time to read it, the head of the 
 last named was once more projected into the room, looking 
 round the edge of the rose-papered door. 
 
 " Ye'll mak' a braw mistress o' tlie manse, Mistress — 
 Ralph — Peden ! " she said, nodding her head after each 
 proper name.
 
 64 THE LTLAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS. 
 
 Winsome stamped her little foot in real anger now, and 
 crumpling the paper in her hand she threw it indignantly 
 on the floor. She was about to say something to Meg, but 
 that erratic and privileged domestic was in her own room 
 by this time at the top of the house, with the door barred. 
 
 But something like tears stood in Winsome's eyes. She 
 was very angry indeed. She would speak to Meg in the 
 morning. She was mistress of the house, and not to be 
 treated as a child. Meg should have her warning to leave 
 at the term. It was ridiculous the way that she had taken 
 to speaking to her lately. It was clear that she had been 
 allowing her far too great liberties. It did not occur to 
 Winsome Charteris that Meg had been accustomed to tease 
 her in something like this manner about every man under 
 forty who had come to Craig Eonald on any pretext what- 
 ever — from young Johnnie Dusticoat, the son of the whole- 
 sale meal-miller from Dumfries, to Agnew Greatorix, eld- 
 est son of the Lady Elizabeth, who came over from the 
 castle with books for her grandmother rather oftener than 
 might be absolutely necessary, and who, though a papist, 
 had waited for Winsome three Sabbath days at the door of 
 the Marrow kirk, a building which he had never previously 
 entered during his life. 
 
 Winsome went indignant to bed. It was altogether too 
 aggravating that Meg should take on so, she said to herself. 
 
 " Of course I do not care a button," she said as she 
 turned her hot cheek upon the pillow and looked towards 
 the pale gray-blue of the window-panes, in which there was 
 already the promise of the morning ; though yet it was 
 hardly midnight of the short midsummer of the north.
 
 THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS. 05 
 
 " It would be too ridiculous to suppose that I should care 
 for anybody whom I have only seen twice. Why, it was 
 more than a year before I really cai'ed for dear old grannie ! 
 Meg might know better, and it is very silly of her to say 
 things like that. I shall send back his book and paper to- 
 morrow morning by Andrew Kissock when he goes to 
 school." Still even aft^r this resolution she lay sleepless. 
 
 " Now I will go to sleep," said Winsome, resolutely shut- 
 ting her eyes. " I will not think about him any more." 
 Which was assuredly a noble and fitting resolve. But AVin- 
 sonie had yet to discover in restless nights and troubled 
 morrows that sleep and thought are two gifts of God which 
 do not come or go at man's bidding. In her silent cham- 
 ber there seemed to be a kind of hushed yet palpable life. 
 It seemed toWinsome as if there were about her a thousand 
 little whispering voices. Unseen presences flitted every- 
 where. She could hear them laughing such wicked, mocking 
 laughs. They were clustering round the crumpled piece of 
 paper in the corner. Well, it might lie there forever for her. 
 
 " I would not read it even if it were light. I shall send 
 it back to him to-morrow without reading it. Very likely it 
 is a Greek exercise, at any rate." 
 
 Yet, for all these brave sayings, neither sleep nor dawn 
 had come, when, clad in shadowy white and the more mani- 
 fest golden glimmer of her hair, she glided to the window- 
 seat, and drawing a great knitted shawl about her, she sat, 
 a slender figure enveloped from head to foot in sheeny 
 Avhite. The shawl imprisoned the pillow tossed masses of 
 her rippling hair, throwing them forward about her face, 
 which, in the half liglit, seemed to be encircled with an 
 aureole of pale Florentine gold. 
 
 In her hand Winsome held Ralph Peden's poem, and in 
 spite of her determination not to read it, she sat waiting 
 till the dawn should come. It might be something of great
 
 QQ THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 importance. It might only be a Greek exercise. It was, at 
 all events, necessary to find out, in order that she might send 
 it back. 
 
 It was a marvellous dawning, this one that Winsome 
 waited for. Dawn is the secret of the universe. It thrills 
 us somehow with a far-off prophecy of that eternal dawning 
 when the God That Is shall reveal himself — the dawning 
 which shall brighten into the more perfect day. 
 
 It was Just the slack water — the water-shed of the night. 
 So clear it was this June night that the lingering gold be- 
 hind the western ridge of tlie Orchar Hill, where the sun 
 went down, was neither brighter nor yet darker than the 
 faint tinge of lucent green, like the colour of the inner curve 
 of the sea-wave just as it bends to break, which had begun 
 to glow behind the fir woods to the east. 
 
 The birds were w^aking sleepily. Chaflfinches began their 
 clear, short, natural bursts of song. " Chnrr / " said the last 
 barn owl as he betook himself to bed. The first rook sailed 
 slowly overhead from Hensol wood. He was seeking the 
 early worm. The green lake in the east was spreading and 
 taking a roseate tinge just where it touched the pines on the 
 rugged hillside. 
 
 Beneath Winsome's window a blackbird hopped down 
 upon the grass and took a tentative dab or two at the first 
 slug he came across ; but it was really too early for break- 
 fast for a good hour yet, so he flew up again into a bush and 
 preened his feathers, which had been discomposed by the 
 limited accommodation of the night. Now he was on the 
 topmost twig, and Winsome saw him against the crimson 
 pool which was fast deepening in the east. 
 
 Suddenly his mellow pipe fluted out over the grove. 
 Winsome listened as she had never listened before. Why 
 had it become so strangely sweet to listen to the simple 
 sounds? Why did the rich Tyrian dye of the dawn touch
 
 THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS. f,7 
 
 her cheek and flush the flowering floss of her silken hair ? 
 A thrush from the single laurel at the gate told her : 
 
 " There — there — there — " he sang, 
 " Can't you see, caii't you see, can't you see it ? 
 
 Love is the secret, the secret ! 
 Could you hut knotv it, did you hut show it I 
 Hear me ! hear me ! hear me ! 
 Down in the forest I loved her ! 
 Sweet, siveet, sweet ! 
 Would you hut Listen, 
 I would love you ! 
 All is sweet and pure and good ! 
 Twilight and morning dew, 
 
 1 love it, I love it. 
 Do you, do you, do you ?" 
 
 This was the thrush's love-song. Now it was light enough 
 for Winsome to read hers by the red light of the midsum- 
 mer's dawn. This was Ralph's Greek exercise : 
 
 " Sweet mouth, red lips, broad unwrinkled brow. 
 Sworn troth, woven hands, holy marriage vow, 
 Unto us make answer, what is wanting now I 
 
 Love, love, love, the whiteness of the snow ; 
 
 Love, love, love, and the days of long ago. 
 
 " Broad lands, bright sun, as it was of old ; 
 lied wine, loud mirth, gleaming of the gold ; 
 Something yet a-wanting — how shall it be told ? 
 
 Love, love, love, the whiteness of the snow ; 
 
 Love, love, love, and the days of long ago. 
 
 " Large heart, true love, service void of sound, 
 Life-trust, death-trust, here on Scottish ground, 
 As in olden story, surely I have found — 
 
 Love, love, love, the whiteness of tlie snow ; 
 
 Love, love, love, and the days of long ago." 
 
 The thrush had ceased singing while Winsome read. It 
 was another voice which she heard — the first authentic call
 
 QS THE LILAC SUNBuXNET. 
 
 of the springtime for her. It coursed through her blood. 
 It quickened her pulse. It enlarged the pupil of her eye 
 till the clear germander blue of the iris grew moist and dark. 
 It was a song for her heart, and hers alone. She felt it, 
 though no more than a leaf blown to her by chance winds. 
 It might have been written for any other, only she knew that 
 it was not. Ealph Peden had said nothing. The poem cer- 
 tainly did not suggest a student of divinity in the Kirk of 
 the Marrow. There were a thousand objections — a thousand 
 reasons — every one valid, against such a thing. But love 
 that laughs at locksmiths is equally contemptuous of logic. 
 It was hers, hers, and hers alone. A breath from Love's 
 wing as he passed came again to Winsome. The blackbird 
 was silent, but a thrush this time broke in with his jubilant 
 love-song, while Winsome, with her love-song laid against a 
 dewy cheek, paused to listen with a beating heart and a new 
 comprehension : 
 
 " Hear / hear ! hear ! 
 Dear ! clear ! dear ! 
 Far away, far away, far away, 
 
 I saw him pass this way, 
 Tirrieoo, tirrieoo ! so tender and true, 
 
 Chippiwee, chippiivee, oh, try him and see ! 
 Cheer up ! cheer up ! cheer up ! 
 
 Jle'll come and he'll kiss you. 
 
 He'll kiss you arid kiss you, 
 And Til see him do it, do it, do it ! " 
 
 " Go away, you wicked bird ! " said Winsome, when the 
 master singer in speckled grey came to this part of his 
 song. So saying, she threw, with such exact aim that it 
 went in an entirely opposite direction, a quaint, pink sea- 
 shell at the bird, a shell which had been given her by a lad 
 who was going away again to sea three years ago. She was 
 glad now, when she thought of it, that she had kissed him
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. CD 
 
 because he had no mother, for he never came back any 
 more. 
 
 "Keck, keck!" said the mavis indignantly, and went 
 away. 
 
 Then Winsome hiy down on her white bed well content, 
 and pillowed her cheek on a crumpled piece of paper. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 
 
 Love is, at least in maidens' hearts, of the nature of an 
 intermittent fever. The tide of Solway flows, but the more 
 rapid his flow the swifter his ebb. The higher it brings the 
 wrack up the beach, the deeper, six hours after, are laid bare 
 the roots of the seaweed upon the shingle. Now Winsome 
 Charteris, however her heart might conspire against her 
 peace, was not at all the girl to be won before she was 
 asked. Also there was that delicious spirit of contrariness 
 that makes a woman even when won, by no means seem 
 won. 
 
 Besides, in the broad daylight of common day she was less 
 attuned and touched to earnest issues than in the red dawn. 
 She had even taken the poem and the exercise book out 
 of the sacred enclosure, where they had been hid so long. 
 She did not really know that she could make good any 
 claim to either. Indeed, she was well aware that to one of 
 them at least she had no claim whatever. Therefore she 
 had placed both the note-book and the poem within the 
 same band as her precious housekeeping account-book, 
 which she reverenced next her Bible — which very practi- 
 cal proceeding pleased her, and quite showed that she was
 
 YO THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 above all foolish sentiment. Then she went to churn for 
 an hour and a half, pouring in a little hot water critically 
 from time to time in order to make the butter come. This 
 exercise may be recommended as an admirable corrective to 
 foolish flights of imagination. There is something concrete 
 about butter-making which counteracts an overplus of senti- 
 ment — especially when the butter will not come. And hot 
 water may be overdone. 
 
 Now Winsome Charteris was a hard-hearted young 
 woman — a fact that may not as yet have appeared ; at least 
 so she told herself. She had come to the conclusion that 
 she had been foolish to think at all of Ralph Peden, so she 
 resolved to put him at once and altogether out of her mind, 
 which, as every one knows, is quite a simple matter. Yet 
 during the morning she went three times into her little 
 room to look at her housekeeping book, which by accident 
 lay within the same band as Ralph Peden's lost manu- 
 scripts. First, she wanted to see how much she got for 
 butter at Cairn Edward the Monday before last ; then to 
 discover what the price was on that very same day last year. 
 It is an interesting thing to follow the fluctuations of the 
 produce market, especially when you churn the butter your- 
 self. The exact quotation of documents is a valuable thing 
 to learn. Nothing is so likely to grow upon one as a habit 
 of inaccuracy. This was what her grandmother was always 
 telling her, and it behooved Winsome to improve. Each 
 time as she strapped the documents together she said, "And 
 these go back to-day by Andra Kissock when he goes to 
 school." Tlien she took another look, in order to assure 
 herself that no forgeries had been introduced within the 
 hand while she was churning the butter. They were still 
 quite genuine. 
 
 Winsome went out to relieve Jess Kissock in the dairy, 
 and as she went she communed with herself : " It is rigrht
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 71 
 
 that I should send them back. The verses may belong to 
 somebody else — somebody in Edinburgh — and, besides, I 
 know them by heart." 
 
 A good memory is a fine thing. 
 
 The Kissocks lived in one of the Craig Ronald cot- 
 houses. Their father had in his time been one of the 
 herds, and upon his death, many years ago, Walter Skirving 
 had allowed the widow and children to remain in the house 
 in which Andrew Kissock, senior, had died. Mistress Kis- 
 sock was a large-boned, soft-voiced woman, who had sup- 
 plied what dash of tenderness there was in her daughters. 
 She had reared them according to good traditions, but as 
 she said, when all her brood were talking at the same time, 
 she alone quietly silent : 
 
 " The Kissocks tak' efter their faither, they're great 
 hands to talk — a' bena [except] An'ra'." 
 
 Andrew was her youngest, a growing lump of a boy of 
 twelve, who was exceeding silent in the house. Every day 
 Andra betook himself to school, along the side of Loch 
 Grannoch, by the path which looked down on the cloud- 
 flecked mirror of the loch. Some days he got there, but 
 very occasionally. 
 
 His mother had got him ready early this June morning. 
 He had brought in the kye for Jess, He had helped Jock 
 Gordon to carry water for Meg's kitchen mysteries. He 
 had listened to a brisk conversation proceeding from the 
 " room " where his very capable sister was engaged in get- 
 ting the old people settled for the day. All this was part 
 of the ordinary routine. As soon as the whole establish- 
 ment knew that Walter Skirving was again at the window 
 over the marshmallows, and his wife at her latest book, a 
 sigh of satisfaction went up and the wheels of the day's 
 work revolved. So this morning it came time for Andra 
 to go to school all too soon. Andra did not want to stay
 
 72 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 at home from school, but it was against the boy's princi- 
 ple to appear glad to go to school, so Andra made it a 
 point of honour to make a feint of wanting to stay every 
 morning. 
 
 " Can I no bide an' help ye wi' the butter-kirniu' the 
 day, Jess?" said Andra, rubbing himself briskly all over as 
 he had seen the ploughmen do with their horses, AMien 
 he got to his bare red legs he reared and kicked out 
 violently, calling out at the same time : 
 
 " Wad ye then, ye tairger, tuts — stan' still there, ye 
 kickin' beast ! " as though he were some fiery untamed from 
 the desert. 
 
 Jess made a dart at him with a wet towel. 
 
 " Gang oot o' my back kitchen wi' yer nonsense 1 " she 
 said. Andra passaged like a strongly bitted charger to the 
 back door, and there ran away with himself, flourishing in 
 the air a pair of very dirty heels. Ebie Farrish was em- 
 ployed over a tin basin at the stable door, making his break- 
 fast toilet, which he always undertook, not when he shook 
 himself out of bed in the stable loft at five o'clock, but be- 
 fore he went in to devour Jess with his eyes and his por- 
 ridge in the ordinary way. It was at this point that Andra 
 Kissock, that prancing Galloway barb, breaking away from 
 all restrictions, charged between Ebie's legs, and overset 
 him into his own horse-trough. The yellow soap was in 
 Ebie's eyes, and before he got it out the small boy was far 
 enough away. The most irritating thing was that from the 
 back kitchen came peal on peal of laughter. 
 
 " It's surely fashionable at the sea-bathin' to tak' a dook 
 [swim] in the stable-trough, nae less ! " 
 
 Ebie gathered himself up savagely. His temperature 
 was something considerably above summer heat, yet he 
 dared not give expression to his feelings, for his experiences 
 in former courtships had led him to the conclusion that you
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 73 
 
 cannot safely, having regard to average family prejndice, 
 abuse the brothers of your sweetheart. After marriage the 
 case is believed to be different. 
 
 Winsome Charteris stood at the green gate which led 
 out of the court-yard into the croft, as Andra was making 
 his schoolward exit. She had a parcel for him. This occa- 
 sioned no surprise, nor did the very particular directions as 
 to delivery, and the dire threatenings against forgetfulness 
 or failure in the least dismay Andra. lie was entirely ac- 
 customed to them. From his earliest years he had heard 
 nothing else. He never had been reckoned as a " sure 
 hand," and it was only in default of a better messenger that 
 Winsome employed him. Then these directions were so 
 explicit that there did not appear to be any possibility of 
 mistake. He had only to go to the manse and leave the 
 parcel for Mr. Ralph Peden without a message. 
 
 So Andrew Kissock, nothing loath, promised faithfully. 
 He never objected to promising; that was easy. He car- 
 ried the small, neatly wrapped parcel in his hand, walking 
 most sedately so long as Winsome's eyes were upon him. 
 He was not yet old enough to be under the spell of the 
 witchery of those eyes ; but then Winsome's eye controlled 
 his sister Meg's hand, and for that latter organ he had a 
 most profound respect. 
 
 Now we must take the trouble to follow in some detail 
 the course of this small boy going to school, for though it 
 may be of no interest in itself save as a study in scientific 
 procrastination, a good deal of our history directly depends 
 upon it. 
 
 As soon as Andrew was out of sight he pulled his leather 
 satchel round so that he could open it with ease, and, having 
 taken a handful of broken and very stale crumbs out of it for 
 immediate use, he dropped Winsome's parcel witliin. There 
 it kept company with a tin flask of milk whioli his motlier
 
 Y4 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 filled for him every morning, having previously scalded it 
 well to restore its freshness. This was specially carefully 
 done after a sad occasion upon which his mother, having 
 poured in the fine milk for Andra's dinner fresh from Crum- 
 mie the cow, out of the flask mouth there crawled a number 
 of healthy worms which that enterprising youth had col- 
 lected from various quarters which it is best not to specify. 
 Not that Andra objected in the least. Milk was a good 
 thing, worms were good things, and he was above the paltry 
 superstition that one good thing could spoil another. He 
 will always consider to his dying day that the very sound 
 licking which his mother administered to him, for spoiling 
 at once the family breakfast and his own dinner, was one of 
 the most uncalled-for and gratuitous, which, even in his 
 wide experience, it had been his lot to recollect. 
 
 So Andra took his way to school. He gambolled along, 
 smelling and rooting among the ragged robin and starwort 
 in the hedges like an unbroken collie. It is safe to say that 
 no further thought of school or message crossed his mind 
 from the moment that the highest white steading of Craig 
 Eonald sank out of view, until his compulsory return. An- 
 di'a had shut out from his view so commonplace and igno- 
 minious facts as home and school. 
 
 At the first loaning end, where the road to the Nether 
 Orae came down to cross the bridge, just at the point where 
 the Grannoch lane leaves the narrows of the loch, Andra 
 betook himself to the side of the road, with a certain affec- 
 tation of superabundant secrecy. 
 
 With prodigious exactness he examined the stones at 
 a particular part of the dyke, hunted about for one of re- 
 markable size and colour, said "Hist! hist!" in a mys- 
 terious way, and ran across the road to see that no one was 
 coming. 
 
 As we have seen, Andra was the reader of the family.
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 75 
 
 His eldest brother hud gone to America, wliere he Wcas work- 
 ing in New York as a joiner. This youth was in the habit 
 of sending across books and papers describing the terrible 
 encounters with Indians in the Boone country — the " dai'k 
 and bloody land" of the early romancers. Not one in the 
 family looked at the insides of these relations of marvels 
 except Andra, who, when he read the story of the Indian 
 scout trailing the murderers of his squaw across a continent 
 in order to annihilate them just before they entered New 
 York city, felt that he had found his vocation — which was 
 to be at least an Indian scout, if indeed it was too late for 
 him to think of being a full-blooded Indian. 
 
 The impressive pantomime at the bridge was in order to 
 ascertain whether his bosom companion, Dick Little, had 
 passed on before him. He knew, as soon as he was within a 
 hundred yards of the stone, that he had not passed. Indeed, 
 he could see him at that very moment threading his way 
 down through the tangle of heather and bog myrtle, or, as 
 he would have said, " gall busses opposite." But what of 
 that? — For mighty is the power of make-believe, and in 
 Andra, repressed as he was at home, there was concentrated 
 the very energy and power of some imaginative ancestry. He 
 had a full share of the quality which ran in the family, and 
 was exceeded only by his brother Jock in New York, who 
 had been " the biggest leer in the country side " before he 
 emigrated to a land where at that time this quality was not 
 specially marked among so many wielders of the long bow. 
 Jock, in his letters, used to frighten his mother with dark 
 tales of his hair-breadth escapes from savages and despera- 
 does on the frontier, yet, strangely enough, his address re- 
 mained steadily New York. 
 
 Now it is not often that a Galloway boy takes to lying ; 
 but when he does, a mere Nithsdale man has no chance with 
 him, still less a man from the simple-minded levels of the
 
 76 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " Shire."* But Andra Kissock always lied from the highest 
 motives. He elevated the saying of the thing that was 
 not to the height of a principle. He often lied, know- 
 ing that he would be thrashed for it — even though he 
 was aware that he would be rewarded for telling the truth. 
 He lied because he would not demean himself to tell the 
 truth. 
 
 It need not therefore surprise us in the least that when 
 Dick Little came across the bridge he was greeted by Andra 
 Kissock with the information that he was in the clutches 
 of The Avenger of Blood, who, mounted upon a mettle steed 
 with remarkably dirty feet, curveted across the road and held 
 the pass. He was required to give up a " soda scone or his 
 life." The bold Dick, who had caught the infection, stoutly 
 refused to yield either. His life was dear to him, but a soda 
 scone considerably dearer. He had ratlier be dead than 
 hungry. 
 
 " Then die, traitor ! " said Andra, throwing down his bag, 
 all forgetful of Winsome Charteris's precious parcel and his 
 promises thereanent. So these two brave champions had at 
 one another with most surprising valour. 
 
 They were armed with wooden swords as long as them- 
 selves, which they manoeuvred with both hands in a marvel- 
 lously savage manner. When a blow did happen to get 
 home, the dust flew out of their jackets. But still the 
 champions fought on. They were in the act of finishing 
 the quarrel by the submission of Dick in due form, when 
 Allan Welsh, passing across the bridge on one of his pastoral 
 visitations, came upon them suddenly. Dick was on his 
 knees at the time, his hands on the ground, and Andra was 
 forcing his head determinedly down toward the surface of 
 
 * Wigtonshire is invariably spoken of in Galloway as the Shire, 
 Kirkcudbrightshire as the Stevvai'dry.
 
 ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 77 
 
 the king's highway. Meanwhile Dick was objecting in the 
 most vigorous way. 
 
 " Boys," said the stern, quiet voice of the minister, " what 
 are you doing to each other ? Are you aware it is against both 
 the law of God and man to fight in this way ? It is only 
 from the beasts that perish that we expect such conduct." 
 
 " If ye please, sir," answered Andra in a shamefaced 
 way, yet with the assurance of one who knows that he has 
 the authorities on his side, " Dick Little wull no bite the 
 dust." 
 
 "Bite the dust! — what do you mean, laddie?" asked the 
 minister, frowning. 
 
 " Weel sir, if ye please, sir, the Buik says that the yin 
 that got his licks fell down and bit the dust. Noo, Dick's 
 doon fair aneuch. Ye micht speak till him to bite the 
 dust ! " 
 
 And Andra, clothed in the garments of conscious recti- 
 tude, stood back to give the minister room to deliver his 
 rebuke. 
 
 The stern face of the minister relaxed. 
 
 " Be off with you to school," he said ; " I'll look in to see 
 if you have got there in the afternoon." 
 
 Andra and Dick scampered down the road, snatching 
 their satchels as they ran. In half an hour they were mak- 
 ing momentary music under the avenging birch rod of Dun- 
 can Duncanson, the learned Dullarg schoolmaster. Their 
 explanations were excellent. Dick said that he had been 
 stopped to gather the eggs, and Andra that he had been de- 
 tained conversing with the minister. The result was the 
 same in both cases — Andra getting double for sticking to 
 his statement. Yet both stories were true, though quite ac- 
 cidentally so, of course. This is what it is to liave a bad 
 character. Neither boy, however, felt any ill-Avill whatever 
 at the schoolmaster. They considered that he was tliere in
 
 78 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 order to lick them. For this he was paid by their parents' 
 money, and it would have been a fraud if he had not duly 
 earned his money by dusting their Jackets daily. Let it be 
 said at once that he did most conscientiously earn his money, 
 and seldom overlooked any of his pupils even for a day. 
 
 Back at the Grannoch bridge, under the parapet, Allan 
 Welsh, the minister of the Kirk of the Marrow, found the 
 white packet lying which Winsome had tied with such care. 
 He looked all round to see whence it had come. Then 
 taking it in his hand, he looked at it a long time silently, 
 and with a strange and not unkindly expression on his face. 
 He lifted it to his lips and kissed the handwriting which 
 addressed it to Master Ralph Peden. As he paced away he 
 carefully put it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then, 
 with his head farther forward than ever, and the immanence 
 of his great brow overshadowing his ascetic face, he set him- 
 self slowly to climb the brae. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MIDSUMMER DAWN. 
 
 True love is at once chart and compass. It led Ralph 
 Peden out into a cloudy June dawning. It was soft, amor- 
 phous, uncoloured night when he went out. Slate-coloured 
 clouds were racing along the tops of the hills from the 
 south. The wind blew in fitful gusts and veering flaws 
 among the moorlands, making eddies and back-waters of 
 the air, which twirled the fallen petals of the pear and 
 cherry blossoms in the little manse orchard. 
 
 As he stepped out upon the moor and the chill of dawn 
 struck inwai'd, he did not know that Allan Welsh was
 
 MIDSUMMER DAWN. 79 
 
 watching him from his blindless bedroom. Dawn is the 
 testing-time of the universe. Its cool, solvent atmosphere 
 dissolves social amenities. It is difficult to be courteous, 
 impossible to be polite, in that hour before the heart has 
 realized that its easy task of throwing the blood horizontally 
 to brain and feet has to be exchanged for the harder one of 
 throwing it vertically to the extremities. 
 
 Ralph walked slowly and in deep thought through the 
 long avenues of glimmering beeches and under the dry 
 rustle of the quivering poplars. Then, as the first red of 
 dawn touched his face, he looked about him. He was clear 
 of the trees now, and the broad open expanse of the green 
 fields and shining water meadows that ring in Loch Grau- 
 noch widened out before him. The winds sighed and rum- 
 bled about the hill-tops of the Orchar and the Black Lag- 
 gan, but in the valley only the cool moist wind of dawn 
 drew largely and statedly to and fro. 
 
 Ealjoh loved Nature instinctively, and saw it as a town- 
 bred lad rarely does. He was deeply read in the more scien- 
 tific literature of the subject, and had sj)ent many days in his 
 Majesty's botanic gardens, which lie above the broad breast 
 of the Forth. lie now proved his learning, and with quick, 
 sure eye made it real on the Galloway hills. Every leaf spoke 
 to him. He could lie for half a day and learn wisdom from 
 the ant. He took in the bird's song and the moth's flight. 
 The keepers sometimes wondered at the lights which flashed 
 here and there about the plantations, when in the coolness 
 of a moist evening he went out to entrap the sidelong-dash- 
 ing flutterers with his sugar-pots. 
 
 But since he came to Galloway, and especially since he 
 smelled the smell of the wood-fire set for the blanket-wash- 
 ing above the Crae Water bridge, there were new secrets 
 open to him. He possessed a voice that could wile a bird 
 oS a bough. His inner sympathy with wild and tame beasts
 
 80 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 alike was such that as he moved quietly among a drowsing, 
 cud-chewing herd on the braes of Urioch not a beast moved. 
 
 Among them a wild, untamed colt stood at bay, its tail 
 arched with apprehension, yet sweeping the ground, and 
 watched him Avith flashing eyes of suspicion. Ealph held out 
 his hand slowly, more as if it were growing out of his side 
 by some rapid natural process than as if he were extending 
 it. He uttered a low " sussurrus " of coaxing and invitation, 
 all the while imperceptibly decreasing his distance from the 
 colt. The animal threw back its head, tossed its mane in 
 act to flee, thought better of it and dropped its nose to take 
 a bite or two of the long coarse grass. Then again it looked 
 up and continued to gaze, fascinated at the beckoning afid 
 caressing fingers. At last, with a little whinny of pleasure, 
 the colt, wholly reassured, came up and nestled a wet nose 
 against Ealph's coat. He took the wild thing's neck within 
 the arch of his arm, and the two new friends stood awhile 
 in grave converse. 
 
 A moment afterwards Eali^h bent to lay a hand upon 
 the head of one of the placid queys* that had watched the 
 courtship with full, dewy eyes of bovine unconcern. In- 
 stantly the colt charged into the still group with a wild 
 flourish of hoofs and viciously snapping teeth, scattering 
 the black-polled Galloways like smoke. Then, as if to re- 
 proach Ealph for his unfaithfulness, he made a circle of the 
 field at a full, swinging gallop, sending the short turf flying 
 from his unshod hoofs at every stride. Back he came 
 again, a vision of floating mane and streaming tail, and 
 stopped dead three yards from Ealph, his forelegs strained 
 and taut, ploughing furrows in the grass. As Ealph moved 
 quietly across the field the colt followed, pushing a cool 
 moist nose over the young man's shoulder. When at last 
 
 * Yoiins: cows.
 
 MIDSUMMER DAWN. 81 
 
 Ealph set a foot on the projecting stone wliicli stood out 
 from the side of the gre}', lichen-clad stone dyke, the colt 
 stood stretching an eager head over as though desirous of 
 following him ; then, with a whinny of disaioj^ointment, 
 he rushed round the field, charging at the vaguely wonder- 
 ing and listlessly grazing cattle with head arched between 
 his forelegs and a flourish of widely distributed heels. 
 
 Over the hill, Craig Ronald was still wrapped in the 
 lucid impermanence of earliest dawn, when Winsome Char- 
 teris set her foot over the blue flag-stones of the threshold. 
 The high tide of darkness, which in these northern summer 
 mornings never rose very high or lasted very long, had ebbed 
 long ago. The indigo grey of the sky was receding, and 
 tinging towards the east with an imperceptibly graded 
 lavender which merged behind the long shaggy outline of 
 the piny ridge into a wash of pale lemon yellow. 
 
 The world paused, finger on lip, saying " Hush ! " to 
 Winsome as she stepped over the threshold from the serene- 
 ly breathing morning air, from the illimitable sky which 
 ran farther and farther back as the angels drew the blinds 
 from the windows of heaven. 
 
 " Hush 1 " said the cows over the hedge, blowing fra- 
 grant breaths of approval from their wide, comma-shaped 
 nostrils upon the lush grass and upon the short heads of 
 white clover, as they stood face to the brae, all with their 
 heads upward, eating their way like an army on the march. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " said the sheep Avho were straggling 
 over the shorter grass of the High Park, feeding fitfully in 
 their short, uneasy way — crop, crop, crop — and then a pause, 
 to move forward their own length and begin all over again. 
 
 But the sheep and the kine, the dewy grass and the 
 brightening sky, might every one have spared their pains, 
 for it was in no wise in the heart of Winsome Charteris to 
 make a noise amid the silences of dawn. Meg Kissock,
 
 82 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 who still lay snug by Jess in a plump-cheeked country sleep, 
 made noise enough to stir the country side when, rising, 
 she set briskly about to get the house on its morning legs. 
 But Winsome was one of the few people in this world. — few 
 but happy — to whom a sunrise is more precious than a sun- 
 set — rarer and more calming, instinct with message and sign 
 from a covenant-keeping God. Also, Winsome betook her- 
 self early to bed, and so awoke attuned to the sun's rising. 
 
 What drew her forth so early this June day was no 
 thought or hope or plan except the desire to read the heart 
 of Nature, and perhaj^s that she might not be left too long 
 alone with the parable of her own heart. A girl's heart is 
 full of thought which it dares not express to herself — of 
 fluttering and trembling joossibilities, chrysalis-like, set 
 aside to await the warmth of an unrevealed summer. In 
 Winsome's soul the first flushing glory of the May of youth 
 was waking the prisoned life. But there were throbs and 
 thrillings too piercingly sweet to last undeveloped in her 
 soul. The bursting bud of her healthful beauty, quickened 
 by the shy radiance of her soul, shook the centres of her 
 life, even as a laburnum-tree mysteriously quivers when the 
 golden rain is in act to break from the close-clustered de- 
 pendent budlets. 
 
 Thus it was that, at the stile which helps the paths be- 
 tween the Dullarg and Craig Eonald to overleap the high 
 hill dyke, Ealph met Winsome. As they looked into one 
 another's eyes, they saw Nature suddenly dissolve into con- 
 fused meaninglessness. There was no clear message for 
 either of them there, save the message that the old world of 
 their ho2:)es and fears had wholly passed away. Yet no new 
 world had come when over the hill dyke their hands met. 
 They said no word. There is no form of greeting for such. 
 Eve did not greet Adam in polite phrase when he awoke to 
 find her in the dawn of one Eden day, a helpmeet meet
 
 A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 83 
 
 for him. Neither did Eve reply that " it was a fine morn- 
 ing." It is always a fine morning in Eden. They were 
 silent, and so were these two. Their hands lay within one 
 another a single instant. Then, with a sense of something 
 wanting, Ealph sprang lightly over the dyke as an Edin- 
 burgh High-School boy ought who had often played hares 
 and hounds in the Hunter's Bog, and been duly thrashed 
 therefor by Dr. Adam * on the following morning. 
 
 When Ralph stood beside her upon the sunny side of 
 the stile he instinctively resumed Winsome's hand. Eor 
 this he had no reason, certainly no excuse. Still, it may be 
 urged in excuse that it was as much as an hour or an hour 
 and a half before Winsome remembered that he needed 
 any. Our most correct and ordered thoughts have a way of 
 coming to us belated, as the passenger who strolls in con- 
 fidently ten minutes after the platform is clear. But, like 
 him, they are at least ready for the next train. 
 
 As AVinsome and Ealph turned towards the east, the 
 sun set his face over the great Scotch firs on the ridge, 
 whose tops stood out like poised irregular blots on the fire- 
 centred ocean of light. 
 
 It was the new day, and if the new world had not come 
 with it, of a surety it was well on the way. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 For a long time they were silent, though it was not long 
 before Winsome drew away her hand, which, however, con- 
 
 * The very famous master of the Tligh School of Edinburgh.
 
 84 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 tinued to burn consciously for an hour afterwards. Silence 
 settled around them. The constraint of speech fell first 
 upon Ivalph, being town-bred and accustomed to the con- 
 venances at Professor Thriepneuk's. 
 
 " You rise early," he said, glancing shyly down at Win- 
 some, who seemed to have forgotten his presence. He did 
 not wish lier to forget. He had no objection to her dream- 
 ing, if only she would dream about him. 
 
 Winsome turned the bewildering calmness of her eyes 
 upon him. A gentleman, they say, is calm-eyed. So is a 
 cow. But in the eye of a good woman there is a peace 
 which comes from many generations of mothers — who, every 
 one Christs in their way, have suffered their heavier share 
 of the Eden curse. 
 
 Ealph would have given all that he possessed — which, by 
 the way, was not a great deal — to be able to assure himself 
 that there was any hesitancy or bashfulness in the glance 
 which met his own. But Winsome's eyes were as clearly 
 and frankly blue as if God had made them new that morn- 
 ing. At least Ralph looked upon their Sabbath peace and 
 gave thanks, finding them very good. 
 
 A sparkle of laughter, at first silent and far away, sprang 
 into them, like a breeze coming down Loch Grannoch when 
 it lies asleep in the sun, sending shining s])arkles winking 
 shoreward, and causing the wavering golden lights on the 
 shallow sand of the bays to scatter tremulously. So in the 
 depths of Winsome's eyes glimmered the coming smile. 
 Winsome could be divinely serious, but behind there lay 
 the possibility and certainty of very frank earthly laughter. 
 If, as Ralph thought, not for the first time in this rough 
 island story, this girl were an angel, surely she was one to 
 whom her Maker had given that rarest gift given to woman 
 — a well-balanced sense of humour. 
 
 So when Ralph said,hardly knowing what he said," You
 
 A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 85 
 
 rise early," it was with that far-away intention of a smile 
 that Winsome replied : 
 
 " And you, sir, have surely not lagged in bed, or else you 
 have come here in a great hurry." 
 
 " I rose," returned Ralph, " certainly betimes — in fact, a 
 great while before day ; it is the time when one can best 
 know one's self." 
 
 The sententiousness, natural to his years and education, 
 to some extent rebuked Winsome, who said more soberly : 
 
 " Perhaps you have again lost your books of study ? " 
 
 " I do not always study in books," answered Ralph. 
 
 Winsome continued to look at him as though waiting his 
 explanation. 
 
 "I mean," said Ralph, quickly, his pale cheek touched 
 with red, " that though I am town-bred I love the things 
 that wander among the flowers and in the wood. There are 
 the birds, too, and the little green plants that have no flow- 
 ers, and they all have a message, if I could only hear it and 
 understand it." 
 
 The sparkle in Winsome's eyes quieted into calm. 
 
 " I too " she began, and paused as if startled at what 
 
 she was about to say. She went on : "I never heard any 
 one say things like these. I did not know that any one else 
 had thoughts like these except myself." 
 
 "And have you thought these things?" said Ralph, with 
 a quick joy in his heart. 
 
 " Yes," replied Winsome, looking down on the ground 
 and playing with the loose string of the lilac sunbonnet. " I 
 used often to wonder how it was that I could not look on the 
 loch on Sabbath morning without feeling like crying. It 
 was often better to look upon it than to go to Maister Welsh's 
 kirk. But I ought not to say these things to you," she 
 said, with a quick thought of his profession. 
 
 Ralph smiled. There were few things that Winsome
 
 86 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Charteris might not say to him. He too had his experiences 
 to collate. 
 
 " Have you ever stood on a hill-top as though you were 
 suspended in the air, and when you seem to feel the earth 
 whirling away from beneath you, rushing swiftly eastward 
 towards the sunrise ? " 
 
 " I have heard it," said Winsome unexpectedly. 
 
 " Heard it ? " queried Ralph, with doubt in his voice. 
 
 " Yes," said Winsome calmly, " I have often heard the 
 earth wheeling round on still nights out on the top of the 
 Craigs, where there was no sound, and all the house was 
 asleep. It is as if some Great One were saying ' Hush ! ' to 
 the angels — I think God himself ! " 
 
 These were not the opinions of the kirk of the IMarrow ; 
 neither were they expressed in the Acts Declaratory or the 
 protests or claims of right made by the faithful contending 
 remnant. But Ralph would not at that moment have hesi- 
 tated to add them to the Westminster Confession. 
 
 It is a wonderful thing to be young. It is marvellously 
 delightful to be young and a poet as well, who has just 
 fallen — nay, rather, plunged fathoms-deep in love. Ralph 
 Peden was both. He stood watching Winsome Charteris, 
 who looked past him into a distance moistly washed with 
 tender ultramarine ash, like her own eyes too full of colour 
 to be gray and too pearly clear to be blue. 
 
 An equal blowing wind drew up the loch which lay be- 
 neath flooded with morning light, the sun basking on its 
 broad expanse, and glittering in a myriad sparkles on the 
 narrows beneath them beside which the blanket-washing 
 had been. A frolicsome breeze blew down the hill towards 
 them in little flicks and eddies. One of these drew a flossy 
 tendril of Winsome's golden hair, which this morning had 
 red lights in it like the garnet gloss on ripe wheat or Indian 
 corn, and tossed it over her brow. Ralph's hand tingled
 
 A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 87 
 
 with the desire to touch it and put it back under her bon- 
 net, and his heart leaped at the thought. But though he 
 did not stir, nor had any part of his being moved save the 
 hidden thought of his heart, he seemed to fall iu his own 
 estimation as one who had attempted a sacrilege. 
 
 " Have you ever noticed," continued Winsome, all un- 
 conscious, going on with that fruitful comparison of feel- 
 ings which has woven so many gossamer threads into three- 
 fold cords, " how everything in the fields and the woods is 
 tamer in the morning? They seem to have forgotten that 
 man is their natural enemy while they slept." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Ralph theologically, " when they awake 
 they forget that they are not still in that old garden that 
 Adam kept." 
 
 Winsome was looking at him now, for he had looked 
 away in his turn, lost in a poet's thought. It struck her for 
 the first time that other people might think him handsome. 
 When a girl forgets to think whether she herself is of this 
 opinion, and begins to think what others will think on a sub- 
 ject like this (which really does not concern her at all), the 
 proceedings in the case are not finished. 
 
 They walked on together down by the sunny edge of the 
 great plantation. The sun was now rising well into the sky, 
 climbing directly upward as if on this midsummer day he 
 were leading a forlorn hope to scale the zenith of heaven. 
 He shone on the russet tassels of the larches, and the deep 
 sienna boles of the Scotch firs. The clouds, which rolled 
 fleecy and white in piles and crenulated bastions of cumulus, 
 lighted the eyes of the man and maid as they went onward 
 upon the crisping piny carpet of fallen fir-needles. 
 
 " I have never seen Nature so lovely," said Ralph, " as 
 when the bright morning breaks after a night of shower. 
 Everything seems to have been new bathed in freshness." 
 
 " As if Dame Nature had had her spring cleaning," an-
 
 88 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 swered Winsome, " or Andrew Kissock when he has had his 
 face washed once a week," who had been serious long enough, 
 and who felt tliat too much earnestness even in the study of 
 Nature might be a dangerous thing. 
 
 But the inner thought of each was something quite dif- 
 ferent. This is what Ealph thought within his heart, though 
 his words were also perfectly genuine : 
 
 " There is a dimple on her chin which comes out when 
 she smiles," so he wanted her to smile again. When she 
 did so, she was lovely enough to peril the Faith or even the 
 denomination. 
 
 Ralph tried to recollect if there were no more stiles on 
 this hill path over which she might have to be helped. He 
 had taken off his hat and walked beside her bareheaded, car- 
 rying his hat in the hand farthest from Winsome, who was 
 wondering how soon she would be able to tell him that he 
 must keep his shoulders back. 
 
 Winsome was not a young woman of great experience in 
 these matters, but she had the natural instinct for the possi- 
 bilities of love without which no woman comes into the world 
 — at once armour defensive and weapon offensive. She knew 
 that one day Ralph Peden would tell her that he loved her, 
 but in the meantime it was so very pleasant that it was a 
 pity the days should come to an end. So she resolved that 
 they should not, at least not Just yet. If to-morrow be good, 
 why confine one's self to to-day ? She had not yet faced the 
 question of Avhat she would say to him when the day could 
 be no longer postponed. She did not care to face it. Suf- 
 ficient unto the day is the good thereof, is quite as excellent 
 a preccj)t as its counterpart, or at least so Winsome Charteris 
 thought. But, all the same, she wished that she could tell 
 him to keep his shoulders back. 
 
 A sudden resolve sprang full armed from her brain. 
 Winsome had that strange irresponsibility sometimes which
 
 A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 89 
 
 comes irresistibly to some men and women in youth, to say 
 something as an experiment which she well knew she ought 
 not to say, simply to see what would happen. More than 
 once it had got her into trouble. 
 
 " I wish you would keep back your shoulders when you 
 walk !" she said, quick as a flash, stopping and turning side- 
 ways to face Ealph Peden. 
 
 Ralph, walking thoughtfully with the student stoop, 
 stood aghast, as though not daring to reply lest his ears had 
 not heard aright. 
 
 " I say, why do you not keep your shoulders back ? " re- 
 peated Winsome sharply, and with a kind of irritation at his 
 silence. 
 
 He had no right to make her feel uncomfortable, what- 
 ever she might say. 
 
 " I did not know — I thought — nobody ever told me," 
 said Ralph, stammering and catching at the word which 
 came uppermost, as he had done in college when Professor 
 Thriepneuk, who was as fierce in the class-room as he was 
 mild at home, had him cornered upon a quantity. 
 
 " Well, then," said Winsome, " if every one is so blind, it 
 is time that some one did tell you now." 
 
 Ralph squared himself like a drill-sergeant, holding 
 himself so straight that Winsome laughed outright, and that 
 so merrily that Ralph laughed too, well content that the 
 dimple on her cheek should play at hide and seek with the 
 pink flush of her clear skin. 
 
 So they had come to the stile, and Ralph's heart beat 
 stronger, and a nervous tension of exjoectation quivered 
 through him, bewildering his judgment. But Winsome 
 was very clear-headed, and though the white of her eyes 
 was as dewy and clear as a child's, she was 7io simpleton. 
 She had read many men and women in her time, for it is 
 the same in essence to rule Craig Ronald as to rule Rome.
 
 90 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " This is your way," she said, sitting down on the stile. 
 " I am going vip to Jolm Scott's to see about the lambs. 
 It will be breakfast-time at the manse before you get 
 back." 
 
 Ealph's castle fell to the ground. 
 
 " I will come up with you to John Scott's," he said with 
 an undertone of eagerness. 
 
 " Indeed, that you will not," said Winsome promptly, 
 who did not want to arrive at seven o'clock in the morning 
 at John Scott's with any young man. " You will go home 
 and take to your book, after you have changed your slioes 
 and stockings," she said practically. 
 
 " Well, then, let me bid you good-bye. Winsome ' " said 
 Ralph. 
 
 Her heart was warm to hear him say Winsome — for the 
 first time. It certainly was not unpleasant, and there was 
 no need that she should quarrel about that. She was about 
 to give him her hand, when she saw something in his eye. 
 
 " Mind, you are not to kiss it as you did grannie's yes- 
 terday ; besides, there are John Scott's dogs on the brow of 
 the hill," she said, pointing upward. 
 
 Poor Ralph could only look more crestfallen still. Such 
 knowledge was too high for him. He fell back on his old 
 formula : 
 
 " I said before tliat you are a witch " 
 
 " And you say it again ? " queried Winsome, with careless 
 nonchalance, swinging her bonnet by its strings. " Well, 
 you can come back and kiss gi'annie's hand some other day. 
 You are something of a favourite with her." 
 
 But she had presumed just a hair-breadth too far on 
 Ralph's gentleness. He snatched the lilac sunbonnet out of 
 her hands, tearing, in his haste, one of the strings oflf, and 
 leaving it in Winsome's hand. Then he kissed it once and 
 twice outside where the sun shone on it, and inside where
 
 A STRING OP THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 91 
 
 it had rested on her head. " You have torn it," she said 
 complaiuingly, yet without anger. 
 
 " I am very glad," said Ralph Peden, coming nearer to 
 her with a light in his eye that she had never seen before. 
 
 Winsome dropped tlie string, snatched up the bonnet, 
 and fled up the hill as trippingly as a young doe towards the 
 herd's cottage. At the top of the fell she paused a moment 
 with her hand on her side, as if out of breath. Ralph Peden 
 was still holding the torn bonnet-string in his hand. 
 
 He held it up, hanging loose like a pennon from his 
 hand. She could hear the words come clear up the hill : 
 
 "I'm very — glad — that — I — tore — it, and I will come 
 and — see — your — grandmother ! " 
 
 " Of all the " Winsome stopped for want of Avords, 
 
 speaking to herself as she turned away up the hill — " of 
 all the insolent and disagreeable " 
 
 She did not finish her sentence, as she adjusted the out- 
 raged sunbonnet on her curls, tucking the remaining string 
 carefully within the crown ; but as she turned again to look, 
 Ralph Peden was calmly folding up the string and putting 
 it in a book. 
 
 " I shall never speak to him again as long as I live," she 
 said, compressing her lips so that a dimple that Ralph 
 had never seen came out on the other side. This, of course, 
 closed the record in the case. Yet in a little while she 
 added thoughtfully : " But he is very handsome, and I 
 think he will keep his shoulders back now. Not, of course, 
 that it matters, for I am never to speak to him any more ! " 
 
 John Scott's dogs were by this time leaping upon her, 
 and that worthy sliepherd was coming along a steep slope 
 upon the edges of his boot-soles in the miraculous manner, 
 which is peculiar to herds, as if he wore walking on the 
 turnpike. 
 
 Winsome turned for the last time. Against the broad,
 
 92 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 dark sapphire expanse of the loch, just where the great 
 inarch dyke stepped o3 to bathe in the summer water, she 
 saw something bhick which waved a hand and sj^rang over 
 lightly. 
 
 Winsome sighed, and said a little wistfully yet not sadly : 
 " Who would have thought it of him? It just shows ! " 
 she said. All which is a warning to maids that the meekest 
 worm may turn. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 CAPTAIJSr AGXEW GEEATOEIX. 
 
 Greatorix Castle sat mightily upon a hill. It could 
 not be hid, and it looked down superciliously upon the little 
 squiredom of Craig Konald, as well as upon farms and cot- 
 tages a many. In days not so long gone by, Greatorix 
 Castle had been the hold of the wearers of the White 
 Cockade, rough riders after Lag and Sir James Dalzyell, 
 and rebels after that, who had held with Derwentwater and 
 the prince. Now there was quiet there. Only the Lady 
 Elizabeth and her son Agnew Greatorix dwelt there, and 
 the farmer's cow and the cottager's pig grazed and rooted 
 unharmed — not always, however, it was whispered, the 
 farmer's daughter, for of all serfdoms the droit dn seignior 
 is the last to die. Still, Greatorix Castle was a notable place, 
 high set on its hill, shires and towns beneath, the blue 
 breath of peat reek blowing athwart the plain beneath and 
 rising like an incense about. 
 
 Here the Lady Elizabeth dwelt in solemn but greatly 
 reduced state. She was a woman devoted to the jn'actice of 
 holiness according to the way of the priest. It was the 
 whole wish of her life that she might keep a spiritual di-
 
 CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX. 93 
 
 rector, instead of having Father Mahon to ride over from 
 Dumfries once a month. 
 
 Within the castle there were many signs of decay — none 
 of rehabilitation. The carpets were worn into holes where 
 feet had oftenest fallen, and the few servants dared not 
 take them out to be beaten in the due season of the year, 
 for indubitably they would fall to pieces. So the curtains 
 hung till an unwary stranger would rest upon them with a 
 hand's weight. Then that hand plucked a palmbreadth 
 away of the rotten and moth-eaten fabric. 
 
 There was an aged housekeeper at Greatorix Castle, who 
 dwelt in the next room to the Lady Elizabeth, and was sup- 
 posed to act as her maid. Mistress Humbie, however, was 
 an exacting person ; and being an aged woman, and her in- 
 firmities bearing upon her, she considered it more fitting 
 that the Lady Elizabeth should wait upon her. This, for 
 the good of her soul, the Lady Elizabeth did. Two maids 
 and a boy, a demon boy, in buttons, who dwelt below-stairs 
 and gave his time to the killing of rats with ingenious cata- 
 pults and crossbows, completed the household — except Ag- 
 new Greatorix. 
 
 The exception was a notable one. Save in the matter 
 of fortune, Nature had not dealt unhandsomely with Agnew 
 Greatorix ; yet Just because of this his chances of growing 
 up into a strong and useful man were few. He had been 
 nurtured upon expectations from his earliest youth. His 
 uncle Agnew, the Lady Elizabeth's childless brother, who 
 for the sake of the favour of a strongly Protestant aunt 
 had left the mother church of the Greatorix family, had 
 been expected to do something for Agnew; but up to this 
 present time he had received only his name from him, in 
 lieu of all the stately heritages of Holywood in the Nith 
 Valley hard by Lincluden, and Stennesholm in Carrick. 
 
 So Agnew Greatorix had grown up in the midst of raw 
 7
 
 94 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 youths who were not his peers in position. He companied 
 with them till his mother pointed out that it was not for a 
 Greatorix to drink in the Blue Bell and at the George with 
 the sons of wealthy farmers and bonnet lairds. By dint of 
 scraping and saving which took a long time, and influence 
 which, costing nothing, took for a Greatorix no time at all, 
 the Lady Elizabeth obtained for her son a commission in 
 the county yeomanry. There he was thrown with Max- 
 wells of the Braes, Herons from the Shireside, and Gordons 
 from the northern straths — all young men of means and 
 figure in the county. Into the midst of these Agnew took 
 his tightly knit athletic figure, his small firmly set head and 
 full-blooded dark face — the only faults of which were that 
 the eyes were too closely set together and shuttered with 
 lids that would not open more than half way, and that he 
 possessed the sensual mouth of a man who has never will- 
 ingly submitted to a restraint. Agnew Greatorix could not 
 compete with his companions, but he cut them out as a 
 squire of dames, and came home with a dangerous and fas- 
 cinating reputation, the best-hated man in the corps. 
 
 So when Captain Agnew clattered through the village 
 in clean-cut scarlet and clinking spurs, all the maids ran to 
 the door, except only a few who had once run like the others 
 but now ran no more. The captain came often to Craig 
 Eonald. It was upon his way to kirk and market, for the 
 captain for the good of his soul went occasionally to the 
 little chaj)el of the Permission at Dumfries. Still oftener 
 he came with the books which the Lady Elizabeth obtained 
 from Edinburgh, the reading of which she shared with Mis- 
 tress Walter Skirving, whose kinship with the Lochinvars 
 she did not forget, though her father had been of the moor- 
 land branch of that honourable house, and she herself had 
 disgraced her ancient name by marrying with a psalm-sing- 
 ing bonnet laird. But the inexplicability of saying whom a
 
 CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX. 95 
 
 woman may not take it into her head to marry was no bar- 
 rier to the friendship of the Lady Elizabeth, who kept all 
 her religion for her own consumption and did not even 
 trouble her son with it — which was a great pity, for he in- 
 deed had much need, though small desire, thereof. 
 
 On the contrary, it was a mark of good blood sometimes 
 to follow one's own fancy. The Lady Elizabeth had done 
 that herself against the advice of the countess her mother, 
 and that was the reason why she dwelt amid hangings that 
 came away in handfuls, and was waiting- maid to Mistress 
 Humbie her own housekeeper. 
 
 Agnew Greatorix had an eye for a pretty face, or rather 
 for every pretty face. Indeed, he had nothing else to do, 
 except clean his spurs and ride to the market town. So, 
 since the author of Waverley began to write his inimitable 
 fictions, and his mother to divide her time between works 
 of devotion and the adventures of Ivanhoe and Nigel, Ag- 
 new Greatorix had made many pilgrimages to Craig Ronald. 
 Here the advent of the ca^^tain was much talked over by the 
 maids, and even anticipated by Winsome herself as a pic- 
 turesque break in the monotony of the staid country life. 
 Certainly he brought the essence of strength and youth and 
 athletic energy into the quiet court-yard, when he rode in 
 on his showily paced horse and reined him round at the low 
 steps of the front door, with the free handling and cavalry 
 swing which he had inherited as much from the long line of 
 Greatorixes who had ridden out to harry the Warden's men 
 along the marches, as from the yeomanry riding-master. 
 
 Now, the captain was neither an obliging nor yet a par- 
 ticularly amiable young man, and when he took so kindly 
 to fetching and carrying, it was not long before the broad 
 world of farm towns and herds' cot-houses upon which 
 Greatorix Castle looked down suspected a motive, and said 
 so in its own way.
 
 96 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 On one occasion, riding down the long loaning of Craig 
 Ronald, the captain came upon the slight, ascetic figure of 
 Allan Welsh, the Marrow minister, leaning upon the gate 
 which closed the loaning from the road. The minister ob- 
 served him, but showed no signs of moving. Agnew Great- 
 orix checked his horse. 
 
 " Would you open the gate and allow me to pass on my 
 way?" he said, with chill politeness. The minister of the 
 Marrow kirk looked keenly at him from under his grey eye- 
 brows. 
 
 " After I have had a few words with you, young sir," 
 said Mr. Welsh. 
 
 " I desire no words with you," returned the young man 
 impatiently, backing his horse. 
 
 " For whom are your visits at Craig Eonald intended ? " 
 said the minister calmly. " Walter Skirving and his spouse 
 do not receive company of such dignity ; and besides them 
 there are only the maids that I know of." 
 
 " Who made you my father confessor?" mocked Agnew 
 Greatorix, with an unpleasant sneer on his handsome face. 
 
 " The right of being minister in the things of the Spirit 
 to all that dwell in Craig Ronald House," said the minister 
 of the Marrow firmly. 
 
 " Truly a pleasant ministry, and one, no doubt, requir- 
 ing frequent ministrations ; yet do I not remember to have 
 met you at Craig Ronald," he continued. " So faithful a 
 minister surely must be faithful in his spiritual attentions." 
 
 He urged his horse to the side of the gate and leaned 
 over to open the gate himself, but the minister had his hand 
 firmly on the latch. 
 
 " I have seen you ride to many maids' houses, Agnew 
 Greatorix, since the day your honoured father died, but 
 never a one have I seen the better of your visits. Woe and 
 sorrow have attended ujDon your way. You may ride off
 
 ON THE EDGE OP TUE ORCHARD. 97 
 
 now at your ease, but beware the vengeance of the God of 
 Jacob ; the mother's curse and the father's malison ride not 
 far behind ! " 
 
 "Preach me no preachments," said the young man; 
 "keep such for your Marrow folk on Sundays; you but 
 waste your words." 
 
 " Then I beseech you by the memory of a good father, 
 whom, though of another and an alien communion, I shall 
 ever respect, to cast your eyes elsewhere, and let the one ewe 
 lamb of those whom God hath stricken alone." 
 
 The gate was open now, and as he came through, Agnew 
 G'-eatorix made his horse curvet, pushing the frail form of 
 the preacher almost into the hedge. 
 
 " If you would like to come and visit us up at the 
 castle," he said mockingly, " I dare say we could yet re- 
 ceive you as my forefathers, of whom you are so fond, used 
 to welcome your kind. I saw the thumbikins the other 
 day; and I dare say we could fit yoii with your size in 
 boots." 
 
 " The Lord shall pull down the mighty from their seats, 
 and exalt them that are of low estate ! " said the preacher 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Very likely/' said the young man as he rode away. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD. 
 
 But Agnew Greatorix came as often as ever to Craig 
 Ronald. Generally he found Winsome busy with her house- 
 hold affairs, sometimes with her sleeves buckled above her 
 elbows, rolling tlie tough dough for the crumpy farles of
 
 98 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the oat-cake, and scattering handfuls of dry meal over it 
 with deft fingers to bring the mass to its proper consistency 
 for rolling out upon the bake-board. Leaving his horse 
 tethered to the great dismounting stone at the angle of the 
 kitchen (a granite boulder or " travelled stone," as they said 
 thereabouts), witli an iron ring into it, he entered and sat 
 down to watch. Sometimes, as to-day, he would be only 
 silent and watchful ; but he never failed to compass Win- 
 some with the compliment of humility and observance. It 
 is possible that better things Avere stirring in his heart than 
 usually brought him to such j^laces. There is no doubt, in- 
 deed, that he appreciated the frankness and plain speech 
 which he received from the very practical young mistress of 
 Craig Ronald. 
 
 When he left the house it was Agnew Greatorix's in- 
 variable custom to skirt the edge of the orchard before 
 mounting. Just in the dusk of the grea,t oak-tree, where 
 its branches mingle with those of the gean [wild cherry], 
 he was met by the slim, lithe figure of Jess Kissock, in 
 whose piquant elvishness some strain of Eomany blood 
 showed itself. ^ 
 
 Jess had been waiting for him ever since he had taken 
 his hat in his hand to leave the house. As he came in 
 sight of the watcher, Agnew Greatorix stopped, and Jess 
 came closer to him, motioning him imperiously to bring 
 his horse close in to the shadow of the orchard wall. Ag- 
 new did so, putting out his arm as if he would kiss her; 
 but, with a quick fierce movement, Jess thrust his hand 
 away. 
 
 " I have told you before not to play these tricks with me 
 — keep them for them that ye come to Craig Eonald to see. 
 It's the mistress ye want. What need a gentleman like you 
 meddle with the maid ? " 
 
 " Impossible as it may seem, the like has been done,"
 
 ON THE EDGE OP THE ORCHARD. 99 
 
 said Agnew, smiling down at the black eyes and blowing 
 elf locks. 
 
 " Not with this maid," replied Jess succinctly, and in- 
 deed she looked exceedingly able to take care of herself, as 
 became Meg Kissock's sister, 
 
 "I'll go no further with Winsome," said Greatorix 
 gloomily, breaking the silence. " You said that if I con- 
 sulted her about the well-being of the poor rats over at the 
 huts, and took her advice about the new cottages for the 
 foresters, she would listen to me. Well, she did listen, but 
 as soon as I hinted at any other subject, I might as well 
 have been talking to the old daisy in the sitting-room with 
 the white band round her head." 
 
 " Did anybody ever see the like of you menfolk ? " cried 
 Jess, throwing up her hands hopelessly ; " d'ye think that 
 a bonny lass is just like a black ripe cherry on a bough, 
 ready to drap into your mooth when it pleases your high 
 mightinesses to hold it open ? " 
 
 " Has Winsome Charteris any sweetheart ? " asked tlie 
 captain. 
 
 " What for wad she be doing with a sweetheart? She 
 has muckle else to think on. There's a young man that's 
 baith braw an' bonny, a great scholar frae Enbra' toon that 
 comes gye an' aften frae the manse 0' Dullarg, wliaur he's 
 bidin' a' the simmer for the learnin'. He comes whiles, 
 an' Winsome kind o' gies him a bit convoy up the hill." 
 
 " Jess Kissock," said the young man passionately, " tell 
 me no lies, or " 
 
 " Nane o' yer ill tongue for me, young man ; keep it for 
 yer mither. I'm little feared o' ye or ony like ye. Ye'll 
 maybe get a bit dab frae the neb o' a jockteleg [point of a 
 sheath-knife] that will yeuk [tickle] ye for a day or twa 
 gin ye dinna learn an' that speedily, as Maister Welsh wad 
 say, to keep yer ban's aff my faither's dochter." Jess's good
 
 100 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Scots was infiuitely better and more vigorous than the Eng- 
 lish of the lady's maid, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Jess. I am a passionate, hasty man. 
 I am sure I meant no harm. Tell me more of this hulking 
 landlouper [intruder], and I'll give you a kiss." 
 
 " Keep yer kisses for them that likes them. The young 
 man's no landlouper ony mair nor yersel' — no as mickle in- 
 deed, but a very proper young man, wi' a face as bonny as 
 an angel " 
 
 " But, Jess, do you mean to say that you are going to 
 help him with Winsome ? " asked the young man. 
 
 " Feint a bit ! " answered the young woman frankly. 
 " She'll no get him gin I can help it. I saw him first and 
 bid him guid-day afore ever she set her een on him. It's 
 ilka yiu for hersel' when it comes to a braw young man," 
 and Jess tossed her gipsy head, and pouted a pair of hand- 
 some scarlet lips. 
 
 Greatorix laughed. " The land lies that way, does it? " 
 he said. " Then that's why you would not give me a kiss 
 to-day, Jess," he went on ; " the black coat has routed the 
 red baith but an' ben — but we'll see. You cannot both 
 have him, Jess, and if you are so very fond of the parson, 
 ye'U maybe help me to keep Winsome Charteris to myself." 
 
 " Wad ye mairry her gin ye had the chance, Agnew 
 Greatorix ? " 
 
 "Certainly; what else?" replied the young man promptly. 
 
 " Then ye shall hae her," replied Jess, as if Winsome 
 were within her deed of gift. 
 
 " And you'll try for the student, Jess ? " asked the young 
 man. " I suppose he would not need to ask twice for a 
 kiss ? " 
 
 " Na, for I would kiss him withoot askin' — that is, gin 
 he hadna the sense to kiss we," said Jess frankly. 
 
 " Well," said Greatorix, somewhat reluctantly, " I'm sure
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD. 101 
 
 I wish you joy of your parson. I see now what the canting 
 old hound from the Dullarg Manse meant when he tackled 
 me at the loaning foot. He wanted Winsome for the young 
 whelp." 
 
 " I dinua think that," replied Jess ; " he disna want him 
 to come aboot here ony mair nor you." 
 
 " How do you know that, Jess ? " 
 
 "Ou, I Juist ken." 
 
 " Can you find out what Winsome thinks herself ? " 
 
 " I can that, though she hasna a word to say to me — that 
 am far mair deservin' o' confidence than that muckle peony- 
 faced hempie, Meg, that an ill Providence gied me for a sis- 
 ter. Her keep a secret? — the wind wad waft it oot o' her." 
 Thus affectionately Jess. 
 
 " But how can you find out, then ? " persisted the young 
 man, yet unsatisfied. 
 
 " Ou fine that," said Jess. " Meg talks in her sleep." 
 
 Before Agnew Greatorix leaped on to his horse, which all 
 this time had stood quiet on his bridle-arm, only occasion- 
 ally jerking his head as if to ask his master to come away, 
 he took the kiss he had been denied, and rode away laugh- 
 ing, but with one cheek much redder than the other, the 
 mark of Jess's vengeance. 
 
 " Ye hae ower muckle conceit an' ower little sense ever 
 to be a richt blackguard," said Jess as he went, "but ye 
 hae the richt intention for the deil's wark. Ye'll do the 
 young mistress nae hurt, for she wad never look twice at ye, 
 but I cannot let her get the bonny lad frae Embra' — na, I 
 saw him first, an' first come first served ! " 
 
 " Where have you been so long," asked her mistress, as 
 she came in. 
 
 "Juist drivin' a gilravagin' muckle swine oot o' the or- 
 chard ! " replied Jess with some force and truth.
 
 102 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION. 
 
 "Called, nomiuate, summoned to appear, ujion this 
 third citation, Alexander Mowdiewort, or Moldieward, to 
 answer for the sin of misca'iu' the minister and session o' 
 this parish, and to show cause why he, as a sectary notour, 
 should not demit, depone, and resign his office of grave- 
 digger in the kirk-yard of this parisli with all the emolu- 
 ments, benefits, and profits thereto appertaining. — Officer, 
 call Alexander Mowdiewort ! " 
 
 Thus Jacob Kittle, schoolmaster and session clerk of 
 the parish of Dullarg, when in the kirk itself that rever- 
 ent though not revered body was met in full convocation. 
 There was presiding the Rev. Erasmus Teends himself, the 
 minister of the parish, looking like a turkey-cock with a 
 crumpled white neckcloth for wattles. He was known in 
 the parish as Mess John, and was full of dignified discourse 
 and excellent taste in the good cheer of the farmers. He 
 was a judge of nowt [cattle], and a connoisseur of black 
 puddings, which he considered to require some Isle of Man 
 brandy to bring out their own proper flavour. 
 
 " Alexander Moldieward, Alexander Moldieward ! " cried 
 old Snuffy Callum, the parish beadle, going to the door. 
 Then in a lower tone, " Come an' answer for't, Saunders." 
 
 ]\[owdicwort and a large-boned, grim-faced old woman 
 of fifty-five were close beside the door, but Christie cried 
 past them as if the summoned persons were at the top of 
 the Dullarg Hill at the nearest, and also as if he had not 
 just risen from a long and confidential talk with them. 
 
 It was within the black interior of the old kirk that 
 the session met, in the vard of which Saunders Mowdiewort
 
 THE CUIP BEFORE THE SESSION. 103 
 
 had dug so many graves, and now was to dig no more, 
 unless he appeased the ire of the minister and his elders 
 for an offence against the majesty of their court and 
 moderator. 
 
 "Alexander Moldieward ! " again cried the old " bethcral," 
 very loud, to some one on the top of the Dullarg Hill — then 
 in an ordinary voice, "come avva', Saunders man, you and 
 your mither, an' dinna keep them waitin' — they're no 
 chancy when they're keepit." 
 
 Saunders and his mother entered. 
 
 " Here I am, guid sirs, an' you Mess John," said the 
 grave-digger very respectfully, " an' my mither to answer 
 for me, an' guid een to ye a'." 
 
 "Come awa'. Mistress Mowdiewort," said the minister. 
 " Ye hae aye been a guid member in full communion. Ye 
 never gaed to a prayer-meetin' or Whig conventicle in yer 
 life. It's a sad peety that ye couldna keep your flesh an' 
 bluid frae companyin' an' covenantin' wi' them that lichtly 
 speak o' the kirk." 
 
 " 'Deed, minister, we canna help oor bairns — an' 'deed ye 
 can speak till hirasel'. He is of age — ask him 1 But gin )'e 
 begin to be ower sair on the callant, I'se e'en hae to tak' up 
 the cudgels mysel'." 
 
 With this, Mistress Mowdiewort put her hands to the 
 strings of her mutch, to feel that she had not unsettled 
 them; then she stood with arms akimbo and her chest well 
 forward like a grenadier, as if daring the session to do its 
 worst. 
 
 "I have a word with you," said Mess John, lowering at 
 her ; " it is told to me that you keepit your son back from 
 answering the session when it was his bounden duty to ap- 
 pear on the first summons. Indeed, it is only on a warrant 
 for blasphemy and the threat of deprivation of his liveli- 
 hood that he has come to-day. What have you to say that
 
 104 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 he should not be deprived and also declarit excommuni- 
 cate ? " 
 
 " Weel, savin' yer presence, Mess John," said Mistress 
 Mowdiewort, " ye see the way o't is this : Saunders, my 
 son, is a blate [shy] man, an' he canna weel speak for him- 
 sel'. I thought that by this time the craiter micht hae 
 gotten a wife again that could hae spoken for him, an' had 
 he been worth the weight o' a bum bee's hind leg he wad 
 hae had her or this — an' a better yin nor the last he got. 
 Aye, but a sair trouble she was to me ; she had juist yae faut, 
 Saunders's first wife, an' that was she was nae use ava ! But 
 it was a guid thing he was grave-digger, for he got her 
 buriet for naething, an' even the coffin was what ye micht 
 ca' a second-hand yin — though it had never been worn, 
 which was a wunnerf u' thing. Ye see the way o't was this : 
 There was Creeshy Galium, the brither o' yer doitit 
 [stupid] auld betheral here, that canna tak' up the bulks as 
 they should (ye should see my Saunders tak' them up at 
 the Marrow kirk) " 
 
 " Woman," said the minister, " we dinna want to 
 hear " 
 
 " Very likely no — but ye hae gien me permission to 
 speak, an' her that's stannin afore yer honourable coort, 
 brawly kens the laws. Elspeth Mowdiewort didna soop yer 
 kirk an wait till yer session meetings war ower for thirty 
 year in my ain man's time withoot kennin' a' the laws. A 
 keyhole's a most amazin' convenient thing by whiles, an' I 
 was suppler in gettiu' up aif my hunkers then than at the 
 present time." 
 
 " Silence, senseless woman ! " said the session clerk. 
 
 " I'll silence nane, Jacob Kittle ; silence yersel', for I ken 
 what's in the third volume o' the kirk records at the thirty- 
 second page ; an' gin ye dinna baud yer wheesht, dominie, 
 ilka wife in the pairisli'll ken as weel as me. A bonny yin
 
 THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION. 105 
 
 you to sit cockin' there, an' to be learnin' a' the bairns their 
 caritehes [catechism]." 
 
 The session let her go her way ; her son meantime stood 
 passing an apologetic hand over his sleek hair, and making 
 deprecatory motions to the minister, when he thought that 
 his mother was not looking in his direction. 
 
 " Aye, I was speakin' aboot Creeshy Callum's coffin that 
 cor Saunders — the muckle tongueless sumph there got dirt 
 cheap — ye see Creeshy had been measured for't, but, as he 
 had a short , leg and a shorter, the joiner measured the 
 wrang leg — joiners are a' dottle stupid bodies — an' whan 
 the time cam' for Creeshy to be streekit, man, he ivadnajit 
 — na, it maun hae been a sair disappointment till him — 
 that is to say — gin he war in the place whanr he could 
 think wi' ony content on his coffin, an' that, judgin' by his 
 life an' conversation, was far frae bein' a certainty." 
 
 " Mistress Mowdiewort, I hae aye respectit ye, an' we 
 are a' willin' to hear ye noo, if you have onything to say for 
 your son, but you must make no insinuations against any 
 members of the court, or I shall be compelled to call the 
 officer to put you out," said the minister, rising impress- 
 ively with his hand stretched towards Mistress Elspeth 
 Mowdiewort. 
 
 But Elspeth Mowdiewort was far from being impressed. 
 
 " Pit me oot, Snuffy Callum ; pit me, Eppie Mowdiewort, 
 cot ! Na, na, Snuffy's maybe no very wise, but he kens 
 better nor that. Man, Maister Teends, I hae kenned the 
 hale root an' stock o' thae Callums frae first to last ; I 
 hae dung Creeshy till he couldna stand — him that had to be 
 twice fitted for his coffin ; an' Wull that was hangit at Dum- 
 fries for sheep-stealin' ; an' Meg that was servant till yersel — 
 aye, an' a bonny piece she was as ye ken yersel' ; an' this auld 
 donnert carle that, when he carries up the Bibles, ye can 
 hear the rattlin' o' his banes, till it disturbs the congrega-
 
 106 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 tion — I liae clung them a' heeds ower heels in their best 
 days — an' to tell me at the hinner end that ye wad ca' in 
 the betheral to pit oot Elspeth Mowdiewort ! Ye maun 
 surely hae an awsome ill wall at the puir anld craitur ! " 
 
 " Mither," at last said Saunders, who was becoming 
 anxious for his grave-diggership, and did not wish to in- 
 cense his judges further, " I'm willin' to confess that I had 
 a drap ower muckle the ither nicht when I met in wi' the 
 minister an' the dominie ; but, gin I confess it, ye'll no gar 
 me sit on the muckle black stool i' repentance afore a' the 
 fowk, an' me carries up the bulks i' the Marrow kirk." 
 
 " Alexander Mowdiewort, ye spak ill o' the minister an' 
 session, o' the kirk an' the wholesome order o' this parish. 
 We have a warrant for your apprehension and appearance 
 which we might, unless moved by penitence and dutiful 
 submission, put in force. Then are ye aware whaur that 
 wad land you — i' the jail in Kirkcudbright toon, my man 
 Saunders." 
 
 But still it was the dread disgrace of the stool of re- 
 pentance that bulked most largely in the culprit's imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 " Na, na," interjected Mistress Mowdiewort, " nae siccan 
 things for ony bairns o' mine. Nae son o' mine sail ever 
 set his hurdles on the like o't." 
 
 " Be silent, woman ! " said the minister severely ; " them 
 that will to black stool maun to black stool. Eebukit an' 
 chastised is the law an' order, and rebukit and chastised 
 shall your son be as weel as ithers." 
 
 " 'Deed, yer nae sae fond o' rebukin' the great an' the 
 rich. There's that young speldron frae the castle ; its 
 weel kenned what he is, an' hoo muckle he's gotten the 
 weight o'." 
 
 " He is not of our communion, and not subject to our 
 discipline," began the minister.
 
 THE CUIP BEFORE THE SESSION. 107 
 
 " Weel," said Elspeth, " weel, let him alane. lie's a 
 Pape, an' gaun to purgatory at ony gate. But then there's 
 bletherin' Jolmnie o' the Dinnance Mains — he's as fu' as 
 Solway tide ilka Wednesday, an' no only speaks agin minis- 
 ter an' session, as maybe my Saunders did (an' maybe no), 
 but abuses Providence, an the bellman, an' even blasphemes 
 agin the fast day — yet I never heard that ye had him cockit 
 up on the black henbauks i' the kirk. But then he's a braw 
 man an' keej^s a gig ! " 
 
 " The law o' the kirk is no respecter of persons," said 
 Mess John. 
 
 " No, unless they are heritors," said Cochrane of the 
 Holm, who had a pew with the name of his holding paint- 
 ed on it. 
 
 " Or members o' session," said sleeky Garment of the 
 Kirkland, who had twice escaped the stool of repentance on 
 the ground that, as he urged upon the body, " gleds [hawks] 
 shouldna pike gleds een oot." 
 
 " Or parish dominies," said the session clerk, to give 
 solidarity to his own position. 
 
 " Weel, I ken juist this if nae mair : my son disna sit 
 on ony o' yer stools o' repentance," said Eppie Mowdiewort, 
 demonstrating the truth of her position with her hand 
 clenched at the dominie, who, like all clerks of ecclesiastical 
 assemblies, was exceedingly industrious in taking notes to 
 very small purpose. " Mair nor that, Pm maybe an un- 
 learned woman, but Pve been through the Testaments mair 
 nor yince — the New Testament mair nor twice — an' I never 
 saw naethin' aboot stools o' repentance in the hoose o' God. 
 But my son Saunders was readin' to me the ither nicht in a 
 fule history bulk, an' there it said that amang the Papists 
 they used to hae fowk that didna do as they did an' believe 
 as they believed. Sae wi' a lang white serk on, an' a can'le 
 i' their hands, they set them up for the rabble fowk to clod
 
 108 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 at them, an' whiles they tied them to a bit stick an' set hint 
 [fire] to them — an that's the origin o' yer stool o' repent- 
 ance. What say ye to that?" 
 
 Mrs. Movvdievvort's lecture on church history was not at 
 all appreciated by the session. The minister rose. 
 
 " We will close this sederunt," he said ; " we can mak' 
 nocht o' these two. Alexander Mowdiewort, thou art re- 
 moved from thy office of grave-digger in the parish kirk- 
 yard, and both thysel' and thy mother are put under sus- 
 pension for contumacy ! " 
 
 "Haith!" said Elspeth Mowdiewort, pushing back her 
 hair; "did ye ever hear the mak' o' the craitur. I haena 
 been within his kirk door for twenty year. It's a guid job 
 that a body can aye gang doon to godly Maister Welsh, 
 though he's an awfu' body to deave [deafen] ye wi' the 
 Shorter Quastions." 
 
 "An it's a guid thing," added Saunders, "that there's a 
 new cemetery a-makkiu'. There's no room for anither 
 dizzen in yer auld kailyaird ony way — an' that I'm tellin' ye. 
 An' I'm promised the new job too. Ye can howk yer ain 
 graves yersel's." 
 
 " Fash na yer heid, Saunders, aboot them," said the old 
 betheral at the door ; " it's me that's to be grave-digger, but 
 ye shall howk them a' the same in the mornin', an' get the 
 siller, for I'm far ower frail — ye can hae them a' by afore 
 nine o'clock, an' the minister disna pu' up his bedroom 
 blind till ten ! " 
 
 Thus it was that Saunders Mowdiewort ended his con- 
 nection with an Erastian establishment, and became a true 
 and complete member of the Marrow kirk. His mother 
 also attended with exemplary diligence, but she was much 
 troubled with a toothache on the days of catechising, and 
 never quite conquered her unruly member to the last. But 
 this did not trouble herself much — only her neighbours.
 
 WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. 109 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIL 
 
 WHEN" THE KYE COMES HAME. 
 
 That night Saunders went up over the hill again, dressed 
 in his best. He was not a proud lover, and he did not take 
 a rebuff amiss ; besides, he had something to tell Meg Kis- 
 sock. When he got to Craig Ronald, the girls were in the 
 byre at the milking, and at every cow's tail there stood a 
 young man, rompish Ebie Farrish at that at which Jess was 
 milking, and quiet Jock Forrest at Meg's. Ebie was Jok- 
 ing and keeping up a fire of running comment with Jess, 
 whose dark-browed gipsy face and blue-black wisps of hair 
 were set sideways towards him, with her cheek pressed upon 
 Lucky's side, as she sent the warm white milk from her 
 nimble fingers, with a pleasant musical hissing sound 
 against the sides of the milking-pail. 
 
 Farther up the byre, Meg leaned her head against 
 Crummy and milked steadily. Apparently she and Jock 
 Forrest were not talking at all. Jock looked down and 
 only a quiver of the corner of his beard betrayed that he 
 was speaking. Meg, usually so outspoken and full of con- 
 versation, appeared to be silent ; but really a series of short, 
 low-toned sentences was being rapidly exchanged, so swiftly 
 that no one, standing a couple of yards away, could have 
 remarked the deft interchange. 
 
 Bat as soon as Saunders Mowdiewort came to the door, 
 Jock Forrest had dropped Crummy's tail, and slipped si- 
 lently out of the byre, even before Meg got time to utter 
 her usual salutation of — 
 
 " Guid een to ye, Cuif ! Hoo's a' the session ? " 
 
 It might have been the advent of Meg's would-be sweet- 
 heart that frightened Jock Forrest away, or again he might
 
 110 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 have been in the act of going in any case. Jock was a 
 quiet man who walked sedately and took counsel of no one. 
 He was seldom seen talking to any man, never to a woman 
 — least of all to Meg Kissock. But when Meg had many 
 " lads " to see her in the evening, he could be observed to 
 smile an inward smile in the depths of his yellow beard, 
 and a queer subterranean chuckle pervaded his great body, 
 so that on one occasion Jess looked up, thinking that there 
 were hens roosting in the baulks overhead. 
 
 Jess and Ebie pursued their flirtation steadily and harm- 
 lessly, as she shifted down the byre as cow after cow was 
 relieved of her richly perfumed load, rumbling and clink- 
 ing neck chains, and munching in their head-stalls all the 
 while. Saunders and Meg were as much alone as if they 
 had been afloat on the bosom of Loch Grannoch. 
 
 " Ye are a bonny like man," said Meg, " to tak' yer 
 minny to speak for ye before the session. Man, I wonder 
 at ye. I wonder ye didna bring her to coort for ye? " 
 
 " War ye ever afore the Session, Meg ? " 
 
 " Me afore the session — ye're a fule man, but ye dinna 
 ken what yer sayin' — gin I thocht ye did " 
 
 Here Meg became so violently agitated that Flecky, suf- 
 fering from the manner in which Meg was doing her duty, 
 kicked out, and nearly succeeded in overturning the milk- 
 pail. Meg's quickness with hand and knee foiled this in- 
 tention, but Flecky succeeded quite in planting the edge of 
 her hoof directly on the Cuif's shin-bone. Saunders there- 
 upon let go Flecky's tail, who instautly switched it into 
 Meg's face with a crack like a whip. 
 
 " Ye great muckle senseless bullion ! " exclaimed Meg, 
 " gin ye are nae use in the byre, gang oot till ye can learn to 
 keep baud o' a coo's tail ! Ye hae nae mair sense than an 
 Eerishman ! " 
 
 There was a pause. The subject did not admit of dis-
 
 WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. m 
 
 cussion. Though Saunders was a cuif, he knew when to 
 hold his tongue — at least on most occasions. 
 
 " An' what brocht ye here the nicht, Cuif ? " asked Meg, 
 who, when she wanted information, knew how to ask it di- 
 rectly, a very rare feminine accomplishment. 
 
 " To see you, Meg, my dawtie," replied Saunders, ten- 
 derly edging nearer. 
 
 " Yer what?" queried Meg with asperity; ''I thoclit 
 that ye had aneuch o' the session already for caa'in' honest 
 fowk names ; gin ye begin wi' me, ye'll get on the stool o' 
 repentance o' yer ain accord, afore I hae dune wi' ye ! " 
 
 " But, Meg, I hae telled ye afore that I am sair in need 
 o' a wife. It's byordinar' [extraordinary] lonesome up in 
 the lioose on the hill. An' I'm warned oot, Meg, so that 
 I'll look nae langer on the white stanes o' the kirkyaird." 
 
 " Gin ye want a wife, Saunders, ye'll hae to look oot for 
 a deef yin, for it's no ony or'nar' woman that could stand 
 yer mither's tongue. Na, Saunders, it wad be like leevin' 
 i' a corn-mill rinnin' withoot sheaves." 
 
 " Meg," said Saunders, edging up cautiously, " I hae 
 something to gie ye ! " 
 
 " Aff wi' ye, Cuif! I'll hae nae trokin' wi' lads i' the byre 
 — na, there's a time for everything — especial wi' widowers, 
 they're the warst o' a' — they ken ower muckle. My granny 
 used to say, gin Solomon could na redd oot the way o' a man 
 wi' a maid, what wad he hae made o' the way o' a weed- 
 ower that's lookin' for his third ? "
 
 112 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS. 
 
 The Cuif put his hands in his pockets as if to keep 
 them away from the dangerous temptation of touching 
 Meg. He stood with his shoulder against the wall and 
 chewed a straw. 
 
 "What's come o' Maister Peden thae days?" asked 
 Meg. 
 
 " He's maist michty unsettled like," replied Saunders, 
 " he's for a' the world liiie a stirk wi' a horse cleg on him 
 that he canna get at. He comes in an' sits doon at his 
 desk, an' spreads oot his bulks, an' ye wad think that he's 
 gaun to be at it the leevelang day. But afore ye hae time 
 to turn roon' an' get at yer ain wark, the craitur'll be oot 
 again an' awa' up to the hill wi' a bulk aneath his oxter. 
 Then he rises early in the mornin', whilk is no a guid sign 
 o' a learned man, as I judge. What for should a learned 
 man rise afore his parritch is made ? There maun be some- 
 thing sair wrang, " said Saunders Mowdiewort. 
 
 " Muckle ye ken aboot learned men. I suppose, ye think 
 because ye carry up the Bible, that ye ken a' that's in't," re- 
 turned Meg, with a sneer of her voice that might have turned 
 milk sour. The expression of the emotions is fine and posi- 
 tive in the kitchens of the farm towns of Galloway. 
 
 " Swish, swish ! " steadily the white streams of milk 
 shot into the pails. " Jangle, jangle ! " went the steel head 
 chains of the cows. Occasionally, as Jess and Meg lifted 
 their stools, they gave Flecky or Speckly a sound clap on 
 the back with their hand or milking-pail, with the sharp 
 command of " Stan' aboot there ! " " Haud up ! " " Mind 
 whaur yer comin' ! " Such expressions as these Jess and
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS. 113 
 
 Meg could interject into the even tenor of their conversa- 
 tion, in a way that might have been disconcerting in dia- 
 logues conducted on other principles. But really the in- 
 terruptions did not affect Ebie Farrish or any other of the 
 byre-visiting young menj any more than the rattling of the 
 chains, as Flecky and Sjoeckly arranged their own business 
 at the end devoted to imports. These sharp words of com- 
 mand were part of the nightly and morningly ceremony of 
 the " milking " at every farm. The cans could no more 
 froth with the white reaming milk without this accom- 
 paniment of slaps and adjurations than Speckly, Flecky, 
 and the rest could take their slow, thoughtfully considerate, 
 and sober way from the hill pastures into the yard without 
 Meg at the gate of the field to cry : " Hurley, Hurley, hie 
 awa' hame ! " to the cows themselves ; and " Come awa' bye 
 wi' them, fetch them, Roger ! " to the short-haired collie, 
 who knew so much better than to go near their flashing 
 heels. 
 
 The conversation in the byre proceeded somewhat in 
 this way : 
 
 Jess was milking her last cow, with her head looking 
 sideways at Ebie, who stood plaiting Marly's tail in a new- 
 fangled fashion he had brought from the low end of the 
 parish, and which was just making its way among young 
 men of taste. 
 
 " Aye, ye'll say so, nae doot," said Jess, in reply to some 
 pointed compliment of her admirer ; " but I ken you fowk 
 frae the laich end ower weel. Ye hae practeesed a' that 
 kind o' talk on the lasses doon there, or ye wadna be sae 
 gleg [ready] wi't to me, Ebie." 
 
 This is an observation which shows that Joss could not 
 have eaten more effectively of the tree of knowledge, had 
 she been born in j\Iayfair. 
 
 Ebie laughed a laugh half of depreciation, half of
 
 114 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 pleasure, like a cat that has its back stroked and its tail 
 pinched at the same time. 
 
 "Na, na, Jess, it a' comes by natur'. I never likit a 
 lassie afore I set my eeu on you," said Ebie, which, to say 
 the least of it, was curious, considering that he had an as- 
 sortment of locks of hair — black, brown, and lint-white — 
 up in the bottom of his " kist " in the stable loft where he 
 slept. He kept them along with his whipcord and best 
 Sunday pocket knife, and sometimes he took a look at them 
 when he had to move them in order to get his green neck- 
 tie. " I never really likit a lass afore, Jess, ye may believe 
 me, for I wasna a lad to rin after them. But whenever I 
 cam' to Craig Ronald I saw that I was dune for." 
 
 '■'• Stan'' hach^ ye mucUe slaMer!'''' said Jess, suddenly 
 and emphatically, in a voice that could have been heard a 
 hundred yards away. Speckly was pushing sideways against 
 her as if to crowd her off her stool. 
 
 " Say ye sae, Ebie ? " she added, as if she had not pre- 
 viously spoken, in the low even voice in which she had 
 spoken from the first, and which could be heard by Ebie 
 alone. In the country they conduct their love-making in 
 water-tight compartments. And though Ebie knew very 
 well that the Cuif was there, and may have suspected Jock 
 Forrest, even after his apparent withdrawal, so long as they 
 did not trouble him in his conversation with Jess, he paid 
 no heed to them, nor indeed they to him. No man is his 
 brother's keeper when ho goes to the byre to plait cows' 
 tails. 
 
 " But hoo div ye ken, or, raithcr, what gars ye think that 
 ye're no the first that I hae likit, Jess ? " 
 
 " Oh, I ken fine," said Jess, who was a woman of knowl- 
 edge, and had her share of original sin. 
 
 " But hoo div ye ken ? " persisted Ebie. 
 
 " Fine that," said Jess, diplomatically.
 
 A DAUGHTER OB^ THE PICTS. 115 
 
 " But tell us, Jess," said Ebie, who was in high good 
 humour at these fascinating accusations. 
 
 " Oh," said Jess, with a quick gipsy look out of her fine 
 dark eyes, " brawly I kenned on Saturday nicht that yon 
 wasna the first time ye had kissed a lass ! " 
 
 " Jess," said Ebie, " ye're a wunnerfu' woman ! " which 
 was his version of Kalph's " You are a witch." In Ebie's 
 circle " witch " was too real a word to be lightly used, so he 
 said " wunnerfu' woman." 
 
 He went on looking critically at Jess, as became so great 
 a connoisseur of the sex. 
 
 " I hae seen, maybes, bonnier faces, as ye micht say " 
 
 '"'• Haud (iff, wi' ye there; mind loliaur yer comin\ ye 
 muchle senseless noiot ! " said Jess to her Ayrshire Ilornic, 
 who had been treading on her toes. 
 
 " As I was sayin', Jess, I hae seen " 
 
 " Can ye ?io un7ierstau\ ye setiseless lump 9 " cried Jess, 
 warningly ; " I'll knock the heid aff ye, gin ye dinna drap 
 it ! " still to Hornie, of course. 
 
 But the purblind theorist went on his way : " I hae seen 
 bonnier faces, but no mair takin', Jess, than yours. It's no 
 aye beauty that tak's a man, Jess, ye see, an' the lassies that 
 hae dune best hae been plain-favoured lassies that had pleas- 
 ant expressions " 
 
 " Tell the rest to Ilornie gin ye like ! " said Jess, rising 
 viciously and leaving Ebie standing there dumfounded. 
 He continued to hold Hornie's tail for some time, as if he 
 wished to give her some further information on the theory 
 of beauty, as understood in the " laich " end of the parisli. 
 
 Saunders saw him from afar, and cried out to him down 
 the length of the byre, 
 
 " Are ye gaun to mak' a watch-guard o' that coo's tail, 
 Ebie ?— ye look fell fond o't." 
 
 " Ye see what it is to be in love," said John Scott, the
 
 116 THE LILAC SUNI30NNET. 
 
 lierd, who had stolen to the door unperceived and so had 
 marked Ebie's discomfiture. 
 
 " He disna ken the difference between Jess hersel' an' 
 Hornie ! " said the Cuif, who was repaying old scores. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AT THE BAKN END. 
 
 In a little while the cows were all milked. Saunders 
 was standing at the end of the barn, looking down the long 
 valley of the Grannoch water. There was a swfeet coolness 
 in the air, which he vaguely recognized by taking off his hat. 
 
 " Open the yett ! " cried Jess, from the byre door. Saun- 
 ders heard the clank and jangle of the neck chains of Hornie 
 and Specky and the rest, as they fell from their necks, loos- 
 ened by Jess's hand. The sound grew fainter and fainter 
 as Jess proceeded to the top of the byre where Marly stood 
 soberly sedate and chewed her evening cud. Now Marly 
 did not like Jess, therefore Meg always milked her ; she 
 would not, for some special reason of her own, " let doon her 
 milk " when Jess laid a finger on her. This night she only 
 shook her head and pushed heavily against Jess as she came. 
 
 " Hand up there, ye thrawn randy ! " said Jess in byre 
 tones. 
 
 And so very sulkily ^larly moved out, looking for Meg 
 right and left as she did so. She had her feelings as well 
 as any one, and she was not the first who had been annoyed 
 by the sly, mischievous gipsy with the black eyes, who kept 
 so quiet before folk. As she went out of tlie byre door, Jess 
 laid her switch smartly across Marly's loins, much to the 
 loss of dignity of that stately animal, who, taking a hasty
 
 AT THE BARN END. 117 
 
 step, slii^ped on the threshold, and overtook her neighbours 
 with a slow resentment gathering in her matronl}' breast. 
 
 When Saunders Mowdiewort heard the last chain drop 
 in the byre, and the strident tones of Jess exhorting Marly, 
 he took a few steps to the gate of the hill pasture. lie had 
 to pass along a short home-made road, and over a low para- 
 petless bridge constructed simply of four tree-trunks laid 
 parallel and covered with turf. Then he dropped the bars 
 of the gate into the hill pasture with a clatter, which came 
 to Winsome's ears as she stood at her wdndow looking out 
 into the night. She was just thinking at that moment what 
 a good thing it was that she had sent back Ealph Peden's 
 poenl. So, in order to see whether this were so or not, she 
 repeated it all over again to herself. 
 
 When he came back again to the end of the barn, Saun- 
 ders found Jess standing there, with the wistful light in 
 her eyes which that young woman of many accomplish- 
 ments could summon into them as easily as she could 
 smile. For Jess was a minx — there is no denying the fact. 
 Yet even slow Saunders admitted that, though she was noth- 
 ing to Meg, of course, still there was something original 
 and attractive about her — like original sin. 
 
 Jess was standing with her head on one side, putting the 
 scarlet head of a pop2\y among her black hair. Jess had 
 strange tastes, which would be called artistic nowadays in 
 some circles. Her liking was always bizarre and excellent, 
 the taste of the primitive Galloway Pict from whom she was 
 descended, or of that picturesque Glenkens warrior, who set 
 a rowan bush on his head on the morning when he was to 
 lead the van at the battle of the Standard. Scotland was 
 beaten on that great occasion, it is true ; but have the chron- 
 iclers, tvho complain of the place of Galloway men in the 
 ranks, thought how much more terribly Scotland might 
 have been beaten had (Jallowav not led the charije? But
 
 118 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 this is written just because Jess Kissock, a Galloway farm 
 lassie, looked something like a cast back to the primitive 
 Pict of the south, a fact which indeed concerns the story 
 not at all, for Saunders Movvdiewort had not so much as 
 ever heard of a Pict. 
 
 Jess did not regard Saunders Mowdiewort highly at any 
 time. He was one of Meg's admirers, but after all he was 
 a man, and one can never tell. It was for this reason that 
 she put the scarlet poppy into her hair. 
 
 She meditated " I maybe haena Meg's looks to the no- 
 tion o' some folk, but I mak' a heap better use o' the looks 
 that I hae, an' that is a great maitter ! " 
 
 " Saunders," said Jess softly, going up to the Cuif and 
 pretending to pick a bit of heather off his courting coat. 
 She did this with a caressing touch which soothed the wid- 
 ower, and made him wish that Meg would do the like. He 
 began to think that he had never properly valued Jess. 
 
 "Is Meg comin' oot again?" Jess inquired casually, the 
 scarlet poppy set among the blue-black raven's wings, and 
 brushing his beard in a distracting manner. 
 
 Saunders would have given a good deal to be able to 
 reply in the affirmative, but Meg had dismissed him curtly 
 after the milking, with the intimation that it was time he 
 was making manseward. As for her, she was going within 
 doors to put the old folks to bed. 
 
 After being satisfied on this point the manner of Jess 
 was decidedly soothing. That young woman had a theory 
 which was not quite complimentary either to the sense or 
 the incorruptibility of men. It was by showing an interest 
 in them and malting tliem think that they (or at least the 
 one being operated upon) are the greatest and most fasci- 
 nating persons under the sun, almost anything can be done. 
 This theory has been acted upon with results good and bad, 
 in other places besides the barn end of Craig Ronald.
 
 AT THE BARN END. 119 
 
 "They're a' weel at the Manse?" said Jess, tentatively. 
 
 " Oil aj^e," said Saunders, looking round the barn end to 
 see if Meg could see him. Satisfied that Meg was safe in 
 bed, Saunders put his hand on Jess's shoulder — the sleek- 
 haired, candle-greased deceiver that he was. 
 
 " Jess, ye're bonny," said he. 
 
 " Na, na," said Jess, very demurely, " it's no me that's 
 bonny — its Meg ! " 
 
 Jess was still looking at him, and interested in getting 
 all the rough wool off the collar of his homespun coat. 
 
 The Samson of the graveyard felt his strength deserting 
 him. 
 
 " Davert, Jess lass, but it's a queer thing that it never 
 cam across me that ye were bonny afore ! " 
 
 Jess looked down. The Cuif thought that it was be- 
 cause she was shy, and his easy heart went out to her ; but 
 had he seen the smile that was wasted on a hopping spar- 
 row beneath, and especially the wicked look in the black 
 eyes, he might have received some information as to the 
 real sentiments of girls who put red poppies in their hair 
 in order to meet their sisters' sweethearts at the barn 
 end. 
 
 " Is the young minister aye bidin' at the Manse?" asked 
 Jess. 
 
 "Aye, he is that !" said Saunders, "he's a nice chiel' 
 yon. Ye'll see him whiles ower by here. They say — that is 
 Manse Bell says — that he's real fond o' yer young mistress 
 here. Ken ye ocht aboot that, Jess ? " 
 
 "Hoots, havers, our young mistress is no for penniless 
 students, I wot weel. There'll be nocht in't, an' sae ye 
 can tell Bell o' the Manse, gin you aii' her is so chief [in- 
 timate]." 
 
 "Very likely ye're richt. There'll be nocht in't, Vm 
 thinkin' — at least on her side. But what o' the voung
 
 120 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 man ? D'ye think he's sair ta'en up aboot Mistress Winsome ? 
 Meg was sayin' so." 
 
 " Meg thinks there's naebody worth lookin' at in the 
 warl' but hersel' and Mistress Winifred Charteris, as she 
 ca's hersel'; but there's ithers thinks different." 
 
 " What hae ye against her, Jess? I thocht that she's a 
 fell fine young leddy." 
 
 " Oh she's richt eneuch, but there's bonny lasses as weel 
 as her ; an' maybe, gin young Maister Peden comes ower by 
 to Craig Konald to see a lass unkenned o' a' — what faut 
 wad there be in that ? " 
 
 " Then it's Meg he comes to see, and no' the young mis- 
 tress?" said the alarmed grave-digger. 
 
 " Maybes aye an' maybes no — there's bonny lasses forby 
 Meg Kissock for them that hae gotten een in their heads." 
 
 " Wi' Jess ! Is't yersel' ? " said Saunders. 
 
 Jess was discreetly silent. 
 
 " Ye'll no tell onybody, wull ye, ]\Iaister Mowdiewort?" 
 she said anxiously. 
 
 To Saunders this was a great deal better than being 
 called a " Cuif." 
 
 " Na, Jess, lass, I'll no tell a soul — no yin." 
 
 " No' even Meg— mind ! " repeated Jess, who felt that 
 this was a vital point. 
 
 So Saunders promised, though he had intended to do so 
 on the first opportunity. 
 
 " Mind, if ye do, I'll never gie ye a hand wi' Meg again 
 as lang as I leeve ! " said Jess emphatically. 
 
 "Jess, d'ye think she likes me?" asked the Avidower in 
 a hushed whisper. 
 
 "Saunders, I'm juist snre o't," replied Jess with great 
 readiness. " But she's no yin o' the kind to let on." 
 
 " Na," groaned Saunders, " I wuss to peace she was. 
 But ye mind me that I gat a letter frae the young min-
 
 AT THE BARN END. 121 
 
 ister that I was to gie to Meg. But as you're the yin he 
 comes to see, I maun as weel gie't direct to yoursel'." 
 
 "It wad be as weel," said Jess, with a strange sort of 
 sea-fire like moonshine in her eyes. 
 
 Saunders passed over a j^aper to her readily, and Jess, 
 with her hand still on his coat-collar, in a way that Meg 
 had never used, thanked him in her own way. 
 
 " Juist bide a wee," she said ; " I'll be wi' ye in a 
 minute ! " 
 
 Jess hurried down into the old square-plotted garden, 
 which ran up to the orchard trees. She soon found a moss- 
 rose bush from which she selected a bud, round which the 
 soft feathery envelope was just beginning to curl back. 
 Then she went round by the edge of the brook which keeps 
 damp one side of the orchard, where she found some single 
 stems of forget-me-nots, shining in the dusk like beaded 
 turquoise. She pulled some from the bottom of the half- 
 dry ditch, and setting the pale moss-rosebud in the middle, 
 she bound the whole together with a striped yellow and 
 green withe. Then snipping the stacks with her pocket 
 scissors, she brought the posy to Saunders, with instructions 
 to wrap it in a dock-leaf and never to let his hands touch it 
 the whole way. 
 
 Saunders, dazed and fascinated, forgetful even of Meg 
 and loyalty, promised. The glamour of Jess, the g3'psy, 
 was upon him. 
 
 " But what am I to say," he asked. 
 
 " Say its frae her that he sent the letter to ; he'll ken 
 brawly that Meg hadna the gumption to send him that ! " 
 said Jess candidly. 
 
 Saunders said his good-night in a manner which would 
 certainly have destroyed all his chances with Meg had she 
 witnessed the parting. Then he stolidly tramped away 
 down the loaning.
 
 122 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Jess called after him, struck with a sudden thought. 
 " See that ye dinna gie it to him afore the minister," 
 
 Then she put her hands beneath her apron and walked 
 home meditating. " To be a man is to be a fool," said Jess 
 Kissock, putting her whole experience into a sentence. Jess 
 was a daughter of the cot ; put then she was also a daugh- 
 ter of Eve, who had not even so much as a cot. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " DAEK-BROWED EGYPT." 
 
 As soon as Jess was by herself in the empty byre, to 
 which she withdrew herself with the parcel which the 
 faithful and trustworthy Cuif had entrusted to her, she lit 
 the lantern which always stood in the inside of one of the 
 narrow triangular wickets that admitted light into the byre. 
 Sitting down on the small hay stall, she pulled the packet 
 from her pocket, looked it carefully over, and read the sim- 
 ple address, " In care of Margaret Kissock." There was no 
 other writing npon the outside. 
 
 Opening the envelope carefully,s he let the light of the 
 byre lantern rest on the missive. It was written in a deli- 
 cate but strong handwriting — the hand of one accustomed 
 to forming the smaller letters of ancient tonglies into a cur- 
 rent script. " To Mistress Winifred Charteris," it ran. 
 " Dear Lady : That I have offended you by the hastiness of 
 my words and the unforgivable wilfulness of my actions, I 
 know, but cannot forgive myself. Yet, knowing the kind- 
 ness of your disposition, I have thought that you might be 
 better disposed to pardon me than I myself. For I need 
 not tell you, what you already know, that the sight of you
 
 "DARK-BROWED EGYPT." 123 
 
 is dearer to me than the liglit of the morning. You are 
 connected in my mind and heart with all that is best and 
 loveliest. I need not tell now that I love you, for you know 
 that I love the string of your bonnet. Nor am I asking for 
 anything in return, save only that you may know my heart 
 and not be angry. This I send to ease its pain, for it has 
 been crying out all night long, ' Tell her — tell her ! ' So 
 I have risen early to write this. Whether I shall send it or 
 no, I cannot tell. There is no need, Winsome, to answer 
 it, if you will only let it fall into your heart and make no 
 noise, as a drop of water falls into the sea. Whether you 
 will be angry or not I cannot tell, and, truth to tell you, 
 sweetheart, I am far past caring. I am coming, as I said, 
 to Craig Ronald to see your grandmother, and also, if you 
 will, to see you. I shall not need you to tell me whether 
 you are angered with a man's love or no ; I shall know that 
 before you speak to me. But keep a thought for one that 
 loves you beyond all the world, and as if there were no 
 world, and naught but God and you and him. For this 
 time fare you well. Ralph Peden." 
 
 Jess turned it over with a curious look on her face. 
 " Aye, he has the grip o't, an' she micht get him gin she 
 war as clever as Jess Kissock ; but him that can love yin 
 weel can lo'e anither better, an' I can keep them sindry 
 [asunder]. I saw him first, an' he spak to me first. ' Ye're 
 no to think o' him,' said my mither. Think o' him ! I hae 
 thocht o' nocht else. Think of him! Since when is thinkin' 
 a crime? A lass maun juist do the best she can for hersel', 
 be she cotman's dochter or laird's. Love's a' yae thing — 
 kitchen or byre, but or ben. See a lad, lo'e a lad, get a lad, 
 keep a lad ! Ralph Peden will kiss me afore the year's cot," 
 she said with determination. 
 
 So in the corner of the byre, among the fragrant hay 
 and fresli-cut clover, Jess Kissock the cottar's lass prophe-
 
 121 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 sied out of her wayward soul, baring her intentions to her- 
 self as perhaps her sister in boudoir hushed and perfumed 
 might not have done. There are Ishmaels also among 
 women, whose hand is against every woman, and who stand 
 for their own rights to the man on whom they have set 
 their love ; and the strange thing is, that such are by no 
 means the worst of women either. 
 
 Stranger still, so strong and dividing to soul and mar- 
 row is a clearly defined purpose and deterrainately selfish, 
 that such women do not often fail. And indeed Jess Kis- 
 sock, sitting in the hay-neuk, with her candle in the lantern 
 throwing patterns on the cobwebby walls from the tiny per- 
 forations all round, made a perfectly correct prophecy. 
 Ealph Peden did indeed kiss her, and that of his own free 
 will as his love of loves within a much shorter space of time 
 than a year. 
 
 Strangely also, Jess the gipsy, the dark -browed Pictess, 
 was neither angry nor jealous when she read Kalph's letter 
 to Winsome. According to all rules she ought to have been. 
 She even tried to persuade herself that she was. But the 
 sight of Ralph writing to Winsome gave no pang to her 
 heart. Nor did this argue that she did not love really and 
 passionately. She did ; but Jess had in her the Napoleon 
 instinct. She loved obstacles. So thus it was what she com- 
 muned with herself, sitting with her hand on her brow, and 
 her swarthy tangle of hair falling all about her face. All 
 women have a pose in which they look best. Jess looked 
 best leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Had 
 there been a fender at her father's fireside Jess would have 
 often sat on it, for there is a dangerous species of girl that, 
 like a cat, looks best sitting on a fender. And such a girl is 
 always aware of the circumstance. 
 
 " He has written to Winsome," Jess communed with 
 herself. " Well, he shall write to me. He loves her, he
 
 "DARK-BROWED EGYPT." 125 
 
 thinks ; then in time he shall love me, and be sure perfectly 
 o't. Let me see. Gin she had gotten this letter, she 
 wadna hae answered it. So he'll come the morn, an' he'll 
 no say a word to her aboot the letter. Na, he'll juist look 
 if she's pleased like, and gin that gomeral Saunders gied 
 him the rose, he'll no be ill to please eyther ! But afore he 
 gangs hame he shall see Jess Kissock, an' hear frae her 
 aboot the young man frae the Castle ! " Jess took another 
 look at the letter. " It's a bonny hand o' write," she said, 
 " but Dominie Cairnoclian learned me to write as weel as 
 onybody, an' some day he'll write to me. I'se no be byre 
 lass a' my life. Certes no. There's oor Meg, noo ; she'll 
 mairry some ignorant landward nuxn, an' leeve a' her life in 
 a cot hoose, wi' a dizzen weans tum'lin' aboot her ! What 
 yin canua learn, anither can," continued Jess. " I hae lis- 
 tened to graun' fowk speakin', an' I can speak as weel as ony- 
 body. I'll disgrace nane. Gin I canna mak' mysel' fit for 
 kirk or manse, my name's no Jess Kissock. I'm nae coun- 
 try lump, to be left where I'm set doon, like a milkin' creepie 
 [stool], an' kickit ower when they are dune wi' me." 
 
 It is of such women, born to the full power and passion 
 of sex, and with- all the delicate keenness of the feminine 
 brain, utterly without principle or scruple, that the Cleo- 
 patras are made. For black-browed Egypt, the serpent of 
 old Nile, can sit in a country byre, and read a letter to an- 
 other woman. For Cleopatra is not history ; she is type.
 
 12G THE LILAC SUNP.ONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISH. 
 
 Now Ebie Farrish had been over at the Nether Crae 
 seeing the kissies there in a friendly way after the scene in 
 the byre, for Galloway ploughmen were the most general of 
 lovers. Ebie considered it therefore no disloyalty to Jess 
 that he would dis^^lay his watch-guard and other accom- 
 plishments to the young maids at the Crae. Nor indeed 
 would Jess herself have so considered it. It was only Meg 
 who was so particular that she did not allow such little prac- 
 tice excursions of this kind on the part of her young men. 
 
 When Ebie started to go home, it was Just midnight. 
 As he came over the Grannoch bridge he saw the stars re- 
 flected in the water, and the long stretches of the loch 
 glimmering pearl grey in the faint starlight and the late 
 twilight. He thought they looked as if they were running 
 down hill. His thoughts and doings that day and night 
 had been earthly enough. He had no regrets and few as- 
 pirations. But the coolness of the twilight gave him the 
 sense of being a better man than he knew himself to be. 
 Ebie went to sit under the ministrations of the Reverend 
 Erasmus Teends at twelve by the clock on Sunday. He 
 was a regular attendant. He always was spruce in his Sun- 
 day blacks. He placed himself in the hard pews so that he 
 could have a view of his flame for the time being. As he 
 listened to the minister he thought sometimes of her and of 
 his work, and of the turnip-hoeing on the morrow, but 
 oftenest of Jess, who went to the Marrow kirk over the hills. 
 He thought of the rise of ten shillings that he would ask at 
 the next half-year's term, all as a matter of course — just as 
 Robert Jamieson the large farmer, thought of the rent day 
 and the market ordinary, and bringing liome the " muckle
 
 THE RETURN OP ERIE FARRISII. 127 
 
 greybeard " full of excellent Glenlivat from the Cross Keys 
 on Wednesday. Above them both the Reverend Erasmus 
 Teends droned and drowsed, as Jess Kissock said with her 
 faculty for expression, " bummelin' awa like a bubbly-Jock 
 or a bum-bee in a bottle." 
 
 But coming home in the coolness of this night, the 
 ploughman was, for the time being, purged of the grosser 
 humours which come naturally to strong, coarse natures, 
 with physical frames ramping with youth and good feed- 
 ing. He stood long looking into the lane water, wliich 
 glided beneath the bridge and away down to the Dee with- 
 out a sound. 
 
 He saw where, on the broad bosora of the loch, the still- 
 ness lay grey and smooth like glimmering steel, with little 
 puffs of night wind purling across it, and disappearing like 
 breath from a new knife-blade. He saw where the smooth 
 satin plane rippled to the first water-break, as the stream 
 collected itself, deep and black, with the force of the water 
 behind it, to flow beneath the bridge. When Ebie Farrish 
 came to the bridge he was a material Galloway ploughman, 
 satisfied with his night's conquests and chewing the cud of 
 their memory. 
 
 He looked over. He saw the stars, which were perfectly 
 reflected a hundred yards away on the smooth expanse, first 
 waver, then tremble, and lastly break into a myriad delicate 
 shafts of light, as the water quickened and gathered. He 
 spat in the water, and thought of trout for breakfast. But 
 tlie long roar of the rapids of the Dee came over the hill, 
 and a feeling of stillness with it, weird and remote. Un- 
 certain lights shot hither and thither under the bridge, in 
 strange gleams of reflection. The ploughman was awed. 
 He continued to gaze. The stillness closed in upon him. 
 The aromatic breath of the pines seemed to cool him and 
 remove him from himself. He had a sense that it was Sab-
 
 128 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 bath morning, and that he had just washed his face to go 
 to church. It was the nearest thing to worship he had ever 
 known. Such moments come to the most material, and are 
 their theology. Far oS. a solitary bird whooped and whin- 
 nied. It sounded mysterious and unknown, the cry of a lost 
 soul. Ebie Farrish wondered where he would go to when 
 he died. He thought this over for a little, and then he 
 concluded that it were better not to dwell on this subject. 
 But the crying on the lonely hills awed him. It was only a 
 Jack snipe from whose belated nest an owl had stolen two 
 eggs. But it was Ebie Farrish's good angel. He resolved 
 that he would go seldomer to the village public o' nights, 
 and that he would no more find cakes and ale sweet to his 
 palate. It was a foregone conclusion that on Saturday 
 night he would be there, yet what he heard and saw on 
 Grannoch Bridge opened his sluggish eyes. Of a truth 
 there- was that in the world which had not been there for 
 him before. It is to Jess Kissock's credit, that when Ebie 
 was most impressed by the stillness and most under the 
 spell of the night, he thought of her. He was only an ig- 
 norant, godless, good-natured man, who was no more moral 
 than he could help ; but it is both a testimonial and a com- 
 pliment when such a man thinks of a woman in his best 
 and most solemn moments. 
 
 At that moment Jess Kissock was putting Winsome 
 Charteris's letter into her pocket. 
 
 There is no doubt that poor, ignorant Ebie, with 'his 
 highly developed body and the unrestrained and irregular 
 propensities of his rudimentary soul, was nearer the Al- 
 mighty that night than his keen-witted and scheming 
 sweetheart. 
 
 A trout leaped in the calm water, and Ebie stopped 
 thinking of the eternities to remember where he had set a 
 line. Far off a cock crew, and the well-known sound
 
 THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISU. 1^9 
 
 warned Ebie that he had better be drawing near liis bed. 
 He raised himself from the copestone of the parapet, and 
 solemnly tramped his steady way up to the " onstead " of 
 Craig Ronald, which took shape before him as he advanced 
 like a low, grey-bastioned castle. As he entered the low 
 square on his way across to the stable door he was surprised 
 to notice a gleam of light in the byre. Ebie thought that 
 some tramps were trespassing on the g-ood nature of the 
 mistress of the house, and he had the feeling of loyalty to 
 his master's interests which distinguished the Gallowav 
 ploughman of an older time. He was mortally afraid of 
 bogles, and would not have crossed the kirkyard after the 
 glimmer of midnight without seeing a dozen corpse-candles ; 
 but tramps were quite another matter, for Ebie was not in 
 the least afraid of mortal man — except only of Allan AVelsh, 
 the Marrow minister. 
 
 So he stole on tiptoe to the byre door, circumnavigating 
 the " wicket," which poured across the yard its tell-tale 
 plank of light. Standing within the doorway and looking 
 over the high wooden stall, tenanted in winter by Jock, the 
 shaggy black bull, Ebie saw Jess Kissock, lost in her 
 dreams. The lantern was set on the floor in front of her. 
 The candle had nearly burned down to the socket. Jess's 
 eyes were large and brilliant. It seemed to Ebie Farrish 
 that they were shining with light. Her red lips were 
 pouted, and there was a warm, unwonted flush on her cheeks. 
 In her dreams she was already mistress of a house, and con- 
 sidering how she would treat her servants. She would treat 
 them kindly and well. She had heard her sister, who was 
 servant at Earlston, tell how the ladies there treated their 
 servants. Jess meant to do just the same. She meant to 
 be a real lady. Ambition in a woman has a double chance, 
 for adaptation is inborn along with it. Most men do not 
 succeed very remarkably in anything, because at heart they
 
 130 THE LILAC SUNBONNBT. 
 
 do not believe in themselves, Jess did. It was her heri- 
 tage from some Pict, who held back under the covert of his 
 native woods so long as the Roman tortoise crept along, 
 shelved in iron, but who drave headlong into a gap with all 
 his men, when some accident of formation showed the one 
 chance given in a long day's march. 
 
 Ebie thought he had never seen Jess so beautiful. It 
 had never struck him before that Jess was really hand- 
 somer than Meg. He only knew that there was a sting- 
 ing wild-fruit fragrance about Jess and her rare favours 
 he had never experienced in the company of any other 
 woman. And he had a large experience. 
 
 Was it possible that she knew that he was out and was 
 waiting for him? In this thought, which slowly entered in 
 upon his astonishment, the natural Ebie forced himself to 
 the front. 
 
 " Jess ! " he exclaimed impulsively, taking a step within 
 the door. Instantly, as though some night-flying bat had 
 flown against it, the candle went out — a breath wafted by 
 him as lightly and as silently as a snowy owl flies home in 
 the twilight. A subtle something, the influence of a pres- 
 ence, remained, which mingled strangely with the odours 
 of the clover in the neuk, and the sour night-smell of the 
 byre. Again there was a perfect silence. Without, a corn- 
 crake ground monotonously. A rat scurried along the 
 rafter. Ebie in the silence and the darkness had almost 
 persuaded himself that he had been dreaming, when his 
 foot clattered against something which fell over on the cob- 
 ble-stones that paved the byre. He stopped and picked it 
 up. It was the byre lantern. The wick was still glowing 
 crimson when he opened the little tin door. As he looked 
 it drew slowly upward into a red star, and winked itself 
 out. It was no dream. Jess had been in the byre. To 
 meet whom ? he asked himself.
 
 THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISII. 131 
 
 Ebie went thoughtfully up-stairs, climbing the stable 
 ladder as the first twilight of the dawn was slowly pouring 
 up from beneath into a lake of light and colour in the east, 
 as water gushes from a strong well-eye. 
 
 " Ye're a nice boy comin' to yer bed at this time o' the 
 moruin','' said Jock Forrest from his bunk at the other 
 side. 
 
 "Nicht-wanderin' bairns needs skelpin' ! " remarked 
 Jock Gordon, who had taken up his abode in a vacant stall 
 beneath. 
 
 " Sleep yer ain sleeps, ye pair o' draft-sacks, in yer 
 beds," answered Ebie Farrish without heat and simply as a 
 conversational counter. 
 
 He did not know that he was quoting the earliest Eng- 
 lish classic. He had never heard of Chaucer. 
 
 " What wad Jess say ? " continued Jock Forrest, sleepily. 
 
 " Ask her," said Ebie sharply. 
 
 " At ony rate, Fm no gaun to be disturbit in my nicht's 
 rest wi' the like o' you, Ebie Farrish ! Ye'll eyther come 
 hame in time o' nicht, or ye'll sleep elsewhere — up at the 
 Crae, gin ye like." 
 
 " Mind yer ain business," retorted Ebie, who could think 
 of nothing else to say. 
 
 Down below daft Jock Gordon, with some dim appro- 
 priateness was beginning his elricht croon of — 
 
 " The devil sat on his ain lum-tap. 
 Hech hoiv — black and reeky — " 
 
 when Jock Forrest, out of all patience, cried out down to 
 him : "Jock Gordon, gin ye begin yer noise at twa o'clock 
 i' the mornin' Fll come down an' pit ye i' the mill-dam ! " 
 
 " Maybes ye'll be cryin' for me to pit you i' the mill-daui 
 some warm day!" said Jock Gordon grimly, "but Fse do 
 naething o' the kind. I'll eeu bank up the fires an' gie ye
 
 132 'i'l^E LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 a turn till ye're weel brundered. Ye'll girn for mill-dams 
 then, I'm tiiinkin' ! " 
 
 80, grumbling and threatening in his well-accustomed 
 manner, Jock Grordon returned to the wakeful silence 
 which he kept during the hours usually given to sleep. It 
 was said, however, that he never really slept. Indeed, Ebie 
 and Jock were ready to take their oath that they never 
 went up and down that wooden ladder, from which three of 
 the rounds were missing, without seeing Jock Gordon's eyes 
 shining like a cat's out of the dark of the manger where, 
 like an ape, he sat all night cross-legged. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A SCARLET POPPY. 
 
 It was early afternoon at Ci-aig Ronald. Afternoon is 
 quite a different time from morning at a farm. Afternoon 
 is slack-water in the duties of the house, at least for the 
 womenfolk — except in hay and harvest, when it is full flood 
 tide all the time, night and day. But when we consider 
 that the life of a farm town begins about four in the morn- 
 ing, it will be readily seen that afternoon comes far on in 
 the day indeed for such as have tasted the freshness of the 
 morning. 
 
 In the morning, Winsome had seen that every part of 
 her farm machinery was going upon well-oiled wheels. 
 She had consulted her honorary factor, who, though a 
 middle-aged man and a bachelor of long and honourable 
 standing, enrolled himself openly and avowedly in the army 
 of Winsome's admirers. He used to ask every day what 
 additions had been made to the list of her conquests, and
 
 A SCARLET POPPY. 133 
 
 took much interest in the details of lier costume. This last 
 she mostly devised for herself with taste which was really a 
 gift natural to her, but which seemed nothing less than 
 miraculous to the maidens and wives of a parish which had 
 its dressmaking done according to the canons of an art 
 which the Misses Crumbcloth, mantua-makers at the Dul- 
 larg village, had learned twenty-five years before, once 
 for all. 
 
 Now it was afternoon, and Winsome was once more at 
 the bake-board. There were few things that Winsome 
 liked better to do, and she daily tried the beauty of her 
 complexion before the open fireplace, though her grand- 
 mother ineffectually suggested that Meg Kissock would do 
 just as well. 
 
 While Winsome was rubbing her hands with dry meal, 
 before beginning, she became conscious that some one was 
 coming up the drive. So she was not at all astonished 
 when a loud knock in the stillness of the afternoon echoed 
 through the empty house and far down the stone passages. 
 
 It was Ealph Peden who knocked, as indeed she did not 
 need to tell herself. She called, however, to Meg Kissock. 
 
 " Meg," she said, " there is the young minister come to 
 see my grandmother. Go and show him into the parlour." 
 
 Meg looked at her mistress. Her reply was irrelevant. 
 " I was born on a Friday," she said. 
 
 But notwithstanding she went, and received the young 
 man. She took him into the parlour, where he was set 
 down among strange voluted foreign shells with a pink 
 flush within the wide mouth of every one of them. Here 
 there was a scent of lavender and subtle essences in the 
 air, and a great stillness. While he sat waiting, he could 
 hear afar off the sound of rippling Avater. It struck a little 
 chill over him that, after the letter he had sent. Winsome 
 should not have come to greet him herself. From this he
 
 134 T^^K LILAC SUNI30NNET. 
 
 argued tlie worst. She might be offended, or — still more 
 fiittil thought — she and Meg might be laughing over it to- 
 gether. 
 
 A tall, slim girl entered the quiet parlour with a silent, 
 catlike tread. She was at his side before he knew it. It 
 was the girl whom he had met on his way to the Manse the 
 first day of his arrival. Jess's experience as a maid to her 
 ladyship has stood her in good stead. She had a fineness 
 of build which even the housework of a farm could not 
 coarsen. Besides, Winsome considered Jess delicate, and 
 did not allow her to lift anything really heavy. So it hap- 
 pened that when Ralph Peden came, Jess was putting the 
 fresh flowers in the great bowls of low relief chinaware — 
 roses from the garden and sprays of white hawthorn, which 
 flowers late in Galloway, blue hyacinths and harebells 
 massed together — yellow marigolds and glorious scarlet 
 poppies, of which Jess wnth her taste of the savage was 
 passionately fond. She had arranged some of these against 
 a pale blue background of bunches of forget-me-nots, with 
 an effect strangely striking in that cool, dusky room. 
 
 When Jess came in Ralph had risen instinctively. He 
 shook hands heartily with her. As she looked up at him, 
 she said : 
 
 " Do you remember me ? " 
 
 Ralph replied with an eager frankness, all the more 
 marked that he had expected Winsome instead of Jess Kis- 
 sock : " Indeed, how could I forget, when you helped me to 
 carry my books that night? I am glad to find you here. 
 I had no idea that you lived here." 
 
 Which was indeed true, for he had not yet been able to 
 grasp the idea that any but Winsome lived at Craig Ronald. 
 
 Jess Kissock, who knew that not many moments were 
 hers before Meg might come in, replied : 
 
 " I am here to help with the house. Meg Kissock is my
 
 A SCARLET POPPY. 135 
 
 sister." She looked to see if there was anything in Ilalph's 
 eyes she could resent ; but a son of the Marrow kirk had 
 not been trained to respect of persons. 
 
 " I am sure you will help very much," he said, politely. 
 
 " I'm not as strong as my sister, you see, so that I'm 
 generally in the house," said Jess, who was carrying two 
 dishes of flowers at once across the room. At Ralph's feet 
 one of them overset, and poured all its wealth of blue and 
 white and splashed crimson over the floor. 
 
 Jess stooped to lift them, crying shame on her own awk- 
 wardness. Ralph kindly assisted her. As they stooped to 
 gather them together, Jess put forward all her attractions. 
 Her lithe grace never showed to more advantage. Yet, for 
 all the impression she made on Ralph, she might as well have 
 wasted her sweetness on Jock Gordon — indeed, better so, 
 for Jock recognized in her something strangely kin to his 
 own wayward spirit. 
 
 When the flowers were all gathered and put back : 
 
 " Now you shall have one for helping," said Jess, as she 
 had once seen a lady in England do, and she selected a dark- 
 red, velvety damask rose from the wealth which she had 
 cut and brought out of the garden. Standing on ti2)toe, 
 she could scarcely reach his button-hole. 
 
 " Bend down," she said. Obediently Ralph bent, good- 
 humouredly patient, to please this girl who had done him a 
 good turn on that day which now seemed so far away — the 
 day that had brought Craig Ronald and Winsome into his 
 life. 
 
 Rut in spite of his stooping, Jess had some difliculty in 
 pinning in the rose, and in order to steady herself on tiptoe, 
 she reached up and laid a staying hand on his shoulder. 
 As he bent down, his face just touched the crisp fringes of 
 her dark linir, which seemed a strange thing to him. 
 
 But a sense of another presence in the room caused him
 
 136 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 to raise his eyes, and there in the doorway stood Winsome 
 Charteris, looking so pale and cold that she seemed to be a 
 thousand miles away. 
 
 " I bid you good-afternoon, Master Peden," said Win- 
 some quietly ; " I am glad you have had time to come and 
 visit my grandmother. She will be glad to see you." 
 
 For some moments Ealph had no words to answer. As 
 for Jess, she did not even colour ; she simply withdrew with 
 the quickness and feline grace which were characteristic of 
 her, without a flush or a tremor. It was not on such occa- 
 sions that her heart stirred. When she was gone she felt 
 that things had gone well, even beyond her expectation. 
 
 When Ralph at last found his voice, he said somewhat 
 fulteringly, yet with a ring of honesty in his voice which 
 for the time being was lost upon Winsome : 
 
 " You are not angry with me for coming to-day. You 
 knew I would come, did you not?" 
 
 Winsome only said : " My grandmother is waiting for 
 me. You had better go in at once." 
 
 " Winsome," said Ealph, trying to prolong the period 
 of his converse with her, " you are not angry with me for 
 writing what I did?" 
 
 Winsome thought that he was referring to the poem 
 which had come to her by way of Manse Bell and Saunders 
 Mowdiewort. She was indignant that he should try to 
 turn the tables upon her and so make her feel guilty. 
 
 " I received nothing that I had any right to keep," she 
 said. 
 
 Ralph was silent. The blow was a complete one. She 
 did not wish him to write to her any more or to speak to 
 her on the old terms of friendship. He thought wholly of 
 the letter that he had sent by Saunders the day before, and 
 her coldness and changed attitude were set down by him to 
 that cause, and not to the embarrassing position in which
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON. 137 
 
 Winsome had surprised him when she came into the flower- 
 strewn parlour. He did not know that the one thing a 
 woman never really forgives is a false position, and that 
 even the best of women in such cases think the most unjust 
 things. A\ insome moved towards the inner door of her 
 grandmother's room. 
 
 Ealpli put out his hand as if to touch hers, but Win- 
 some withdrew herself with a swift, fierce movement, and 
 held the door open for him to pass in. He had no alterna- 
 tive but to obey. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON. 
 
 " GuiD e'en to ye, Maister Ealph," said the gay old lady 
 within, as soon as she caught sight of Ealph. " Keep up 
 yer held, man, an' walk like a Gilchrist. Ye look as dowie 
 as a yow [ewe] that has lost her lammie." 
 
 Walter Skirving from his arm-chair gave this time no 
 look of recognition. He yielded his hand to Ealph, who 
 raised it clay-chill and heavy even in the act to shake. 
 When he let it drop, the old man held up his palm and 
 looked at it. 
 
 " Hae ye gotten aneuch guid Gallawa' lear to learn ye no 
 to rin awa frae a bonny lass yet, Maister Ealph?" said the 
 old lady briskly. She had not many jokes save with Win- 
 some and Meg, and she rode one hard when she came by it. 
 
 But no reply was needed. 
 
 " Aye, aye, weelna," meditated the old lady, leaning 
 back and folding her hands like a median'al saint of worldly 
 tendencies, " tell me aboot your faither."
 
 138 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " He is very robust and strong in health of body," said 
 Ralph. 
 
 " Ye leeve in Edinbra'? " said the old lady, with a rising 
 inflection of inquiry. 
 
 " Yes," said Ralph, " we live in James's Court. My 
 father likes to be among his people." 
 
 " Faith na, a hantle o' braw folk hae leeved in James's 
 Court in their time. I mind o' the Leddy Partan an' Mis- 
 tress Girnigo, the king's jevveller's wife haein' a fair even- 
 doon feclit a' aboot wha was to hae the pick o' the hooses on 
 the stair. — Winifred, ma lassie, come here an' sit doon ! 
 Dinna gang flichterin' in an' oot, but bide still an' listen to 
 what Maister Peden has to tell us aboot his faither." 
 
 AVinsome came somewhat slowly and reluctantly towards 
 the side of her grandmother's chair. There she sat hold- 
 ing her hand, and looking across the room towards the win- 
 dow where, motionless and abstracted, Walter Skirving, 
 who was once so bold and strong, dreamed his life away. 
 
 " I hardly know what to tell you first," said Ralph, hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 " Hoot, tell me gin your faither and you bide thegither 
 withoot ony woman body, did I no hear that yince ; is that 
 the case na?" demanded the lady of Craig Ronald with 
 astonishing directness. 
 
 "It is true enough," said Ralph, smiling, "but then we 
 have with us my father's old Minister's Man, John Bairdie- 
 son. John has us both in hands and keeps us under fine. 
 He was once a sailor, and cook on a vessel in his wild days ; 
 but when he was converted by falling from the top of a 
 main yard into a dock (as he tells himself), he took the 
 faith in a somewhat extreme form. But that does not affect 
 his cooking. He is as good as a woman in a house." 
 
 " An' that's a lee," said the old lady. " The best man's 
 no as ffuid as the warst woman in a hoose ! "
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIKDIESON. I39 
 
 Wiusome did not appear to be listening. Of what in- 
 terest could such things be to her ? 
 
 Her grandmother was by no means satisfied with Ralph's 
 report. " But that's nae Christian way for folk to leeve, 
 withoot a woman o' ouy kind i' the hoose — it's hardly 
 human ! " 
 
 " But I can assure you, Mistress Skirving, that, in sjjite 
 of what you say, John Bairdieson does very well for us. lie 
 is, however, terribly jealous of women coming about. He 
 does not allow one of them within the doors. He regards 
 them fixedly through the keyhole before opening, and when 
 he does open, his usual greeting to them is, ' Noo get yer 
 message dune an' be gaun ! ' " 
 
 The lady of Craig Ronald laughed a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Gin I cam' to veesit ye I wad learn him mainners ! 
 But what does he do," she continued, " when some of the 
 dames of good standing in the congregation call on your 
 f aither ? Does he treat them in this cavalier way ? " 
 
 " In that case," said Ralph, " John listens at my father's 
 door to hear if he is stirring. If there be no sign, John 
 says, ' The minister's no in, mem, an' I could not sav for 
 certain when he wull be ! ' Ouce my father came out and 
 caught him in the act, and when ho charged John with 
 telling a deliberate lie to a lady, John replied, ' A'weel, it'll 
 tak' a lang while afore we mak' u]) for the aipple ! ' " 
 
 It is believed that John I'luixlieson here refers to Eve's 
 fatal gift to Adam. 
 
 "John Bairdieson is an ungallant man. It'll be from 
 him that ye learned to rin awa'," retorted the old lady. 
 
 " Grandmother," interrupted Winsome, who had suffered 
 quite enough from this, " Master Peden has come to see you, 
 and to ask how you find yourself to-day." 
 
 " Aye, aye, belike, belike — but Maistcr Ralph Peden has 
 the power o' his tongue, an' gin that be his errand he can
 
 140 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 say as muckle for himsel'. Young fowk are whiles rale 
 offeecious ! " she said, turning to Ralph Avith the air of au 
 appeal to an equal from the unaccouutabilities of a child. 
 
 Winsome lifted some stray flowers that Jess Kissock had 
 drojiped when she sped out of the room, and threw them 
 out of the window with an air of disdain. This to some ex- 
 tent relieved her, and she felt better. It surprised Ealph, 
 however, who, being wholly innocent and unembarrassed by 
 the recent occurrence, wondered vaguely why she did it. 
 
 " Xoo tell me mair aboot your faither," continued Mis- 
 tress Skirving. " I cauna mak' oot whaur the Marrow pairt 
 o' ye comes iu — I suppose when ye tak' to rinnin' awa'." 
 
 " Grandmammy, your pillows are not comfortable ; let 
 me sort them for you." 
 
 Winsome rose and touched the old lady's surroundings 
 in a manner that to Ralph was suggestive of angels turning 
 over the white-bosomed clouds. Then Ralph looked at his 
 pleasant querist to find out if he were expected to go on. 
 The old lady nodded to him with an affectionate look. 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, " my father is like nobody else. I 
 have missed my mother, of course, but my father has been 
 like a mother for tenderness to me." 
 
 " Yer grandfaither, auld Ralph Gilchrist, was sore missed. 
 There was thanksgiving in the parish for three days after he 
 died ! " said the old lady by way of an anticlimax. 
 
 Winsome looked very much as if she wished to say 
 something, which brought down her grandmother's wrath 
 upon her. 
 
 " Noo, lassie, is't you or me that's haeiu' a veesit frae 
 this young man ? Ye telled me juist the noo that he had 
 come to see me. Then Juist let us caa' oor cracks, an' say 
 oor says in peace." 
 
 Thus admonished. Winsome was silent. But for the 
 first time she looked at Ralph with a smile that had half an
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON. 141 
 
 understanding in it, which made that young man's heart 
 leap. He answered quite at random for the next few mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " About my father — yes, he always takes wp the Bibles 
 when John Bairdieson preaches." 
 
 " What ! " said the old lady. 
 
 " I mean, John Bairdieson takes up the Bibles for him 
 when he preaches, and as he shuts the door, John says over 
 the railing in a whisper, ' Noo, dinna be losin' the Psalms, as 
 ye did this day three weeks ' ; or perhaps, ' Be canny on this 
 side o' the poopit ; the hinge is juist pitten on wi' potty 
 [putty] ; ' whiles John will walk half-way down the kirk, 
 and then turn to see if my father has sat quietly down ac- 
 cording to instructions. This John has always done since 
 the day when some inward communing overcame my father 
 before he began his sermon, and he stood up in the pulpit 
 without saying a word till the people thought that he was in 
 direct communion with the Almighty." 
 
 " There was nane o' thae fine abstractions aboot your 
 grandfaither, Ralph Gilchrist — na, whiles he was taen sae 
 that he couldna speak he was that mad, an' aye he gat 
 redder an' redder i' the face, till yince he gat vent, and then 
 the ill words ran frae him like the Skyreburn * in spate." 
 
 "What else did John Bairdieson say to yer faither?" 
 asked Winsome, for the first time that day speaking human- 
 ly to Ralph. 
 
 That young man looked gratefully at her, as if she had 
 suddenly dowered him with a fortune. Then he paused to 
 try (because he was very young and foolish) to account for 
 the unaccountability of womankind. 
 
 He endeavoured to recollect what it was that he had 
 said and what John Bairdieson had said, but with indiffer- 
 
 * A Galloway mountain stream noted for sudden floods. 
 10
 
 142 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 ent success. He could not remember what he was talking 
 about. 
 
 "John Bairdieson said — John Bairdieson said It 
 
 has clean gone out of ray mind what John Bairdieson said," 
 replied Ealph with much shamefacedness. 
 
 The old lady looked at him approvingly. " Ye're no 
 a Whig. There's guid bluid in ye," she said, irrelevantly. 
 
 " Yes, I do remember now," broke in Ealph eagerly. " I 
 remember what John Bairdieson said. ' Sit doon, minister,' 
 he said, ' gin yer ready to flee up to the blue banks ' " [rafters 
 — said of hens going to rest at nights] ; " ' there's a heap o' 
 folk in this congregation that's no juist sae ready yet.' " 
 
 Ealph saw that Winsome and her grandmother were both 
 genuinely interested in his father. 
 
 " Ye maun mind that I yince kenned yer faitlier as 
 weel as e'er I kenned a son o' mine, though it's mony an' 
 mony a year sin' he was i' this hoose." Winsome looked 
 curiously at her grandmother. "Aye, lassie," she said, "ye 
 may look an' look, but the faither o' him there cam as near 
 to bein' your ain faither " 
 
 Walter Skirviug, swathed in his chair, turned his solemn 
 and awful face from the window, as though called back to 
 life by his wife's words. " Silence, woman ! " he thun- 
 dered. 
 
 But Mistress Skirving did not look in the least put out; 
 only she was discreetly silent for a minute or two after her 
 husband had spoken, as was her wont, and then she pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 "Aye, brawlyl kenned Gilbert Peden, when he used 
 to come in at that door, wi' his black curls ower his broo as 
 crisp an' bonny as his son's the day." 
 
 Winsome looked at the door with an air of interest. 
 " Did he come to see you, grandmammy ? " she asked. 
 
 "Aye, aye, what else ? — juist as muckle as this young man
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON. 143 
 
 here comes to see me. I had the word o' baith o' them 
 for't. Ealph Peden says that he comes to see me, an' sae 
 did the faither o' him " 
 
 Again Mistress Skirving paused, for she was aware that 
 her husband had turned on her one of his silent looks. 
 
 " Drive on aboot yer faither an' John Rorrison," she 
 said ; " it's verra entertainin'," 
 
 " Bairdieson," said Winsome, correctingly. 
 
 Ralph, now reassured that he was interesting Winsome 
 as well, went on more briskly. Winsome had slipped down 
 beside her grandmother, and had laid her arm across her 
 grandmother's knees till the full curve of her breast touched 
 the spare outlines of the elder woman. Ralph wondered if 
 Winsome would ever in the years to come be like her grand- 
 mother. He thought that he could love her a thousand 
 times more then. 
 
 " My father," said Ral^ih, " is a man much beloved by 
 his congregation, for he is a very father to them in all their 
 troubles ; but they give him a kind of adoration in return 
 that would not be good for any other kind of man except 
 my father. They think him no less than infallible. ' Dinna 
 mak' a god o' yer minister,' he tells them, but they do it all 
 the same." 
 
 Winsome looked as if she did not wonder. 
 
 " When I kenned yer faither," said the old dame, " he 
 wad hae been nocht the waur o' a pickle mair o' the auld 
 Adam in him. It's a rale usefu' commodity in this 
 life " 
 
 " Why, grandmother " began Winsome. 
 
 " Noo, lassie, wull ye baud yer tongue ? I'm sair deevcd 
 wi' the din o' ye ! Is there ony yae thing that a body may 
 say withoot bcin' interruptit? Gin it's no you wi' yer 
 ' Grandmither ! ' like a cheepin' mavis, it's him ower by 
 lookin' as if ye had dung doon the Bible an' selled yersel'
 
 144 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 to Sawtan. I never was in sic a hoose. A body canna get 
 their tongue rinnin' easy an' comfortable like, but it's 
 ' Woman, silence ! ' in a voice as graund an' awfu' as ' The 
 Lord said unto Moses ' — or else you wi' yer Englishy peepin' 
 tongue, ' Gran'mither ! ' as terrible shockit like as if a body 
 were gaun intil the kirk on Sabbath wi' their stockin's doon 
 aboot their ankles ! " 
 
 The little outburst seemed mightily to relieve the old 
 lady. Neither of the guilty persons made any signs, save 
 that Winsome extended her elbow across her grandmother's 
 knee, and poised a dimpled chin on her hand, smiling as 
 placidly and contentedly as if her relative's words had been 
 an outburst of admiration. The old woman looked sternly 
 at her for a moment. Then she relented, and her hand 
 stole among the girl's clustering curls. Tlie little burst 
 of temper gave way to a semi-humorous look of feigned 
 sternness. 
 
 " Ye're a thankless madam," she said, shaking her white- 
 capped head ; " maybe ye think that the fifth command- 
 ment says nocht aboot grandmithers ; but ye'll be tamed 
 some day, my woman. Mony's the gamesome an' hellicat 
 [madcap] lassie that I hae seen brocht to hersel', an' her 
 wings clippit like a sea-gull's i' the 3'aird, tethered by the 
 fit wi' a family o' ten or a dizzen " 
 
 Winsome rose and marched out of the room with all the 
 dignity of offended youth at the suggestion. The old lady 
 laughed a hearty laugh, in which, however, Ealph did not 
 join. 
 
 "Sae fine- an' Englishy the ways o' folk noo," she went 
 on ; " ye mauna say this, ye mauna mention that ; dear sirse 
 me, I canna mind them a'. I'm ower auld a Pussy Baw- 
 drous to learn new tricks o' sayiu' '■miauw'' to the kittlins. 
 But for a' that an' a' that, I haena noticed that the young 
 folk are mair particular aboot what they do nor they waur
 
 CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESOX. 145 
 
 fifty years since. Na, but they're that nice they niauna say 
 this and they canna hear that." 
 
 The old lady had got so far when by the sound of re- 
 treating footsteps she judged that Winsome was out of 
 hearing. Instantly she changed her tone. 
 
 " But, young man," she said, shaking her finger at him 
 as if she exj^ected a contradiction, " mind you, there's no a 
 lass i' twuuty parishes like this lassie o' mine. An' diuna 
 think that me an' my guidman dinna ken brawly what's 
 bringiu' ye to Craig Ronald. Noo, it's richt an' better nor 
 richt — for ye're yer faither's son, an' we baith wuss ye weel. 
 But mind you that there's sorrow comin' to us a'. Him 
 an' me here has had oor sorrows i' the past, deep buried for 
 mair nor twenty year." 
 
 " I thank you with all my heart," said Ralph, earnestly. 
 " I need not tell you, after what I have said, that I would 
 lay my life down as a very little thing to pleasure Winsome 
 Charteris. I love her as I never thought that woman could 
 be loved, and I am not the kind to change." 
 
 " The faither o' ye didna change, though his faitber 
 garred him mairry a Gilchrist — an' a guid bit lass she was. 
 But for a' that he didna change. Na, weel do I ken that 
 he didna change." 
 
 " But," continued Ralph, " I have no reason in the 
 world to imagine that Winsome thinks a thought about 
 me. On the contrary, I have some reason to fear that she 
 dislikes my person ; and I would not be troublesome to 
 her " 
 
 " Hoot toot ! laddie, dinna let the Whig bluid mak' a 
 pulin' bairn o' ye. Surely ye dinna expect a lass o' specrit 
 to jump at the thocht 0' ye, or drap intil yer moo' like a 
 black-ripe cherry aff a tree i' the orchard. Gae wa' wi' ye, 
 man ! what does a blithe young man 0' mettle want wi' en- 
 couragement — encouragement, fie ! "
 
 146 THE LILAC SUNBONNET, 
 
 "Perhaps you can tell me " faltered Ealph. "I 
 
 thought " 
 
 "Na, ua, I can tell ye naething; ye maun juist find oot 
 for yersel', as a young man should. Only this I wull say, it's 
 only a cauldrife Whigamore that wad tak' ' No ' for an an- 
 swer. Mind ye that gin the forbears o' the daddy o' ye 
 was on the wrang side o' Both well Brig that day — an' guid 
 Wcstland bluid they spilt, nae doot, Whigs though they 
 waur — there's that in ye that rode doon the West Port wi' 
 Clavers, an' cried : 
 
 • Up wi' the bonnets o' bonny Dundee ! ' " 
 
 " I know," said Ralph with some of the stiff sententious- 
 ness which he had not yet got rid of, " that I am not worthy 
 of your granddaughter in any respect " 
 
 " My certes, no," said the sharp-witted dame, " for jeh-e 
 a man, an' it's a guid blessin' that you men dinna get your 
 deserts, or it wad be a puir lookoot for the next geuera- 
 tion, young man. Gae wa' wi' ye, man ; mind ye, I'll no' 
 say a word in yer favour, but raither the ither way — 
 whilk," smiled Mistress Skirving in the deep still way that 
 she sometimes had in the midst of her liveliness, " whilk 
 will maybe do ye mair guid. But Fm speakin' for my guid- 
 man when I say that ye hae oor best guid-wull. We think 
 that ye are a true man, as yer faither was, though sorely he 
 was used by this hoose. It wad maybes be some amends," 
 she added, as if to herself. 
 
 Then the dear old lady touched her eyes with a fine 
 handkerchief which she took out of a little black reticule 
 basket on the table by her side. 
 
 As Ealph rose reverently and kissed her hand before 
 retiring, Walter Skirving motioned him near his chair. 
 Then he drew him downward till Ralph was bending on 
 one knee. He laid a nerveless heavy hand on the young
 
 LEGITIMATE SPORT. I47 
 
 man's head, and looked for a minute — which seemed years 
 to Ealph — very fixedly on his eyes. Then dropping his 
 hand and turning to the window, he drew a long, heavy 
 breath. 
 
 Ralph Peden rose and went out. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 LEGITIMATE SPOET. 
 
 As Ralph Peden went through the flower-decked parlour 
 in which he had met Jess Kissock an hour before, he heard 
 the clang of controversy, or perhaps it is more correct to 
 say, he heard the voice of Meg Kissock raised to its extreme 
 pitch of command. 
 
 " Certes, my lass, but ye'll no hoodwink me ; je hae 
 dune no yae thing this hale mornin' but wander athort 
 [about] the hoose wi' that basket 0' flooers. Come you an' 
 gie us a hand wi' the kirn this meenit ! Ye dinna gang a 
 step oot o' the hoose the day ! " 
 
 Ralph did not think of it particularly at the time, but it 
 was probably owing to this utilitarian occupation that he 
 did not again see the attractive Jess on his way out. For, 
 with all her cleverness, Jess was afraid of Meg. 
 
 Ralph passed through the yard to the gate which led to 
 the hill. He was wonderfully comforted in heart, and 
 though Winsome had been alternatively cold and kind, he 
 was too new in the ways of girls to be uplifted on that ac- 
 count, as a more experienced man might have been. Still, 
 the interview with the old people had done him good. 
 
 As he was crossing the brook which flows partly over 
 and partly under the road at the horse watering-place, ho
 
 148 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 looked down into the dell among the tangles of birch and 
 the thick viscous foliage of the green-berried elder. There 
 he caught the flash of a light dress, and as he climbed the 
 opposite grassy bank on his way to the village, he saw im- 
 mediately beneath him the maiden of his dreams and his 
 love-verses. Now she leajDed merrily from stone to stone ; 
 now she bent stealthily over till her palms came together in 
 the water ; now she paused to dash her hair back from her 
 flushed face. And all the time the water glimmered and 
 sparkled about her feet. With her was Andra Kissock, a 
 bare-legged, bonnetless squire of dames. Sometimes he 
 pursued the wily burn trout with relentless ferocity and 
 the silent intentness of a sleuthhound. Often, however, he 
 would pause and with his finger indicate some favourite 
 stone to Winsome. Then the young lady, utterly forgetful 
 of all else and Avith tremulous eagerness, delicately circum- 
 vented the red-spotted beauties. 
 
 Once throwing her head back to clear the tumbling 
 avalanches of her hair, she chanced to see Ealph standing 
 silent above. For a moment Winsome was annoyed. She 
 had gone to the hill brook with Andra so that she might 
 not need to speak further with Ealph Peden, and here he 
 had followed her. But it did not need a second look to 
 show her that he was infinitely more embarrassed than she. 
 This is the thing of all others which is fitted to make a 
 woman calm and collected. It allows her to take the meas- 
 ure of her opi"»ortunity and assures her of her superiority. 
 So, with a gay and quipsome wave of the hand, in which 
 Ralph was conscious of some faint resemblance to her 
 grandmother, she called to him : 
 
 " Come down and help us to catch some trout for 
 supper." 
 
 Ealph descended, digging liis heels determinedly into 
 the steep bank, till he found himself in the bed of the
 
 LEGITIMATE SPORT. 149 
 
 streamlet. Then he looked at Winsome for an explanation. 
 This was something he had not practised in the water of 
 Leith. Andra Kissock glared at him with a terrible coun- 
 tenance, in which contempt was supposed to blend with a 
 sullen ferocity characteristic of the noble savage. The 
 effect was slightly marred by a black streak of mud which 
 was drawn from the angle of his mouth to the roots of his 
 hair. Ealph thought from his expression that trout-fishiug 
 of this kind did not agree with him, and proposed to help 
 Winsome instead of Andra. 
 
 This proposal had the effect of drawing a melodramatic 
 " Ha ! ha ! " from that youth, ludicrously out of keeping 
 with his usual demeanour. Once he had seen a play-acting 
 show unbeknown to his mother, when Jess had taken him 
 to Cairn Edward September fair. 
 
 So " Ha ! ha ! " he said with the look of smothered 
 desperation which to the unprejudiced observer suggested a 
 pain in his inside. " You guddle troot ! " he cried scorn- 
 fully, " I wad admire to see ye ! Ye wad only fyle [dirty] 
 yer shune an' yer braw breeks ! " 
 
 Ealph glanced at the striped underskirt over which 
 Winsome had looped her dress. It struck him with aston- 
 ishment to note how she had managed to keep it clean and 
 dry, when Andra was apparently wet to the neck. 
 
 " I do not know that I shall be of any use," he said 
 meekly, " but I shall try." 
 
 Winsome was standing poised on a stone, bending like a 
 lithe maid, her hands in the clear water. There had been 
 a swift and noiseless rush underneath the stone ; a few 
 grains of sand rose up where the white under part of the 
 trout had touched it as it glided beneath. Slowly and im- 
 perceptibly Winsome's hand worked its way beneath the 
 stone. With the fingers of one hand she made that slight 
 swirl of the water which is supposed by expert " guddlcrs "
 
 150 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 to fascinate the trout, and to render tliem incapable of re- 
 sisting the beckoning fingers. Andra watched breathlessly 
 from the bank above. Ealph came nearer to see the issue. 
 The long, slender fingers, shining mellow in the peaty water, 
 were just closing, when the stone on which Ealph was 
 standing precariously toppled a little and fell over into the 
 burn with a splash. The trout darted out and in a moment 
 was down stream into the biggest pool for miles. 
 
 Winsome rose with a flush of disappointment, and 
 looked very reproachfully towards the culprit. Ralph, who 
 had followed the stone, stood up to his knees in the water, 
 looking the picture of crestfallen humility. 
 
 Overhead on the bank Andra danced madly like an imp. 
 He would not have dared to speak to Ealph on any other 
 occasion, but guddling, like curling, loosens the tongue. He 
 who fails or causes the failures of others is certain to hear 
 very plainly of it from those who accompany him to this 
 very dramatic kind of fishing. 
 
 "0' a' the stupid asses ! " cried that young man. " Was 
 there ever sic a beauty ? — a pund wecht gin it was an ounce ! 
 — an' to fa' aS a stane like a six-months' wean ! " 
 
 His effective condemnation made Winsome laugh. 
 Ealph laughed along with her, which very much increased 
 the anger of Andra, who turned away in silent indignation. 
 It was hard to think, just when he had got the " prairie 
 flower" of Craig Eonald (for whom he cherished a romantic 
 attachment of the most desperate and picturesque kind) 
 away from the house for a whole long afternoon at the fish- 
 ing, that this great grown-up lout should come this way and 
 spoil all his sport. Andra was moved to the extremity of 
 scorn. 
 
 " Hey, mon ! " he called to Ealph, who was standing in 
 the water's edge with Winsome on a miniature bay of shining 
 sand, looking down on the limpid lapse of the clear moss-
 
 LEGITIMATE SPORT. 151 
 
 tinted water slipi^ing over its sand and pebbles — "liey, 
 mon ! " he cried. 
 
 " Well, Andra, what is it ? " asked Winsome Charteris, 
 looking up after a moment. She had been busy thinking. 
 
 " Tell that chap frae Enbro'," said Andra, collecting all 
 his spleen into one, tremendous and annihilating phrase — 
 " him that tummilt aff the stane — that there's a feck o' 
 paddocks [a good many frogs] up there 1' the bog. He 
 micht come up here an' guddle for paddocks. It wad be 
 safer for the like o' him 1 " The ironical method is the 
 favourite mode or vehicle of humour among the common 
 orders in Galloway. Andra was a master in it. 
 
 " Andra," said Winsome warmly, " you must not " 
 
 " Please let him say whatever he likes. My awkward- 
 ness deserves it all," said Ralph, with becoming meekness. 
 
 " I think you had better go home now," said Winsome ; 
 " it will soon be time for you to bring the kye home." 
 
 " Hae ye aneucli troots for the mistress's denner ? " said 
 Andra, who knew very well how many there were. 
 
 " There are the four that you got, and the one I got 
 beneath the bank, Andra," answered Winsome. 
 
 " Nane o' them half the size o' the yin that he fleyed 
 [frightened] frae ablow the big stane," said Andra Kis- 
 sock, indicating the culprit once more with the stubby great 
 toe of his left foot. It would have done Ralph too much 
 honour to have pointed with his hand. Besides, it was a 
 way that Andrew had at all times. He indicated persons 
 and things with that part of him which was most con- 
 venient at the time. He would point with his elbow stuck 
 sideways at an acute angle in a manner that was distinctly 
 libellous. He would do it menacingly with his head, and 
 the indication contemptuous of his left knee was a triumi^h. 
 But the finest and most conclusive use of all was his great 
 toe as an index-finger of scorn. It stuck out apart from all
 
 152 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the others, red and uncompromising, a conclusive affidavit 
 of evil conduct. 
 
 " It's near kye-time," again said Winsome, while Kalph 
 yearned with a great yearning for the boy to betake himself 
 over the moor. But Andra had no such intention. 
 
 " I'se no gaun a fit till I hae showed ye baith what it is 
 to guddle. For ye mauna gang awa' to Embro " [elbow 
 contemptuous to the north, where Andra supposed Edin- 
 burgh to lie immediately on the other side of the double- 
 breasted swell of blue Cairnsmuir of Carsphairn], " an' think 
 that howkin' (wi' a lassie to help ye) in among the gravel is 
 guddlin'. You see here ! " cried Andra, and before either 
 Winsome or Kalph could say a word, he had stripped him- 
 self to his very brief breeches and ragged shirt, and was wad- 
 ing into the deepest part of the pool beneath the water-fall. 
 
 Here he scurried and scuttled for all the world like a 
 dipper, with his breast showing white like that of the bird, 
 as he walked along the bottom of the pool. Most of the 
 time his head was beneath the water, as well as all the rest 
 of his body. His arms bored their way round the intricacies 
 of the boulders at the bottom. His brown and freckled 
 hands pursued the trouts beneath the banks. Sometimes 
 he would have one in each hand at the same time. 
 
 When he caught them he had a careless and reckless 
 way of throwing them np on the bank without looking 
 where he was throwing. The first one he threw in this way 
 took eifect on the cheek of Ralph Peden, to his exceeding 
 astonishment. 
 
 Winsome again cried "Andra!" warningly, but Andra 
 was far too busy to listen ; besides, it is not easy to hear with 
 one's head nnder water and the frightened trout flashing in 
 lightning wimples athwart the pool. 
 
 But for all that, the fisherman's senses were acute, even 
 under the water ; for as Winsome and Ealph were not very
 
 LEGITIMATE SPORT. 153 
 
 energetic in catching the lively speckled beauties which 
 found themselves so unexpectedly frisking upon the green 
 grass, one or two of them (putting apparently their tails 
 into their mouths, and letting go, as with the release of a 
 steel spring) turned a splashing somersault into the pool. 
 Andra did not seem to notice them as they fell, but in a 
 little while he looked up with a trout in his hand, the peat- 
 water running in bucketfuls from his hair and shirt, his 
 face full of indignation. 
 
 " Ye're lettin' them back again ! " he exclaimed, looking 
 fiercely at" the trout in his hand. " This is the second time 
 I hae catched this yiu wi' the wart on its tail ! " he said. 
 " D'ye think I'm catchin' them for fun, or to gie them a 
 change o' air for their healths, like fine fowk that come frae 
 Embro' ! " 
 
 " Andra, I will not allow " Winsome began, who felt 
 
 that on the ground of Craig Konald a guest of her grand- 
 mother's should be respected. 
 
 But before she had got further Andra was again under 
 the water, and again the trout began to rain out, taking 
 occasional local effect upon both of them. 
 
 Finally Andra looked up with an air of triumph. "It 
 tak's ye a' yer time to grup them on the dry land, I'm 
 thinkin'," said he with some fine scorn ; " ye had better 
 try the paddocks. It's safer." So, shaking himself like a 
 water-dog, he climbed up on the grass, where he collected 
 the fish into a large fishing basket which Winsome had 
 brought. lie looked them over and said, as he handled one 
 of them : 
 
 " Oh, ye're there, are ye ? I kenned I wad get ye some 
 day, impidence. Ye hae nae business i' this pool ony wa5\ 
 Ye belang half a mile faurer up, my lad ; ye'll bite aff nae 
 mair o' my heuks. There maun be three o' them i' his guts 
 the noo "
 
 154 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Here Winsome looked a meaning look at him, upon 
 which Andra said : 
 
 " I'm juist gaun. Ye needna tell me that it's kye-time. 
 See you an' be hame to tak' in yer grannie's tea. Ye're mair 
 likely to be ahint yer time than me ! " 
 
 Having sped this Parthian shaft, Andra betook himself 
 over the moor with his backful of spoil. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BAREIERS BREAKING. 
 
 " Andra is completely spoiled," exclaimed Winsome ; 
 " he is a clever boy, and I fear we have given him too much 
 of his own will. Only Jess can manage him." 
 
 AVinsome felt the reference to be somewhat unfortunate. 
 It was, of course, no matter to her whether a servant lass 
 put a flower in Ralph Peden's coat ; though, even as she 
 said it, she owned to herself that Jess was different from 
 other servant maids, both by nature and that quickness of 
 tongue which she had learned when abroad. 
 
 Still, the piquant resentment Winsome felt, gave just 
 that touch of waywardness and caprice which was needed 
 to make her altogether charming to Ralph, whose acquaint- 
 ance with women had been chiefly with those of his father's 
 flock, who buzzed about him everywhere in a ferment of 
 admiration, 
 
 " Your feet are wet," said Winsome, with charming 
 anxiety. 
 
 Andra was assuredly now far over the moor. They had 
 rounded the jutting j)oint of rock which shut in the linn, 
 and were now walking slowly along the burnside, with the
 
 BARRIERS BREAKING. 155 
 
 misty sunlight sinning upon them, with a glistering and 
 suffused green of fresh leaf sap in its glow. So down that 
 glen many lovers had walked before. 
 
 Ealph's heart beat at the tone of Winsome's inquiry. 
 He hastened to assure her that, as a matter of personal 
 liking, he rather preferred to go with his feet wet in the 
 summer season. 
 
 " Do you know," said Winsome, confidingly, " that if I 
 dared I would run barefoot over the grass even yet. I re- 
 member to this day the happiness of taking off my stock- 
 ings when I came home from the Keswick school, and 
 racing over the fresh grass to feel the daisies underfoot. I 
 could do it yet." 
 
 " Well, let us," said Ralph Peden, the student in divinity, 
 daringly. 
 
 Winsome did not even glance up. Of course, she could 
 not have heard, or she would have been angry at the 
 preposterous suggestion. She thought awhile, and then 
 said : 
 
 " I think that, more than anything in the world, I love 
 to sit by a waterside and make stories and sing songs to the 
 rustle of the leaves as the wind sifts among them, and 
 dream dreams all by myself." 
 
 Her eyes became very thoughtful. She seemed to be on 
 the eve of dreaming a dream now. 
 
 Ealph felt he must go away. He was trespassing on the 
 pleasaunce of an angel. 
 
 " What do you like most? What would you like best to 
 do in all the world ? " she asked him. 
 
 " To sit with you by the waterside and watch you dream," 
 said Ralph, whose education was proceeding by leaps and 
 bounds. 
 
 Winsome risked a glance at him, though well aware that 
 it was dangerous.
 
 156 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " You are easily satisfied," she said ; " then let us do it 
 now." 
 
 So Ealph and Winsome sat down like boy and girl on 
 the fallen trunk of a fir-tree, which lay across the water, 
 and swung their feet to the rhythm of the wimpling burn 
 beneath. 
 
 " I think you had better sit at the far side of that 
 branch," said Winsome, suspiciously, as Ralph, compelled 
 by the exigencies of the position, settled himself jjrecari- 
 ously near to her section of the tree-trunk. 
 
 " What is the matter with this ? " asked Ealph, with an 
 innocent look. Now no one counterfeits innocence worse 
 than a really innocent man who attempts to be more inno- 
 cent than he is. 
 
 So Winsome looked at him with reproach in her e3'es, 
 and slowly she shook her head. " It might do very well for 
 Jess Kissock, but for me it will balance better if you sit on 
 the other side of the branch. We can talk just as well." 
 
 Ealph had thought no more of Jess Kissock and her 
 flower from the moment he had seen Winsome. Indeed, 
 the posy had dropped unregarded from his button-hole 
 while he was gathering up the trout. There it had lain till 
 Winsome, who had seen it fall, accidentally set her foot on 
 it and stamped it into the grass. This indicates, like a 
 hand on a dial, the stage of her prepossession. A day before 
 she had nothing regarded a flower given to Ealph Peden ; 
 and in a little while, when the long curve has at last been 
 turned, she will not regard it, though a hundred women 
 give flowers to the beloved. 
 
 " I told you I should come," said Ealph, beginning the 
 personal tale which always waits at the door, whatever 
 lovers may say when they first meet. Winsome was medi- 
 tating a conversation about the scenery of the dell. She 
 needed also some botanical information which should aid
 
 BARRIERS BREAKING. 157 
 
 ber in the selection of plants for a herbarium. But on this 
 occasion Ealph was too quick for her. " I told you I should 
 come," said Ealph boldly, " and so you see I am here," he 
 concluded, rather lamely. 
 
 " To see my grandmother," said Winsome, with a touch 
 of archness in her tone or in her look — Ralph could not 
 tell which, though he eyed her closely. He wished for the 
 first time that the dark-brown eyelashes which fringed her 
 lids were not so long. He fancied that, if he could only 
 have seen the look in the eyes hidden underneath, he might 
 have risked changing to the other side of the unkindly front- 
 ier of fir-bough which marked him off from the land of 
 promise on the farther side. 
 
 But he could not see, and in a moment the chances were 
 past. 
 
 "Not only to see your grandmother, who has been very 
 kind to me, but also to see you, who have not been at all 
 kind to me," answered Ralph. 
 
 " And pray. Master Ralph Peden, how have I not been 
 kind to you ? " said Winsome with dignity, giving him the 
 full benefit of a pair of apparently reproachful eyes across 
 the fir-branch. 
 
 Now Ralph had strange impulses, and, like Winsome, 
 certainly did not talk by rule. 
 
 "I do wish," he said complainingly, with his head a lit- 
 tle to one side, " that you would only look at me with one 
 eye at a time. Two like that are too much for a man." 
 
 This is that same Ralph Peden whose opinions on wonuui 
 were written in a lost note-book which at this present mo- 
 ment is — we shall not say where. 
 
 11
 
 158 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 SUCH SWEET PERIL. 
 
 Winsome looked away down the glen, and strove to 
 harden her face into a superhuman indignation. 
 
 " That he should dare — the idea ! " 
 
 But it so happened that the idea so touched that rare 
 gift of humour, and the picture of herself looking at Ealph 
 Peden solemnly with one eye at a time, in order at once to 
 spare his susceptibilities and give the other a rest, Avas too 
 much for her. She laughed a peal of rippling merriment 
 that sent all the blackbirds indignant out of their copses at 
 the infringement of their prerogative. 
 
 Ralph's humour was slower and a little grimmer than 
 Winsome's, whose sunny nature had blossomed out amid 
 the merry life of the woods and streams. But there was a 
 sternness in both of them as well, that was of the heather 
 and the moss hags. And that would in due time come out. 
 It is now their day of love and bounding life. And there 
 are few people in this world who would not be glad to sit 
 just so at the opening of the flower of love. Indeed, it was 
 hardly necessary to tell one another. 
 
 Laughter, say the French (who think that their Vamoin' 
 is love, and so will never know anything), kills love. But 
 not the kind of laughter that rang in the open dell which 
 peeped like the end of a great green-lined prospect glass 
 upon the glimmering levels of Loch Grannoch ; nor yet the 
 kind of love which in alternate currents pulsed to and fro 
 between the two young people who sat so demurely on either 
 side of the great, many-spiked fir-branch. 
 
 " Is not this nice ? " said Winsome, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders contentedly and swinging her feet.
 
 SUCH SWEET PERIL. 159 
 
 Their laughter made them better friends than before. 
 The responsive gladness in each other's eyes seemed part 
 of the midsummer stillness of the afternoon. Above, a red 
 squirrel dropped the husks of larch tassels upon them, and 
 peered down upon them with his bright eyes. He was 
 thinking himself of household duties, and had his own 
 sweetheart safe at home, nestling in the bowl of a great 
 beech deep in the bowering wood by the loch. 
 
 " I liked to hear you speak of your father to-day," said 
 Winsome, still swinging her feet girlishly. " It must be a 
 great delight to have a father to go to. I never remember 
 father or mother." 
 
 Her eyes were looking straight before her now, and a 
 depth of tender wistfulness in them went to Ralph's heart. 
 He was beginning to hate the branch. 
 
 " My father," he said, " is often stern to others, but he 
 has never been stern to me — always helpful, full of ten- 
 derness and kindness. Perhaps that is because I lost my 
 mother almost before I can remember." 
 
 Winsome's wet eyes, with the lashes curving long over 
 the under side of the dark-blue iris, were turned full on him 
 now with the tenderness of a kindred pity. 
 
 " Do you know I think that your father was once kind 
 to my mother. Grandmother began once to tell me, and 
 then all at once would tell me no more — I think because 
 grandfather was there." 
 
 " I did not know that my father ever knew your mother," 
 answered Ralph. 
 
 " Of course, he would never tell you if he did," said the 
 woman of experience, sagely; "but grandmother has a ])or- 
 trait in an oval miniature of your father as a young man, 
 and my mother's name is on the back of it." 
 
 " Her maiden name?" queried Ral])h. 
 
 Winsome Charteris nodded. Then she said wistfully :
 
 160 THE LILAC SUXBONNET. 
 
 " I wish I knew all about it. I think it is very hard that 
 grandmother will not tell me ! " 
 
 Then, after a silence which a far-ofE cuckoo filled in with 
 that voice of his which grows slower and fainter as the mid- 
 summer heats come on, Winsome said abruj^tly, " Is your 
 father ever hard and — unkind ? " 
 
 Ealph started to his feet as if hastily to defend his father. 
 There was something in Winsome's eyes that made him sit 
 down again — something shining and tender and kind. 
 
 " My father," he said, " is very silent and reserved, as I 
 fear I too have been till I came down here " [he meant to 
 say, " Till I met you, dear," but he could not manage it] , " but 
 he is never hard or unkind, except perhaps on matters con- 
 nected with the Marrow kirk and its order and discipline. 
 Then he becomes like a stone, and has no pity for himself or 
 any, I remember him once forbidding me to come into the 
 study, and compelling me to keep my own garret-room for 
 a month, for saying that I did not see much difference be- 
 tween the Marrow kirk and the other kirks. But I am sure 
 he could never be unkind or hurtful to any one in the world. 
 But why do you ask, Mistress Winsome '? " 
 
 " Because — because — " she paused, looking down now, 
 the underwells of her sweet eyes brimming to the overflow 
 — " because something grandfather said once, when he was 
 very ill, made me wonder if your father had ever been un- 
 kind to my mother." 
 
 Two great tears overflowed from under the dark lashes 
 and ran down Winsome's cheek. Ralph was on the right 
 side of the branch now, and, strangely enough. Winsome did 
 not seem to notice it. He had a lace-edged handkerchief 
 in his hand which had been his mother's, and all that was 
 loving and chivalrous in his soul was stirred at the sight of 
 a woman's tears. He had never seen them before, and there 
 is nothing so thrilling in the world to a young man. Gen-
 
 SUCH SWEET PERIL. 161 
 
 tly, with a light, firm hand, he touched Winsome's cheek, 
 instinctively murmuring tenderness which no one had ever 
 used to him since that day long ago, when his mother had 
 hung, with the love of a woman who knows that she must 
 give up all, over the cot of a boy whose future she could 
 not foresee. 
 
 For a thrilling moment Winsome's golden coronet of 
 curls touched his breast, and, as he told himself after long 
 years, rested willingly there while his heart beat at least 
 ten times. Unfortunately, it did not take long to beat ten 
 times. 
 
 One moment more, and without any doubt Kalph would 
 have taken Winsome in his arms. But the girl, with that 
 inevitable instinct which tells a woman when her waist or 
 her lips are in danger — matters upon which no woman is 
 ever taken by surprise, whatever she may pretend — drew 
 quietly back. The time was not yet. 
 
 " Indeed, you must not, you must not think of me. 
 You must go away. You know that there are only pain 
 and danger before us if you come to see me any more." 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know anything of the kind. I am 
 sure that my father could never be unkind to any creature, 
 and I am certain that he was not to your mother. But 
 what has he to do with us. Winsome? " 
 
 Her name sounded so perilously sweet to her, said thus 
 in Ralph's low voice, that once again her eyes met his in 
 that full, steady gaze which tells heart secrets and brings 
 either life-long joys or unending regrets. Nor — as we look 
 — can we tell which ? 
 
 "I cannot speak to you now, Ralph," she said, "but I 
 know that you ought not to come to see me any more. 
 There must be something strange and wicked about me. 
 I feel that there is a cloud over me, Ralph, and I do not 
 want you to come under it."
 
 162 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 At the first mention of his name from the lips of his be- 
 loved, Ralph drew very close to her, with that instinctive 
 drawing which he was now experiencing. It was that irre- 
 sistible first love of a man who has never wasted himself 
 even on the harmless flirtations which are said to be the 
 embassies of love. 
 
 But Winsome moved away from him, walking down 
 towards the mouth of the linn, through the thickly wooded 
 glen, and underneath the overarching trees, with their en- 
 lacing lattice-work of curving boughs. 
 
 " It is better not," she said, almost pleadingly, for her 
 strength was failing her. She almost begged him to be 
 merciful. 
 
 " But you believe that I love you, Winsome ? " he per- 
 sisted. 
 
 Low in her heart of hearts Winsome believed it. Her 
 ear drank in every word. She was silent only because she 
 was thirsty to hear more. But Ealph feared that he had 
 fatally offended her. 
 
 "Are you angry with me, Winsome?" he said, bending 
 from his masculine height to look under the lilac sunbonnet. 
 
 Winsome shook her head. " Not angrv, Ealj^h, only 
 sorry to the heart." 
 
 She stopped and turned round to him. She held out a 
 hand, when Ealph took it in both of his. There was in the 
 touch a determination to keep the barriers slight but sure 
 between them. He felt it and understood. 
 
 "Listen, Ralph," she said, looking at him with shming 
 eyes, in which another man would have read the love, " I 
 want you to understand. There is a fate about those who 
 love me. My mother died long ago ; my father I never 
 knew ; my grandfather and grandmother are — what you 
 know, because of me ; Mr. Welsh, at the Manse, who used to 
 love me and pet me when I was a little girl, now does not
 
 SUCH SWEET PERIL. I(j3 
 
 speak to me. There is a dark cloud all about me ! " said 
 Winsome sadly, yet bravely and determinedly. 
 
 Yet she looked as bright and sunshiny as her own name, 
 as if God had just finished creating her that minute, and 
 had left the Sabbath silence of thanksgiving in her eyes. 
 Ralph Peden may be forgiven if he did not attend much 
 to what she said. As long as Winsome was in the world, 
 he would love her just the same, whatever she said. 
 
 " What the cloud is I cannot tell," she went on ; " but 
 my grandfather once said that it would break on whoever 
 loved me — and — and I do not want that one to be you." 
 
 Ealph, who had kept her hand a willing prisoner, close 
 and warm in his, would have come nearer to her. 
 
 He said : " Winsome, dear " (the insidious wretch ! he 
 thought that, because she was crying, she would not notice 
 the addition, but she did) — " Winsome, dear, if there be a 
 cloud, it is better that it should break over two than over 
 one." 
 
 " But not over you," she said, with a soft accent, which 
 should have been enough for any one, but foolish Ralph was 
 already fixed on his own next words : 
 
 " If you have few to love you, let me be the one who will 
 love you all the time and altogether. I am not afraid ; there 
 will be two of us against the world, dear." 
 
 Winsome faltered. She had not been wooed after this 
 manner before. It was perilously sweet. Little ticking 
 pulses beat in her head. A great yearning came to her to 
 let herself drift up on a sea of love. That love of giving up 
 all, which is the precious privilege, the saving do\vry or 
 utter undoing of women, surged in upon her heart. 
 
 She drew away her hand, not quickly, but slowly and 
 firmly, and as if she meant it. " I have come to a decision 
 — I have made a vow," she said. She paused, and looked 
 at Ralph a little defiantly, hoping that he would take the
 
 164 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 law iuto his own hands, and forbid the decision and dis- 
 allow the vow. 
 
 But Ralph was not yet enterprising enough, and took 
 her words a little too seriously. He only stood looking at 
 her and waiting, as if her decision were to settle the fate of 
 kingdoms. 
 
 Then Winsome emitted the declaration which has been 
 so often made, at which even the more academic divinities 
 are said to smile, " I am resolved never to marry ! " 
 
 An older man would have laughed. He might probably 
 have heard something like this before. But Ralph had no 
 such experience, and he bowed his head as to an invincible 
 fate — for which stupidity Winsome's grandmother would 
 have boxed his ears. 
 
 "But I may still love you. Winsome?" he said, very 
 quietly and gently. 
 
 " Oh, no, you must not — you must not love me! Indeed, 
 you must not think of me any more. You must go away." 
 
 "Go away I can and will, if you say so. Winsome; but 
 even you do not believe that I can forget you when I 
 like." 
 
 " And you will go away?" said Winsome, looking at him 
 with eyes that would have cliaiued a Stoic philosopher to the 
 spot. 
 
 " Yes," said Enlph, perjuring his intentions. ^ 
 
 " And you will not try to see me any more — you prom- 
 ise?" she added, a little spiteful at the readiness with which 
 he gave his word. 
 
 So Ralph made a promise. He succeeded in keeping 
 it just twenty-four hours — which was, on the whole, very 
 creditable, considering. 
 
 What else he might have promised we cannot tell — cer- 
 tainly anything else asked of him so long as Winsome con- 
 tinued to look at him.
 
 SUCH SWEET PERIL. 165 
 
 Those who have never made just such promises, or lis- 
 tened to them being made — occupations equally blissful and 
 equally vain — had better pass this chapter by. It is not for 
 the uninitiated. But it is true, nevertheless. 
 
 So in silence they walked down to the opening of the 
 glen. As they turned into the broad expanse of glorious 
 sunshine the shadows were beginning to slant towai-ds them. 
 Loch Grannoch was darkening into pearl grey, under the 
 lee of the hill. Down by the high-backed bridge, which 
 sprang at a bound over the narrow's of the lane, there was 
 a black patch on the greensward, and the tripod of the 
 gipsy pot could faintly be distinguished. 
 
 Ralj)h, who had resumed Winsome's hand as a right, 
 pointed it out. It is strange how quickly pleasant little 
 fashions of that kind tend to perpetuate themselves ! 
 
 As Winsome's grandmother would have said, " It's no 
 easy turnin' a coo when she gets the gate o' the corn." 
 
 Winsome looked at the green patch and the dark spot 
 upon it, " Tell me," she said, looking up at him, " why you 
 ran away that day ? " 
 
 Ealph Peden was nothing if not frank. " Because," he 
 said, " I thought you were going to take off your stock- 
 ings! " 
 
 Through the melancholy forebodings which Winsome 
 had so recently exhibited there rose the contagious blos- 
 som of mirth, that never could be long away even from such 
 a fate-harassed creature as Winsome Charteris considered 
 herself to be. " Poor fellow," she said, " you must indeed 
 have been terribly frightened ! " 
 
 " I was," said Ralph Peden, with conviction. "But I 
 do not think I should feel quite the same about it now !" 
 
 They walked silently to the foot of the Craig Ronald 
 loaning, where by mutual consent they paused. 
 
 Winsome's hand was still in Ralph's. She had forgotten
 
 166 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 to take it away. She was, however, still resolved to do her 
 duty. 
 
 " Now you are sure you are not going to think of me any 
 more?" she asked. 
 
 " Quite sure," said Ealph, promptly. 
 
 Winsome looked a little disappointed at the readiness of 
 the answer. " And you won't try to see me any more ? " she 
 asked, plaintively. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Ealph, who had some new ideas. 
 
 Winsome looked still more disappointed. This was not 
 what she had expected. 
 
 " Yes," said Ralph, " because I shall not need to think 
 of you again, for I shall never stop thinking of you ; and I 
 shall not try to see you again, because I know I shall. I 
 shall go away, but I shall come back again ; and I shall 
 never give you up, though every friend forbid and every 
 cloud in the heavens break ! " 
 
 The gladness broke into his love's face in spite of all 
 her gallant determination. 
 
 "But remember," said Winsome, "I am never going to 
 marry. On that point I am quite determined." 
 
 " You can forbid me marrying you, Winsome dear," said 
 Ealph, " but you cannot help me loving you." 
 
 Indeed on this occasion and on this point of contro- 
 versy Winsome did not betray any burning desire to contra- 
 dict him. She gave him her hand — still with the withhold- 
 ing power in it, however, which told Ealph that his hour 
 was not yet come. 
 
 He bowed and kissed it — once, twice, thrice. And to 
 him who had never kissed woman before in the way of love, 
 it was more than many caresses to one more accustomed. 
 
 Then she took her way, carrying her hand by her side 
 tingling with consciousness. It seemed as if Ebie Farrish, 
 who was at the watering-stone as she passed, could read
 
 OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 167 
 
 what was written upon it as plain as an» advertisement. 
 Slie put it, therefore, into the lilac sunbounet and so 
 passed by. 
 
 Ralph watched her as she glided, a tall and graceful 
 young figure, under the archway of the trees, till he could no 
 longer see her light dress glimmering through the glades of 
 the scattered oaks. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT UPON BESOM- 
 SHANKS. 
 
 Ralph Peden kept his promise just twenty-four hours, 
 which under the circumstances was an excellent perform- 
 ance. That evening, on his return to the manse. Manse 
 Bell handed him, with a fine affectation of unconcern, a let- 
 ter with the Edinburgh post-mark, which had been brought 
 with tenpence to pay, from Cairn Edward. Manse Bell was 
 a smallish, sharp-tongued woman of forty, with her eyes 
 very close together. She was renowned throughout the coun- 
 try for her cooking and her temper, the approved excel- 
 lence of the one being supposed to make up for the difliicult 
 nature of the other. 
 
 The letter was from his father. It began with many 
 inquiries as to his progress in the special studies to which 
 he had been devoting himself. Then came many counsels 
 as to avoiding all entanglements with the erroneous views 
 of Socinians, Erastians, and Pelagians In conclusion, a day 
 was suggested on Avhich it would be convenient for the 
 presbytery of the Marrow kirk to meet in Edinburgh in 
 order to put Ralph through his trials for license. Then it 
 was that Ralph Peden felt a tingling sense of shame. Not
 
 168 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 only had he to a great extent forgotten to prepare himself 
 for his examinations, which would be no great difficulty to 
 a college scholar of his standing, but unconsciously to him- 
 self his mind had slackened its interest in his licensing. 
 The Marrow kirk had receded from him as the land falls 
 back from a ship which puts out to sea, swiftly and silently. 
 He was conscious that he had paid far more attention to 
 his growing volume of poems than he had done to his dis- 
 courses for license; though indeed of late he had given little 
 attention to either. 
 
 He went up-stairs and looked vaguely at his books. He 
 found that it was only by an effort that he could at all think 
 himself into the old Eal])h, who had shaken his head at 
 Calvin under the broom-bush by the Grannoch "Water. 
 Sharp penitence rode hard upon Ralph's conscieuce. He 
 sat down among his neglected books. From these he did 
 not rise till the morning fully broke. At last he lay down 
 on the bed, after looking long at tlie ridge of j^ines which 
 stood sharp up against the morning sky, behind which Craig 
 Ronald lay. Then the underlying pang, which he had been 
 crushing down by the night's work among the Hebrew roots, 
 came triumphantly to the surface. He must leave the manse 
 of Dullarg, and with it that solitary white farmhouse on the 
 braeface, the orchard at the back of it, and the rose-clamb- 
 ered gable from which a dear Avindow looked down the 
 valley of the Grannoch, and up to the heathery brow of the 
 Crae Hill. 
 
 So, unrefreshed, yet unconscious of the need of any re- 
 freshment, Ralph Peden rose and took his place at the manse 
 table. 
 
 " I saw your candle late yestreen," said the minister, 
 pausing to look at the young man over the wooden platter 
 of porridge which formed the frugal and sufficient break- 
 fast of the two.
 
 OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 169 
 
 Porridge for breakfast and porridge for supper are the 
 cure-alls of the true Galloway man. It is not every Scot who 
 stands through all temptation so square in the right way as 
 morning and night to confine himself to these ; but he wlio 
 does so shall have his reward in a rare sanity of judgment 
 and lightness of spirit, and a capacity for work unknown 
 to countrymen of less Spartan habit. 
 
 So Ralph answered, looking over his own " cogfu' o' 
 brose " as Manse Bell called them, " 1 was reading the book 
 of Joel for the second time." 
 
 " Then you have," said the minister, " finished your 
 studies in the Scripture character of the truly good woman 
 of the Proverbs, with which you were engaged on your first 
 coming here ? " 
 
 " I have not quite finished," said Ralph, looking a little 
 strangely at the minister. 
 
 " You ought always to finish one subject before you 
 begin another," said Mr. Welsh, with a certain slow senten- 
 tiousness. 
 
 By-and-bye Ralph got away from the table, and in the 
 silence of his own room gave himself to a repentant and 
 self-accusing day of study. Remorsefully sad, with many 
 searchings of heart, he questioned whether indeed he were 
 fit for the high office of minister in the kirk of the Marrow ; 
 whether he could now accept that narrow creed, and take 
 up alone the burden of these manifold pretestings. It was 
 for this that he had been educated ; it was for this that he 
 had been given his place at his father's desk since ever he 
 could remember. 
 
 Here he had studied in the far-off days of his boyhood 
 strange deep books, the flavour of which only he retained. 
 He had learned his letters out of the Bible — the Old Testa- 
 ment. He had gone through the Psalms from beginning to 
 end before he was six. He remembered that the paraphrases
 
 170 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 were torn out of all the Bibles in the manse. Indeed, they 
 existed only in a rudimentary form even in the great Bible 
 in the kirk (in which by some oversight a heathen binder 
 had bound them), but Allan Welsh had rectified this by past- 
 ing them up, so that no preacher in a moment of demoniac 
 possession might give one out. What would have happened 
 if this had occurred in the Marrow kirk it is perhajis bet- 
 ter only guessing. At twelve Ralph was already far on in 
 Latin and Greek, and at thirteen he could read plain nar- 
 rative Hebrew, and had a Hebrew Bible of his own in which 
 he followed his father, to the admiration of all the con- 
 gregation. 
 
 Prigs of very pure water have sometimes been manufac- 
 tured by just such means as this. 
 
 Sometimes his father would lean over and say, " My son, 
 what is the expression for that in the original ? " whereupon 
 Ralph would read the passage. It was between Gilbert 
 Peden and his Maker that sometimes he did this for pride, 
 and not for information ; but Ralph was his only son, and 
 was he not training him, as all knew, in order that he might 
 be a missionary apostle of the great truths of the protesting 
 kirk of the Marrow, left to testify lonely and forgotten among 
 the scanty thousands of Scotland, yet carrying indubitably 
 the only pure doctrine as it had been delivered to the saints ? 
 
 But, iu spite of all, the lad's bent Avas really towards 
 literature. The books of verses which he kept under lock 
 and key were the only things that he had ever concealed from 
 his father. Again, since he had come to man's estate, the 
 articles he had covertly sent to the Edinhurgh Magazine 
 were manifest tokens of the bent of his mind. All the more 
 was he conscious of this, that he had truly lived his life be- 
 fore the jealous face of his father's God, though his heart 
 leaned to tlie milder divinity and the kindlier gospel of One 
 who was the Bearer of Burdens.
 
 OPINIONS OP SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 171 
 
 Ealph lay long on liis bed, on which he had lain down at 
 full length to think out his plans, as his custom was. It did 
 not mean to leave Winsome, this call to Edinburgh. Ilis 
 father would not utterly refuse his consent, though he 
 might urge long delays. And, in any case. Edinburgh was 
 but two days' journey from the DuUarg ; two days on tlie 
 road by the burnsides and over the heather hills was nothing 
 to him. But, for all that, the aching would not be stilled. 
 Hearts are strange, illogical things ; they will not be argued 
 with. 
 
 Finally, he rose with the heart of him full of the inten- 
 tion of telling Winsome at once. He would write to her and 
 tell her that he must see her immediately. It was necessary 
 for him to acquaint her with what had occurred. So, with- 
 out further question as to his motive in writing, Ealph rose 
 and wrote a letter to give to Saunders Mowdiewort. The 
 minister's man was always ready to take a letter to Craig 
 Eonald after his day's work was over. Ilis inclinations 
 jumped cheerfully along with the shilling which Ealph — who 
 had not many such — gave him for his trouble. Within a 
 drawer, the only one in his room that would lock, on the 
 top of Ealph's poems lay tlie white moss-rose and the for- 
 get-me-nots which, as a precious and pregnant emblem from 
 his love, Saunders had brought back with him. 
 
 As Ealph sat at the window writing his letter to Win- 
 some, he saw over the hedge beneath his window the bent 
 form of Allan Welsh — his great, pallid brow over-domi- 
 nating his face — walking slowly to and fro along the well- 
 accustomed walk, at one end of which was the little wooden 
 summer house in which was his private oratory. Even now 
 Ealph could see his lips moving in the instancy of his un- 
 uttered supplication. His inward communing was so in- 
 tense that the agony of prayer seemed to shake his fi-ail 
 body. Ealph could see him knit his hands behind his back
 
 172 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 in a strong tension of nerves. Yet it seemed a right and 
 natural thing for Ealph to be immersed in his own con- 
 cerns, and to turn away with the light tribute of a sigh to 
 finish his love-letter — for, after all (say they), love is only a 
 refined form of selfishness. 
 
 " Beloved," wrote Ralph, " among my many promises to 
 you yester even, I did not promise to refrain from writing 
 to you ; or if I did, I ask you to put off your displeasure 
 until you have read my letter. I am not, you said, to come 
 to see you. Then will you come to meet me ? You know 
 that I would not ask you unless the matter were important. 
 I am at a cross-roads, and I cannot tell which way to go. 
 But I am sure that you can tell me, for your word shall be 
 to me as the whisper of a kind angel. Meet me to-night, I 
 beseech you, for ere long I must go very far away, and I 
 have much to say to thee, my beloved ! Saunders will 
 bring any message of time or place safely. Believing that 
 you will grant me this request — for it is the first time and 
 may be the last — and with all my heart going out to thee, I 
 am the man who truly loves thee. — Ralph Peden." 
 
 It was when Saunders came over from his house by tlie 
 kirkyard that Ralph left his books and went down to find 
 him. Saunders was in the stable, occupying himself with 
 the mysteries of Birsie's straps and buckles, about which he 
 was as particular as though he were driving a pair of bays 
 every day. 
 
 " An' this is the letter, an' I'm to gie it to the same lass 
 as I gied the last yin till? I'll do that, an' thank ye kind- 
 ly," said Saunders, putting the letter into one pocket and 
 Ralph's shilling into the other ; " no that I need onything 
 but white silver kind o' buckles friendship. It's worth 
 your while, an' its wortli my while — that's the way I look 
 at it." 
 
 Ralph paused a moment. He would have liked to ask
 
 OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 173 
 
 what Meg said, and how Winsome looked, and many other 
 things about Saunders's last visit ; hut the fear of appearing 
 ridiculous even to Saunders withheld him. 
 
 The grave-digger went on : " It's a strange thing — love 
 — it levels a'. Noo there's me, that has had a wife an' bur- 
 riet her ; I'm juist as keen aboot gettin' anither as if I had 
 never gotten the besom i' the sma' o' my back. Ye wad 
 never get a besom in the sma' 0' yer back ? " he said in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " No," said Ealph, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 " Na, of course no ; ye havna been mairrit. But bide a 
 wee ; she's a fell active bit lass, that o' yours, an' I should 
 say" — here Saunders spoke with the air of a connoisseur — 
 " I wad say that she micht be verra handy wi' the besom." 
 
 " You must not speak in that way," began Ralph, think- 
 ing of Winsome. But, looking at the queer, puckered face 
 of Saunders, he came to the conclusion that it was useless 
 to endeavour to impress any of his own reverence upon him. 
 It was not worth the pains, especially as he was assuredly 
 speaking after his kind. 
 
 " Na, of course no," replied Saunders, with a kind of 
 sympathy for youth and inexperience in his tone ; " when 
 yer young an' gaun coortin' ye dinna think o' thae things. 
 But bide a wee till ye gaun on the same errand the second 
 time, and aiblins the third time — I've seen the like, sir — 
 an' a' thae things comes intil yer reckoning, so so speak." 
 
 " Really," said Ralph, " I have not looked so far for- 
 ward." 
 
 Saunders breathed on his buckle and polished it with the 
 tail of his coat, after which he rubbed it on his knee. Then 
 he held it up critically in a better light. Still it did not 
 please him, so he breathed on it once more. 
 
 " 'Deed, an' wha could expect it? It's no in youth to 
 think 0' thae things — no till it's ower late. Koo, sir, I'll 
 12
 
 174 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 tell ye, whan I was coortin' my first, afore I gat her, I could 
 hae etten [eaten] her, an' the first week efter Maister 
 Teends mairrit us, I juist danced I was that fond o' her. 
 But in anither month, faith, I thocht that she wad hae 
 etten me, an' afore the year was oot I wussed she had. Aye, 
 aye, sir, it's waur nor a lottery, mairriage-s-it's a great mys- 
 tery." 
 
 " But how is it, then, that you are so anxious to get mar- 
 ried again ? " asked Ralph, to whom these conversations 
 with the Cuif were a means of lightening his mind of his 
 own cares. 
 
 " Weel, ye see, Maister Ralph," pursued the grave-digger, 
 " I'm by inclination a social man, an' the nature o' my 
 avocation, so to speak, is a wee unsocial. Fowk are that 
 curious. Noo, when I gang into the square o' a forenicht, 
 the lads '11 cry oot, ' Dinna be lookin' my gate, Saunders, 
 an' wonnerin' whether I'll need a seven-fit hole, or whether 
 a six-fit yin will pass ! ' Or maybe the bairns'll cry oot, 
 ' Hae ye a skull i' yer pooch ? ' The like o' that tells on a 
 man in time, sir." 
 
 " Without doubt," said Ralph ; " but how does matri- 
 mony, for either the first or the second time, cure that ? " ■ 
 
 " Weel, sir, ye see, mairriage mak's a man kind o' inde- 
 pendent like. Say, for instance, ye hae been a' day at jobs 
 up i' the yaird, an' it's no been what ye micht ca' pleesant 
 crunchin' through green wud an' waur whiles. Noo, we'll 
 say that juist as a precaution, ye ken, ye hae run ower to 
 the Black Bull for a gless or twa at noo's an' nan's " [now 
 and then]. 
 
 "/have run over, Saunders?" queried Ralph. 
 
 " Oh, it's juist a mainner o' speakin', sir ; I was takin' a 
 personal example. Weel, ye gang hame to the wife aboot 
 the gloamin', an' ye open the door, an' ye says, says you, 
 pleesant like, bcin' warm aboot the wame, ' Guid-e'en to ye,
 
 OPINIONS OP SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 175 
 
 guidwife, my dawtie, an' hoos a' thing been gaun wi' ye the 
 day ? ' D'ye think she needs to luik roon' to ken a' aboot the 
 Black Bull ? Na, na, she kens withoot even turnin' her 
 heid. She kenned by yer verra fit as ye cam' up the yaird. 
 She's maybe stirrin' something i' the pat. She turns roon' 
 wi the pat-stick' 1' her haund. ' I'll dawtie ye, my man ! ' 
 she says, an' ivhang, afore ye ken whaur ye are, the pat-stick 
 is acquant wi' the side o' yer heid. ' I'll dawtie ye, rinnin' 
 rakin' to the public-hoose wi' yer hard-earned shillin's. 
 Dawtie ! ' quo' she ; ' faith, the Black Bull's yer dawtie ! ' " 
 
 " But how does she know ? " asked Ealph, in the inter- 
 ests of truth and scientific inquiry. 
 
 Saunders thought that he was speaking with an eye on 
 the future. He lifted up his finger solemnly : " Dinna ye 
 ever think that ye can gang intil a public hoose withoot yer 
 wife kennin'. Na, it's no the smell, as an unmarrit man 
 micht think ; and peppermints is a vain thing, also ceeui- 
 mons. It's juist their faculty — aye, that's what it is — it's a 
 faculty they hae ; an' they're a' alike. They ken as weel 
 wi' the back o' their heids till ye, an' their noses fair stuffit 
 wi' the cauld, whether ye hae been makin' a ca' or twa on 
 the road hame on pay-nicht. I ken it's astonishin' to a sin- 
 gle man, but ye had better tak' my word for't, it's the case. 
 ' Whaur's that auchteenpcnce ? ' Betty used to ask ; ' only 
 twal an' sixpence, an' your wages is fourteen shillings — 
 forbye your chance frae mourners for happen the corp up 
 quick ' — then ye hummer an' ha', an' try to think on the lee 
 ye made up on the road doon ; but it's a gye queery thing 
 that ye canna mind o't. It's an odd thing hoo jooky [nim- 
 ble] a lee is whan ye want it in time o' need ! " 
 
 Ealph looked so interested that Saunders quite felt for 
 him. 
 
 " And what then ? " said he. 
 
 "Then," said Saunders, nodding his head, so tliat it
 
 1Y6 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 made the assertion of itself without any connection with his 
 body — " then, say ye, then is juist whaur the besom comes 
 in " — he paused a moment in deep thought — " i' the sma' 
 o' yer back ! " he added, in a low and musing tone, as of 
 one who chews the cud of old and pleasant memories. 
 " An' ye may thank a kind Providence gin there's plenty o' 
 heather on the end o't. Keep aye plenty o' heather on the 
 end o' the besom," said Saunders ; " a prudent man aye sees 
 to that. What is't to buy a new besom or twa frae a tink- 
 ler body, whan ye see the auld yin gettin' bare? Nocht 
 ava, ye can tak' the auld yin oot to the stable, or lose it some 
 dark nicht on the moor ! aye, a prudent man aye sees 
 to his wife's besom." Saunders paused, musing, " Ye'll 
 maybe no believe me, but often what mak's a' the hale differ 
 atween a freendly turn up wi' the wife, that kind o' cheers 
 a man'up, an' what ye micht ca' an onpleesantness — is juist 
 nae mair nor nae less than whether there's plenty o' heather 
 on his wife's besom." 
 
 Saunders had now finished all his buckles to his sat- 
 isfaction. He summed up thus the conclusion of his great 
 argument : " A besom i' the sma' o' yer back is interestin' 
 an' enleevinin', whan it's new an' bushy ; but it's the verra 
 mischief an' a' -whan ye get the bare shank on the back o' 
 yer held — an' mind 'ye that." 
 
 " I am very much indebted to you for the advice, Saun- 
 ders." 
 
 " Aye, sir," said Saunders, " it's sound ! it's sound ! I 
 can vouch for that." 
 
 Ralph went towards the door and looked out. The 
 minister was still walking with his hands behind his back. 
 He did not in the least hear what Saunders had said. He 
 turned again to him. " And what do you want another 
 wife for, then, Saunders ? " 
 
 " 'Deed, Maister Ralph, to tell ye the Guid's truth, it's
 
 OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT. 177 
 
 awfu' deevin' [deafening] leevin' wi' yin's mither. She's a 
 awfu' woman to talk, though a rale guid mither to me. 
 Forbye, she canna tak' the besom to ye like yer ain wife — 
 the wife o' yer bosom, so to speak — when ye hae been to 
 the Black Bull. It's i' the natur' 0' things that a man 
 maun gang there by whiles ; but on the ither haund it's 
 richt that he should get a stap ta'eu oot o' his bicker when 
 he comes hame, an' some way or ither the best 0' mithers 
 haena gotten the richt way o't like a man's ain wife." 
 
 " And you think that Meg would do it well ? " said 
 Ralph, smiling. 
 
 " Aye, sir, she wad that, though I'm thinkin' that she 
 wad be kindlier wi' the besom-shank than Jess ; no that I 
 wad for a moment expect that there wad be ony call for 
 siclike," he said, with a look of apology at Ealph, which 
 was entirely lost on that young man, " but in case, sir — in 
 case " 
 
 Ralph looked in bewilderment at Saunders, who was in- 
 dulging in mystic winks and nods. 
 
 " You see, the way o't is this, sir : yin's mither — (an' 
 mind, I'm far frae sayin' a word agin my ain mither — she's 
 a guid yin, for a' her tongue, wliilk, ye ken, sir, she canna 
 help ony mair than bein' a woman ;) but ye ken, that when 
 ye come hame frae the Black Bull, gin a man has only his 
 mither, she begins to flyte on [scold] him, an' cast up to 
 him what his faither, that's i' the grave, wad hae said, an' 
 niayb'^ on the back o' that she begins the greetin'. Noo, 
 that s no comfortable, ava. A man that gangs to the Black 
 Bull disna care a flee's hin' leg what his faither wad hae 
 said. He disna want to be grutten ower [wept over] ; na, 
 what he wants is a guid-gaun tongue, a wullin' airm, an' a 
 heather besom no ower sair worn." 
 
 Ralph nodded in his turn in appreciative comment. 
 
 " Then, on the morrow's morn, when ye rub yer elbow,
 
 178 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 an' fin' forbye that there's something on yer left shoother- 
 blade that's no on the ither, ye tak' a resolve that ye'll come 
 straught hanie the nicht. Then, at e'en, when ye come near 
 the Black Bull, an' see the crony that ye had a glass wi' the 
 nicht afore, ye naturally tak' a bit race by juist to get on 
 the safe side o' yer hame. I'm hearin' aboot new-fangled 
 folk that they ca' ' temperance advocates,' Maister Ralph, 
 but for my pairt gie me a lang-shankit besom, an' a guid- 
 wife's wullin airm ! " 
 
 These are all the opinions of Saunders Mowdiewort 
 about besom-shanks. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THAT GIPSY JESS. 
 
 .Saunders took Ralph's letter to Craig Ronald with 
 him earlier that night than usual, as Ralph had desired 
 him. At the high hill gate, standing directing the dogs to 
 gather the cows off the hill for milking, he met Jess. 
 
 " Hae ye ony news, Saunders ? " she asked, running down 
 to the little foot-bridge to meet him. Saunders took it as 
 a compliment ; and, indeed, it was done witli a kind of elfish 
 grace, which cast a glamour over his eyes. But Jess, who 
 never did anything without a motive, really ran down to be 
 out of sight of Ebie Farrish, who stood looking at her from 
 within the stable door. 
 
 " Here's a letter for ye, Jess," Saunders said, important- 
 ly, handing her Ralph's letter. " He seemed rale agitatit 
 when he brocht it in to me, but I cheered him up by tellin' 
 him how ye wad dreel him wi' the besom-shank gin he waur 
 to gang to the Black Bull i' the forenichts." 
 
 " Gang to the Black Bull ! — what div ye mean, ye gom-
 
 THAT GIPSY JESS. 179 
 
 eril ? — Saunders I mean ; ye ken weel that Maister Pedeu 
 wadna gang to ony Black Bull." 
 
 " Weel, na, I ken that ; it was but a mainner o' speakin' ; 
 but I can see that he's fair daft ower ye, Jess. I ken the 
 signs o' love as weel as onybody. But hoo's Meg — an' do ye 
 think she likes me ony better?" 
 
 " She was speakin' aboot ye only this mornin'," an- 
 swered Jess pleasantly, " she said that ye waur a rale solid, 
 sensible man, no a young ne'er-do-weel that naebody kens 
 whaur he'll be by the Martinmas term." 
 
 "Did Meg say that ! " cried Saunders in high delight, 
 " Ye see what it is to be a sensible woman. An' whaur 
 micht she be noo ? " 
 
 Now Jess knew that Meg was churning the butter, with 
 Jock Forrest to help her, in the milk-house, but it did not 
 suit her to say so. Jess always told the truth when it suited 
 as well as anything else ; if not, then it was a pity. 
 
 " Meg's ben the hoose wi' the auld fowk the noo," she 
 said, "but she'll soon be oot. Juist bide a wee an' bind the 
 kye for me." 
 
 Down the brae face from the green meadowlets that 
 fringed the moor came the long procession of cows. Swing- 
 ing a little from side to side, they came — black Galloways, 
 and the red and white breed of Ayrshire in single file — the 
 wavering piebald line following the intricacies of the path. 
 Each full-fed, heavy-uddered mother of the herd came 
 marching full matronly with stately tread, blowing her 
 flower-perfumed breath from dewy nostrils. The older and 
 staider animals — Marly, and Dumple, and Flecky — came 
 stolidly homeward, their heads swinging low, absorbed in 
 meditative digestion, and soberly retasting the sweetly suc- 
 culent grass of the hollows, and the crisper and tastier acid- 
 ity of the sorrel-mixed grass of the knolls. Behind them 
 came Spotty and Speckly, young and frisky matrons of but
 
 180 THE LILAC SUNBON^^ET. 
 
 a year's standing, who yet knew no better than to run with 
 futile head at Roger, and so encourage that short-haired and 
 short-tempered collie to snap at their heels. Here also, 
 skirmishing on flank and rear, was Winsome's pet sheep, 
 " Zachary Macaulay " — so called because he was a living 
 memorial to the emancipation of the blacks. Zachary had 
 been named by John Dusticoat, who was the i^olitician of 
 Cairn Edward, and " took in " a paper. He was an animal 
 of much independence of mind. He utterly refused to 
 company with the sheep of his kind and degree, and would 
 only occasionally condescend to accompany the cows to 
 their hill pasture. Often he could not be induced to quit 
 poking his head into every pot and dish about the fai'm- 
 yard. On these occasions he would wander uninvited with 
 a little pleading, broken-backed bleat through every room 
 in the house, looking for his mistress to let him suck her 
 thumb or to feed him on oatcake or potato parings. 
 
 To-night he came down in the rear of the procession. 
 Now and then he paused to take a random crop at the herb- 
 age, not so much from any desire for wayside refreshment, 
 as to irritate Roger into attacking him. But Roger knew 
 better. There was a certain imjoeriousness about Zachary 
 such as became an emancipated black. Zachary rejoiced 
 when Speckly or any of the younger or livelier kine ap- 
 proached to push him away from a succulent patch of 
 herbage. Then he would tuck his belligerent head between 
 his legs, and drive fore-and-aft in among the legs of the 
 larger animals, often bringing them down full broadside 
 with the whole of their extensive systems ignominiously 
 shaken up. 
 
 By the time that Saunders had the cows safe into the 
 byre, Jess had the letter opened, read, and resealed. She 
 had resolved, for reasons of her own, on this occasion to give 
 the letter to Winsome. Jess ran into the house, and find-
 
 THAT GIPSY JESS. 181 
 
 ing Winsome reading in the parlour, gave her the letter in 
 haste. 
 
 " There's a man waiting for the answer," she said, " but 
 he can easy bide a while if it is not ready." 
 
 Winsome, seeing it was the handwriting she knew so 
 well, that of the note-book and the poem, went into her own 
 room to read her first love-letter. It seemed very natural 
 that he should write to her, and her heart beat within her 
 quickly and strongly as she opened it. As she unfolded it 
 her eye seemed to take in the whole of the writing at once 
 as if it were a picture. She knew, before she had read a 
 word, that " beloved " occurred twice and " Winsome dear" 
 twice, nor had she any fault to find, unless it were that 
 they did not occur oftener. 
 
 So, without a moment's hesitation, she sat down and 
 wrote only a Jine, knowing that it would be all-sufficient. 
 It was her first love-tryst. Yet if it had been her twentieth 
 she could not have been readier. 
 
 " I shall be at the gate of the hill pasture," so she wrote, 
 " at ten o'clock to-night." 
 
 It was with a very tumultuous heart that she closed this 
 missive, and went out quickly to give it to Jess lest she 
 should repent. A day before, even, it had never entered her 
 mind that by any possibility she could write such a note to 
 a young man whom she had only known so short a time. 
 But then she reflected that certainly Ralph Peden was not 
 like any other young man ; so that in this case it was not 
 only right but also commendable. lie was so kind and 
 good, and so fond of her grandmother, that she could not 
 let him go so far away without a word. She ought at least 
 to go and tell him that he must never do the like again. 
 But she would forgive him this time, after being severe with 
 him for breaking his word, of course. She sighed when 
 she thought of what it is to be young and foolish. Once
 
 182 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the letter in Jess's hands, these doubts and fears came 
 oftener to her. After a few minutes of remorse, she ran 
 out in order to reclaim her letter, but Jess was nowhere to 
 be seen. She was, in fact, at her mother's cottage up on 
 the green, whei-e she was that moment employed in coer- 
 cing her brother Andra to run on a message for her. 
 When she went out of the kitchen with Winsome's reply- 
 in her pocket she made it her first duty to read it. This 
 there was no difficulty in doing, for opening letters was one 
 of Jess's simplest accomplishments. Then Jess knitted her 
 black brows, and thought dark and Pictish thoughts. In a 
 few moments she had made her dispositions. She was not 
 going to let Winsome have Ealph without a struggle. She 
 felt that she h"d the rude primogeniture of first sight. 
 Besides, since she had no one to scheme for her, she resolved 
 that she would scheme for herself. Shut in her mother's 
 room she achieved a fair imitation of Winsome's letter, 
 guiding herself by the genuine document spread out before 
 her. She had thought of sending only a verbal message, 
 but reflecting that Kalph Peden had probably never seen 
 Winsome's handwriting, she considered it safer, choosing 
 between two dangers, to send a written line. 
 
 " Meet me by the waterside bridge at ten o'clock," she 
 wrote. No word more. Then arose the question of mes- 
 sengers. She went out to find Saunders Mowdiewort ; she 
 got him standing at the byre door, looking wistfully about 
 for Meg. " Saunders," she said, " you are to take back this 
 answer instantly to the young Master Peden." 
 
 " Na, na, Jess, what's the hurry? I dinna gang a fit till 
 I hae seen Meg," said Saunders doggedly. " Your affairs are 
 dootless verra important, but sae are mine. Your lad maun 
 een wait wi' patience till I gang hame, the same as I hae 
 had mony a day to wait. It's for his guid." 
 
 Jess stamped her foot. It was too irritating that her
 
 THAT GIPSY JESS. 183 
 
 combinations should fail because of a Cuif whom she had 
 thought to rule with a word, and upon whom she had count- 
 ed without a thought. 
 
 She could not say {hat it was on Winsome's business, 
 though she knew that in that case he would have gone at once 
 on the chance of indirectly pleasuring Meg. She had made 
 him believe that she herself was the object of Ralph Peden's 
 affections. But Jess was not to be beaten, for in less than a 
 quarter of an hour she had overcome the scruples of Andra, 
 and despatched Jock Gordon on another message in another 
 direction. Jess believed that where there is a will there are 
 several ways : the will was her own, but she generally made 
 the way some one else's. Then Jess went into the byre, lift- 
 ing up her house gown and covering it with the dust-col- 
 oured milking overall, in which she attended to Speckly and 
 Crummy. She had done her best — her best, that is, for 
 Jess Kissock — and it was with a conscience void of offence 
 that she set herself to do well her next duty, which happened 
 to be the milking of the cows. She did not mean to milk 
 cows any longer than she could help, but in the meantime 
 she meant to be the best milker in the parish. Moreover, 
 it was quite in accordance with her character that, in her 
 byre flirtations with Ebie Farrish, she should take pleasure 
 in his rough compliments, smacking of the field and the 
 stable. Jess had an appetite for compliments perfectly 
 eclectic and cosmopolitan. Though well aware that she 
 was playing this night with the sharpest of edged tools, till 
 her messengers should return and her combinations should 
 close, Jess was perfectly able and willing to give herself up 
 to the game of conversational give-and-take with Ebie Far- 
 rish. She was a girl of few genteel accomplishments, but 
 with her gipsy charm and her frankly pagan nature she 
 was fitted to 2:0 far.
 
 181 TEE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOOX AT THE GKANXOCH BRIDGE. 
 
 Over the manse of Dullarg, still and grey, with only the 
 two men in it ; over the low- walled rectangular farm stead- 
 ing of Craig Ronald, fell alike the midsummer night. Ten 
 o'clock on an early July evening is in Galloway but a 
 modified twilight. But as the sun Avent down behind the 
 pines he sent an angry gleam athwart the green braes. The 
 level cloud-band into which he plunged drew itself upward 
 to the zenith, and, like the eyelid of a gigantic eye, shut 
 down as though God in his heaven were going to sleep, and 
 the world was to be left alone. 
 
 It was the dark of the moon, and even if there had been 
 full moon its light would have been as comjiletely shut out 
 by the cloud canopy as was the mild diffusion of the blue- 
 grey twilight. So it happened that, as Ralph Peden took 
 his way to his first love-tryst, it was all that he could do to 
 keep the path, so dark had it become. But there was no 
 rain — hardly yet even the hint or promise of rain. 
 
 Yet under the cloud there was a great solitariness — the 
 murmur of a land where no man had come since the mak- 
 ing of the world. Down in the sedges by the lake a black- 
 cap sang sweetly, waesomely, the nightingale of Scotland. 
 Far on the moors a curlew cried out that its soul was lost. 
 Nameless things whinnied in the mist-filled hollows. On 
 the low grounds there lay a white mist knee-deep, and Ralph 
 Peden waded in it as in a shallow sea. So in due time he 
 came near to the place of his tryst. 
 
 Never had he stood so before. He stilled the beating of 
 his heart with his hand, so loud and riotous it was in that 
 silent place. He could hear, loud as an insurrection, the 
 quick, unequal double-knocking in his bosom.
 
 THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE. 185 
 
 A grasshopper, roosting on a blade of grass beneath his 
 feet, tumbled off and gave vent to his feelings in a belated 
 " chirr." Overhead somewhere a raven croaked dismally 
 and cynically at intervals. Ealph's ears heard these things 
 as he waited, with every sense on the alert, at the place of 
 his love-tryst. 
 
 He thrilled with the subtle hope of strange possibilities. 
 A mill-race of pictures of things sweet and precious ran 
 through his mind. He saw a white-spread table, with Win- 
 some seated opposite to himself, tall, fair, and womanly, the 
 bright heads of children between them. And the dark 
 closed in. Again he saw Winsome with her head on his 
 arm, standing looking out on the sunrise from the hilltop, 
 whence they had watched it not so long ago. The thought 
 brought him to his pocket-book. He took it out, and in 
 the darkness touched his lips to the string of the lilac sim- 
 bonnet. It surely must be past ten now, he thought. 
 Would she not come? He had, indeed, little right to ask 
 her, and none at all to expect her. Yet he had her word of 
 promise — one precious line. What would he say to her 
 when she came ? He would leave that to be settled when 
 his arms were about her. Bat perhaps she would be colder 
 than before. They would sit, he thought, on the parapet of 
 the bridge. There were no fir-branches to part them with 
 intrusive spikes. So much at least should be his. 
 
 But then, again, she might not come at all ! What more 
 likely than that she had been detained by her grandmother ? 
 How could he expect it? Indeed, he told himself he did not 
 expect it. He had come out her^ because it was a fine 
 night, and the night air cooled his brain for his studies. 
 His heart, hammering on his life's anvil, contradicted him. 
 He could not have repeated the Hebrew alphabet. His 
 head, bent a little forward in the agony of listening, whirled 
 madly round; the aml^ient darkness surrounding all.
 
 186 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 There ! He heard a footstep. There was a light coming 
 down the avenue under the eklers. At last ! No, it was 
 only the glow-worms under the leaves, shining along the 
 grass by the wayside. The footstep was but a restless sheep 
 on the hillside. Then some one coughed, with the sup- 
 pressed sound of one who covers his mouth with his hand. 
 Ealph was startled, but almost laughed to think that it was 
 still only the lamb on the other side of the wall moving 
 restlessly about in act to feed. Time and again the blood 
 rushed to his temples, for he was sure that he heard her 
 coming to him. But it was only the echo of the blood 
 surging blindly through his own veins, or some of the night 
 creatures fulfilling their love-trysts, and seeking their des- 
 tinies under the cloud of night. 
 
 Suddenly his whole soul rose in revolt against him. 
 Certainly now he heard a light and swift footstep. There 
 was a darker shape coming towards him against the dim, 
 faint grey glimmer of the loch. It was his love, and she 
 had come out to him at his bidding. He had dreamed of 
 an angel, and lo ! now he should touch her in the hollow 
 night, and find that she was a warm, breathing woman. 
 
 Wrapped from head to foot in a soft close shawl, she 
 came to him. He could see her now, but only as something 
 darker against the canopy of the night. So, in the blissful 
 dark, which makes lovers brave, he opened his arms to re- 
 ceive her. For the first time in his life he drew them to 
 him again not empty. 
 
 The thrill electric of the contact, the yielding quiescence 
 of the girl whom he held to his breast, stilled his heart's 
 tumultuous beating. She raised her head, and their lips 
 drew together into a long kiss. What Avas this thing? It 
 was a kiss in which he tasted a strange alien flavour even 
 through the passion of it. A sense of wrong and disap- 
 pointment flowed round Ralph's heart. So on tlie bridge
 
 THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE. 187 
 
 in the darkness, where many lovers had stood ever since the 
 first Pict trysted his dark-browed bride by the unbridged 
 water, the pair stood very stilL They only breathed each 
 other's breath. Something familiar struck on Ralph's 
 senses. He seemed to be standing silent in the parlour at 
 Craig Ronald— not here, with his arms round his love — and 
 somehow between them there rose unmistakable the per- 
 fume of the flower which for an hour he had carried in his 
 coat on the day that he and she went a-fishing. 
 
 "Beloved," he said tenderly, looking down, "you are 
 very good to me to come ! " 
 
 For all reply a face was held close pressed to his. The 
 mists of night had made her cheek damp. He passed his 
 hand across the ripples of her hair. Half hidden by the 
 shawl he could feel the crisping of the curls under his 
 fingers. 
 
 It was harder in texture than he had fancied \Yinsome's 
 hair would be. He half smiled that he had time at such a 
 moment to think such a thing. It was strange, however. 
 He had thought a woman's hair was like floss silk — at least 
 Winsome's, for he had theorized about none other. 
 
 "Winsome, dear !" he said, again bending his head to 
 look down, " I have to go far away, and I wanted to tell 
 you. You are not angry with me, sweetest, for asking you 
 to come ? I could not go without bidding you good-bye, and 
 in the daytime 1 might not have seen you alone. You 
 know that I love you with all my life and all my heart. 
 And you love me — at least a little. Tell me, beloved !" 
 
 Still there was no answer. Ralph waited with some 
 certitude and ease from pain, for indeed the clasping arms 
 told him all he wished to know. 
 
 There was a brightness low down in the west. Strangely 
 and slowly the gloomy eyelid of cloud which had fallen 
 athwart the evening lifted for a moment its sullen fringe ;
 
 188 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 a misty twilight of lurid light flowed softly over the land. 
 The shawl fell back like a hood from off the girl's shoul- 
 ders. She looked up throbbing and palpitating. Ealph 
 Peden was clasping Jess Kissock in his arms. She had 
 kept her word. He had kissed her of his own free will, 
 and that within a day. Her heart rejoiced over Winsome. 
 " So much, at least, she cannot take from me." 
 
 Ralph Peden's heart stopped beating for a tremendous 
 interval of seconds. Then the dammed-back blood-surge 
 drave thundering in his ears. He swayed, and would have 
 fallen but for the parapet of the bridge and the clinging 
 arms about his neck. All his nature and love in full career 
 stopped dead. The shock almost unhinged his soul and 
 reason. It was still so dark that, though he could see the 
 outline of her head and the paleness of her face, nothing held 
 him but the intense and vivid fascination of her eyes. Ealph 
 would have broken away, indignant and amazed, but her 
 arms and eyes held him close prisoner, the dismayed tur- 
 moil in his own heart aiding. 
 
 " Yes, Ralph Peden," Jess Kissock said, cleaving to him, 
 " and you hate me because it is I and not another. You 
 think me a wicked girl to come to you in her place. But 
 you called her because you loved her, and I have come be- 
 cause I loved you as much. Have I not as much right? 
 Do not dream that I came for aught but that. Have I not 
 as good a right to love as you ? " 
 
 She prisoned his face fiercely between her hands, 
 and held him off from her as if to see into his soul by 
 the light of the lingering lake of ruddy light low in the 
 west. 
 
 " In your Bible where is there anything that hinders a 
 woman from loving ? Yet I know you will despise me for 
 loving you, and hate me for coming in her place." 
 
 " I do not hate you ! " said Ralph, striving to go without
 
 THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE. 189 
 
 rudely unclasping the girl's hands. Her arms fell instantly 
 again about his neck, locking themselves behind. 
 
 " No, you shall not go till you have heard all, and then 
 you can cast me into the loch as a worthless thing that you 
 are better rid of." 
 
 Through his disappointment and his anger, Ralph was 
 touched. He would have spoken, but the girl went on : 
 
 " No, you do not hate me — I am not worth it. You de- 
 spise me, and do you think that is any better ? I am only a 
 cottar's child. I have been but a waiting-maid. But I 
 have read how maids have loved the kings and the kings 
 loved them. Yes, I own it. I am proud of it. I have 
 schemed and lain awake at nights for this. Why should I 
 not love you? Others have loved me without asking my 
 leave. Why should I ask yours? And love came to me 
 without your leave or my own that day on the road when 
 you let me carry your books." 
 
 She let her arms drop from his neck and buried her face 
 in her hands, sobbing now with very genuine tears. Ralph 
 could not yet move away, even though no longer held by 
 the stringent coercion of this girl's arms. He was too 
 grieved, too suddenly and bitterly disappointed to have any 
 fixed thought or resolve. But the good man does not live 
 who can listen unmoved to the despairing catch of the sob- 
 bing in a woman's throat. Then on his hands, which he 
 had clasped before him, he felt the steady rain of her tears ; 
 his heart went out in a great pity for this wayward girl who 
 was baring her soul to him. 
 
 The whole note and accent of her grief was of unmis- 
 takable feeling. Jess Kissock had begun in play, but her 
 inflammable nature kindled easily into real passion. For at 
 least that night, by the bridge of the Grannoch water, she 
 believed that her heart was broken. 
 
 Ralph put his hand towards her with some unformed
 
 190 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 idea of sympathy. He murmured vague words of comfort, 
 as he might have done to a wailing child that had hurt 
 itself ; but he had no idea how to still the tempestuous grief 
 of a passion-pale woman. 
 
 Suddenly Jess Kissock slipped down and clasped him 
 about the knees. Her hair had broken from its snood and 
 streamed a cloud of intense blackness across her shoulders. 
 He could see her only weirdly and vaguely, as one may see 
 another by the red light of a wood ember in the darkness. 
 She seemed like a beautiful, pure angel, lost by some mis- 
 chance, praying to him out of the hollow pit of the night. 
 
 " I carried your burden for you once, the day I first saw 
 you. Let me carry your burden for you across the world. If 
 you will not love me, let me but serve you. I would slave 
 so hard ! See, I am strong " 
 
 She seized his hands, gripping them till his fingers clave 
 together with the pressure. 
 
 " See how I love you ! " her hands seemed to say. Then 
 she kissed his hands, wetting them with the downfalling of 
 her tears. 
 
 The darkness settled back thicker than before. He 
 could not see the kneeling woman whose touch he felt. He 
 strove to think what he should do, his emotions and his 
 will surging in a troubled maelstrom about his heart. 
 
 But just then, from out of the darkness high on the un- 
 seen hill above them, there came a cry — a woman's cry of 
 pain, anger, and ultimate danger : " Ealph, Ralph, come to 
 me — come ! " it seemed to say to him. Again and again it 
 came, suddenly faltered and was silenced as if smothered — 
 as though a hand had been laid across a mouth that cried 
 and would not be silent. 
 
 Ralph sprang clear of Jess Kissock in a moment. He 
 knew the voice. He would have known it had it come to 
 him across the wreck of worlds. It was his love's voice.
 
 THE HILL GATE. 191 
 
 She was calling to him — Ealph Peden — for help. Without a 
 thought for the woman whose despairing words he had just 
 listened to, he turned and ran, plunging into the thick 
 darkness of the woods, hillward in the direction of the cry. 
 But he had not gone far when another cry was heard — 
 not the cry of a woman this time, but the shorter, shriller, 
 piercing yell of a man at the point of death — some deadly 
 terror at his throat, choking him. Mixed with this came 
 also unearthly, wordless, inhuman liowlings, as of a wild 
 beast triumphing. For a dozen seconds these sounds domi- 
 nated the night. Then upon the hill they seemed to sink 
 into a moaning, and a long, low cry, like the whining of a 
 beaten dog. Lights gleamed about the farm, and Ralph 
 could vaguely see, as he sprang out of the ravine, along 
 which he and Winsome had walked, dark forms flitting 
 about with lanterns. In another moment he was out on 
 the moor, ranging about like a wild, questing hound, seek- 
 ing the cause of the sudden and hideous outcry. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE HILL GATE. 
 
 There was no merry group outside Winsome's little 
 lattice window this night, as she sat unclad to glimmering 
 white in the quiet of her room. In her heart there was 
 that strange, quiet thrill of expectancy — the resolve of a 
 maiden's heart, when she knows without willing that at 
 last the flood-gates of her being must surely be raised and 
 the great flood take her to the sea. She did not face the 
 thought of what she would say. In such a case a man 
 plans what he will say, and once in three times he says it.
 
 192 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 But a woman is wiser. She knows that in that hour it will 
 be given her what she shall sjDeak. 
 
 " 1 shall go to him," said Winsome to herself ; " I must, 
 for he is going away, and he has need of me. Can I let 
 him go without a word ? " 
 
 Though Ealph had done no noble action in her sight 
 or within her ken, yet there was that about him which gave 
 her the knowledge that she would be infinitely safe with 
 him even to the world's end. Winsome wondered how she 
 could so gladly go, when she would not have so much as 
 dreamed of stealing out at night to meet any other, though 
 she might have known him all her life. She did not know, 
 often as she had heard it read, that " perfect love casteth 
 out fear." Then she said to herself gently, as if she feared 
 that the peeping roses at the window might hear, " Perhaps 
 it is because I love him." Perhaps it was. Happy Win- 
 some, to have found it out so young ! 
 
 The curtain of the dark drew down. Moist airs blew 
 into the room, warm with the scent of the flowers of a 
 summer night. Honeysuckle and rose blew in, and quieted 
 the trembling nerves of the girl going to meet her first love. 
 
 " He has sair need o' me ! " she said, lapsing as she some- 
 times did into her grandmother's speech. " He will stand 
 before me," she said, " and look so pale and beautiful. Then 
 I will not let him come nearer — for a while — unless it is 
 very dark and I am afraid." 
 
 She glanced out. It promised to be very dark, and a tre- 
 mour came over her. Then she clad herself in haste, drawing 
 from a box a thin shawl of faded pale blue silk with a broad 
 crimson edge, which she drew close about her shoulders. 
 The band of red lying about her neck forced forward her 
 golden tresses, throwing them about her brow so that they 
 stood out round her face in a changeful aureole of fine-spun 
 gold. She took a swift glance in the mirror, holding her
 
 THE HILL GATE. 193 
 
 candle in her hand. Then she laughed a nervous little 
 laugh all to herself. How foolish of her ! Of course, it 
 would be impossible for him to see her. But nevertheless 
 she put out her light, and went to the door smiling. She 
 had no sense of doing that which she ought not to do ; 
 for she had been accustomed to her liberty in all matters 
 whatsoever, ever since she came to Craig Konald, and in the 
 summer weather nothing was more common than for her to 
 walk out upon the moor in the dewy close of day. She 
 shut the door quietly behind her, and set her foot on the 
 silent elastic turf, close cropped by many woolly genera- 
 tions. The night shut down behind her closer than the 
 door. The western wind cooled her brain, and the singing 
 in her heart rose into a louder altar-song. A woman ever 
 longs to be giving herself. She rejoices in sacrifice. It is 
 a pity that she so often chooses an indifferently worthy 
 altar. Yet it is questionable whether her own pleasure in 
 the sacrifice is any the less. 
 
 At the gate of the yard, which had been left open and 
 hung backward perilously upon its hinges, she paused. 
 
 " That is that careless girl, Jess ! " she said, practical 
 even at such a moment. 
 
 And she was right — it was Jess who had so left it. In- 
 deed, had she been a moment sooner, she might have seen 
 Jess flit by, taking the downward road which led through 
 the elder-trees to the waterside. As it was, she only shut 
 the gate carefully, so that no night-wandering cattle might 
 disturb the repose of her grandparents, laid carefully asleep 
 by Meg in their low-ceilinged bedroom. 
 
 The whole farm breathed from its walls and broad yard 
 spaces the peaceful rise and fall of an infant's repose. There 
 was no sound about the warm and friendly place save the 
 sleepy c7i««wer of a hen on the hmils of the peat-house, just 
 sufficiently awake to be conscious of her own comfort.
 
 194: THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 The hill road was both stony and difficult, but Winsome's 
 light feet went along it easily and lightly. On not a single 
 stone did she stumble. She walked so gladsomely that she 
 trod on the air. There were no rocks in her path that night. 
 Behind her the light in the west winked once and went out. 
 Palpable darkness settled about her. The sigh of the waste 
 moorlands, where in the haggs the wild fowl were nestling 
 and the adders slept, came down over the well-pastured braes 
 to her. 
 
 Winsome did not hasten. Why hasten, when at the end 
 of the way there certainly lies the sweet beginning of all 
 things. Already might she be happy in the possession of 
 certainties? It never occurred to her that Ealph would not 
 be at the trysting-place. That a messenger might fail did 
 not once cross her mind. But maidenly tremours, delicious 
 in their uncertainty, coursed along her limbs and through 
 all her being. Could any one have seen, there was a large 
 and almost exultant happiness in the depths of her eyes. 
 Her lips were parted a little, like a child that waits on tiptoe 
 to see the curtain rise on some wondrous and long-dreamed- 
 of spectacle. 
 
 Soon against the darker sky the hill dyke stood up, look- 
 ing in the gloom massive as the Picts' Wall of long ago. It 
 followed irregularly the ridgy dips and hollows downward, 
 till it ran into the intenser darkness of the pines. In a mo- 
 ment, ere yet she was ready, there before her was the gate of 
 her tryst. She paused, affrighted for the first time. She 
 listened, and there was no sound. A trembling came over 
 her and an uncertainty. She turned, in act to flee. 
 
 But out of the dark of the great dyke stepped a figure 
 cloaked from head to heel, and while Winsome wavered, 
 tingling now with shame and fear, in an instant she was 
 enclosed within two very strong arms, that received her as 
 in a snare a bird is taken.
 
 THE HILL GATE. 195 
 
 Suddenly Winsome felt her breath shorten. She panted 
 as if she could not get air, like the bird as it flutters and 
 palpitates. 
 
 " Oh, I ought not to have come !" she said, "but I could 
 not help it ! " 
 
 There was no word in answer, only a closer folding of the 
 arms that cinctured her. In the west the dusk was ligliten- 
 ing and the eyelid of the night drew slowly and grimly up. 
 
 When for the first time she looked shyly upward, Win- 
 some found herself in the arms of Agnew Greatorix. 
 Wrapped in his great military cloak, with a triumphant 
 look in his handsome face, he smiled down upon her. 
 
 Great Lord of Innocence ! give now this lamb of thine 
 thy help ! 
 
 The leaping soul of pure disembodied terror stood in 
 Winsome's eyes. Fascinated like an antelope in the coils 
 of a python she gazed, her eyes dilating and contracting — 
 the world whirling about her, the soul of her bounding and 
 panting to burst its bars. 
 
 " Winsome, my darling ! " he said, " you have come to 
 me. You are mine " — bending his face to hers. 
 
 Not yet had the power to speak or to resist come back 
 to her, so instant and terrible was her surprise. But at the 
 first touch of his lips upon her cheek the very despair 
 brought back to her tenfold her own strength. She pushed 
 against him with her hands, straining him from her by the 
 rigid tension of her arms, setting her face far from his, but 
 she was still unable to break the clasp of his arms about her. 
 
 " Let me go ! let me go ! " she cried, in a hoarse and 
 labouring whisper. 
 
 " Gently, gently, fair and softly, my birdie," said Great- 
 orix ; " surely you have not forgotten that you sent for me 
 to meet you here. Well, I am here, and I am not such a 
 fool as to come for nothine: ! "
 
 196 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 The very impossibility of words steeled Winsome's heart. 
 
 " /send for you ! " cried Winsome ; " I never had message 
 or word with you in my life to give you a right to touch me 
 with your little finger. Let me go, and this instant, Agnew 
 Greatorix ! " 
 
 " Winsome, sweetest girl, it pleases you to jest. Have not 
 I your own letter in my pocket telling me where to meet 
 you ? Did you not write it 9 I am not angry. You can 
 play out your play and pretend you do not care for me as 
 much as you like ; but I will not let you go. I have loved 
 you too long, though till now you were cruel and would give 
 me no hope. So when I got your letter I knew it was love, 
 after all, that had been in your eyes as I rode away." 
 
 "Listen," said Winsome eagerly; "there is some terrible 
 mistake ; I never wrote a line to you " 
 
 " It matters not ; it was to me that your letter came, 
 brought by a messenger to the castle an hour ago. So here 
 I am, and here you are, my beauty, and we shall just make 
 the best of it, as lovers should when the nights are short." 
 
 He closed his arms about her, forcing the strength out 
 of her wrists with slow, rude, masculine muscles. A numb- 
 ness and a deadness ran through her limbs as he compelled 
 her nearer to him. Her head spun round with the fear of 
 fainting. With a great effort she forced herself back a step 
 from him, and just as she felt the breath of his mouth upon 
 hers her heart made way through her lips. 
 
 " Ralph ! Ralph ! Help me — help ! Oh, come to me ! " 
 she cried in her extremity of terror and the oncoming rigour 
 of unconsciousness. 
 
 The next moment she dropped limp and senseless into 
 the arms of Agnew Greatorix. For a long moment he held 
 her up, listening to the echoes of that great cry, wondering 
 whether it would wake up the whole world, or if, indeed, 
 there were none to answer in that solitary place.
 
 THE HILL GATE. 197 
 
 But only the wild bird wailed like a lost soul too bad for 
 heaven, too good for hell, wandering in the waste forever. 
 
 Agnew Greatorix laid Winsome down on the heather, 
 lifeless and still, her pure white face resting in a nest of 
 golden curls, the red band of her mother's Indian shawl be- 
 hind all. 
 
 But as the insulter stooped to take his will of her lips, 
 now pale and defenceless, something that had been crouch- 
 ing beastlike in the heather for an hour, tracking and tracing 
 him like a remorseless crawling horror, suddenly sprang with 
 a voiceless rush upon him as he bent over Winsome's pros- 
 trate body — gripped straight at his throat and bore him back- 
 ward bareheaded to the ground. 
 
 So unexpected was the assault that, strong man as Great- 
 orix was, he had not the least chance of resistance. He 
 reeled at the sudden constriction of his throat by hands that 
 hardly seemed human, so wide was their clutch, so terrible 
 the stringency of their grasp. He struck wildly at his as- 
 sailant, but, lying on his back with the biting and strangling 
 thing above him, his arms only met on one another in vain 
 blows. He felt the teeth of a great beast meet in his throat, 
 and in the sudden agony he sent abroad the mighty roar of 
 a man in the grips of death by violence. But his assailant 
 was silent, save for a fierce whinnying growl as of a wild 
 beast greedily lapping blood. 
 
 It was this terrible outcry ringing across the hills that 
 brought the farm steading suddenly awake, and sent the 
 lads swarming about the house with lanterns. But it was 
 Ralph alone who, having heard the first cry of his love and 
 listened to nothing else, ran onward, bending low with a 
 terrible stitch in his side which caught his breath and threw 
 him to the ground almost upon the white- wrapped body of 
 his love. Hastily he knelt beside her and laid his hand 
 upon her heart. It was beating surely though faintly.
 
 198 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 But on tlie other side, against the gray glimmer of the 
 march dyke, he could see the twitchings of some great agony. 
 At intervals there was the ghastly, half-human growling and 
 the sobbing catch of some one striving for breath. 
 
 A light shone across the moor, fitfully wavering as the 
 searcher cast its rays from side to side. Ralph glanced be- 
 hind him with the instinct to carry his love away to a place 
 of safety. But he saw the face of Meg Kissock, with slow 
 Jock Forrest behind her carrying a lantern. Meg ran to 
 the side of her mistress. 
 
 " Wha's dune this ? " she demanded, turning fiercely to 
 Ralph. « Gin ye " 
 
 " I know nothing about it. Bring the lantern here 
 quickly," he said, leaving Winsome in the hands of Meg. 
 Jock Forrest brought the lantern round, and there on the 
 grass was Agnew Greatorix, with daft Jock Gordon above 
 him, his sinewy hands gripping his neck and his teeth in 
 his throat. 
 
 Ralph pulled Jock Gordon off and flung him upon the 
 heather, where Jock Forrest set his foot upon him, and 
 turned the light of the lantern upon the fierce face of a 
 maniac, foam-flecked and blood-streaked. Jock still growled 
 and gnashed his teeth, and struggled in sullen fury to get at 
 his fallen foe. With his hat Ralph brought water from a 
 deep moss-hole and dashed it upon the face of Winsome. 
 In a little while, she began to sob in a heartbroken way. 
 Meg took her head upon her knees, and soothed her mis- 
 tress, murmuring tendernesses. Next he brought water to 
 throw over the face and neck of Greatorix, which Jock 
 Gordon in his fury had made to look like nothing human. 
 
 The rest might wait. It was Ralph's first care to get 
 Winsome home. Kneeling down beside her he soothed her 
 with whispered words, till the j^iteous sobbing in her throat 
 stilled itself. The ploughman was at this moment stolidly
 
 THE HILL GATE. 199 
 
 producing pieces of rope from his pockets and tying up 
 Jock Gordon's hands and feet ; but after his first attempts 
 again to fly at Greatorix, and his gasps of futile wrath when 
 forced into the soft moss of the moor by Jock Forrest's 
 foot, he had not offered to move. 
 
 His paroxysm was only one of the great spasms of mad- 
 ness which sometimes come over the innocently witless. 
 He had heard close by him the cries of Winsome Charteris, 
 whom he had worshipped for years almost in the place of 
 the God whom he had not the understanding to know. The 
 wonder rather was that he did not kill Greatorix outright. 
 Had it happened a few steps nearer the great stone dyke, 
 there is little doubt but that Jock Gordon would have beat 
 out the assailant's brains with a ragged stone. 
 
 Winsome had not yet awakened enough to ask how all 
 these things came about. She could only cling to Meg, and 
 listen to Ealph whispering in her ear. 
 
 " I can go home now," she said earnestly. 
 
 So Ealph and Meg helped her up, Ralph wrapping her 
 in her great crimson-barred shawl. 
 
 Ealph would have kissed her, but Winsome, standing 
 unsteadily clasping Meg's arm, said tenderly : 
 
 " Not to-night. I am not able to bear it." 
 
 It was almost midnight when Ealph and the silent Jock 
 Forrest got Agnew Greatorix into the spring-cart to be con- 
 veyed to Greatorix Castle. 
 
 He lay with his eyes closed, silent. Ealph took Jock 
 Gordon to the manse with him, determined to tell the whole 
 to Mr. Welsh if necessary ; but if it were not necessary, to tell 
 no one more than he could help, in order to shelter Winsome 
 from misapprehension. It says something for Ealph that, in 
 the turmoil of the night and the unavailing questionings of 
 the morning, he never for a moment thought of doubting 
 his love. It was enough for him that in the de])ths of
 
 200 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 agony of body or spirit she had called out to him. All the 
 rest would be explained in due time, and he could wait. 
 Moreover, so selfish is love, that he had never once thought 
 of Jess Kissock from the moment that his love's cry had 
 pealed across the valley of the elder-trees and the plain of 
 the water meadows. 
 
 When he brought Jock Gordon, hardly yet humanly 
 articulate, into the kitchen of the manse, the house was 
 still asleep. Then Ealph wakened Manse Bell, who slept 
 above. He told her that Jock Gordon had taken a fit upon 
 the moor, that he had found him ill, and brought him home. 
 Next he went up to the minister's room, where he found Mr. 
 Welsh reading his Bible. He did not know that the min- 
 ister had watched him both come and go from his window, 
 or that he had remained all night in prayer for the lad, 
 who, he misdoubted, was in deep waters. 
 
 As soon as Jock Gordon had drunk the tea and partaken 
 of the beef ham which Manse Bell somewhat grumblingly 
 set before him, he said : 
 
 " Noo, I'll awa'. The tykes'll be after me, nae doot, but 
 it's no in yin o' them to catch Jock Gordon gin yince he 
 gets into the Dungeon o' Buchan." 
 
 " But ye maun wait on the minister or Maister Peden. 
 They'll liae muckle to ask ye, nae doot ! " said Bell, who 
 yearned for news. 
 
 " Nae doot, nae doot ! " said daft Jock Gordon, " an' I hae 
 little to answer. It's no for me to tie the rape roond my ain 
 craig [neck]. Na, na, time aneu' to answer when I'm afore 
 the sherra at Kirkcudbright for this nicht's wark." 
 
 With these words Jock took his pilgrim staff and de- 
 parted for parts unknown. As he said, it was not blood- 
 hounds that could catch Jock Gordon on the Ehinns of 
 Kells. 
 
 In the mornino: there was word come to the cot-house of
 
 THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG. 201 
 
 the Kissocks that Mistress Kissock was wanted wp at the 
 castle to nurse a gentleman who had had an accident when 
 shooting. Mistress Kissock was unable to go herself, but 
 her daughter Jess went instead of her, having had some 
 practice in nursing, among other experiences which she had 
 gained in England. It was reported that she made an ex- 
 cellent nurse. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLAEG. 
 
 It was growing slowly dusk again when Ralph Peden 
 returned from visiting Craig Ronald along the shore road 
 to the Dullarg and its manse. He walked briskly, as one 
 who has good news. Sometimes he whistled to himself — 
 breaking off short with a quick smile at some recollection. 
 Once he stopped and laughed aloud. Then he threw a 
 stone at a rook which eyed him superciliously from the top 
 of a turf dyke. He made a bad shot, at which the black 
 critic wiped the bare butt of his bill upon the grass, uttered 
 a hoarse " A-ha ! " of derision, and plunged down squatly 
 among the dock-leaves on the other side. 
 
 As Ralph turned up the manse loaning to the bare front 
 door, he was conscious of a vague uneasiness, the feeling of 
 a man who returns to a house of gloom from a world where 
 all things have been full of sunshine. It was not the same 
 world since yesterday. Even he, Ralph Peden, was not the 
 same man. But he entered the house with that innocent 
 affectation of exceeding ease which is the boy's tribute to 
 his own inexperience. He went up the stairs through the 
 dark lobby and entered Allan Welsh's study. The minister 
 was sitting with his back to the window, his hands clasped
 
 202 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 in front of him, and his great domed forehead and emaci- 
 ated features standing out against the orange and crimson 
 pool of glory where the sun had gone down. 
 
 Ralph ostentatiously clattered down his armful of books 
 on the table. The minister did not speak at first, and Ealpli 
 began his explanation. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, hesitating and blushing under 
 the keen eyes of his father's friend, " I had no idea I 
 should have been detained, but the truth is " 
 
 " I ken what the truth is," said Allan Welsh, quietly. 
 " Sit down, Ralph Peden. I have somewhat to say to you." 
 
 A cold chill ran through the young man's veins, to which 
 succeeded a thrill of indignation. Was it possible that he 
 was about to reproach him, as a student in trials for the min- 
 istry of the Marrow kirk, with having behaved in any way 
 unbecoming of an aspirant to that high office, or left un- 
 done anything expected of him as his father's son ? 
 
 The minister was long in speaking. Against the orange 
 light of evening which barred the window, his face could 
 not be seen, but Ralph had the feeling that his eyes, unseen 
 themselves, were reading into his very soul. He sat down 
 and clenched his hands under the table, 
 
 " I was at the Bridge of Grannoch this day," began the 
 minister at last. " I was on my way to visit a parishioner, 
 but I do not conceal from you that I also made it my busi- 
 ness to observe your walk and conversation." 
 
 " By what right do you so speak to me?" began Ralph, 
 the hotter blood of his mother rising within him. 
 
 " By the right given to me by your father to study your 
 heart and to find out whether indeed it is seeking to walk 
 in the more perfect way. By my love and regard for you, 
 I hope I may also say." 
 
 Tlie minister paused, as if to gather strength for what he 
 had yet to say. He leaned his head upon his hand, and
 
 THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG. 203 
 
 Ealph did not see that his frail figure was shaken with some 
 emotion too strong for his physical powers, only kept in 
 check by the keen and indomitable will within. 
 
 " Ealph, my lad," Allan Welsh continued, " do not 
 think that I have not foreseen this ; and had your father 
 written to inform me of his intention to send you to me, I 
 should have urged him to cause you to abide in your own 
 city. What I feared in thought is in act come to pass. I 
 saw it in your eyes yestreen." 
 
 Ralph's eyes spoke an indignant query. 
 
 " Ralph Peden," said the minister, " since I came here, 
 eighteen years ago, not a mouse has crept out of Craig Ron- 
 ald but I have made it my business to know it. I am no 
 spy, and yet I need not to be told what haj^pened yesterday 
 or to-day." 
 
 " Then, sir, you know that I have no need to be 
 ashamed." 
 
 " I have much to say to you, Ralph, which I desire to 
 say by no means in anger. But first let me say this : It is 
 impossible that you can ever be more to Winifred Charteris 
 than you are to-day." 
 
 " That is likely enough, sir, but I would like to know 
 why in that case I am called in question." 
 
 " Because I have been, more than twenty years ago, where 
 you are to-day, Ralph Peden. I — even I — have seen eyes blue 
 as those of Winsome Charteris kindle with pleasure at my 
 approach. Yes, I have known it. And I have also seen the 
 lids lie white and still upon these eyes, and I am here to 
 warn you from the primrose way ; and also, if need be, to 
 forbid you to walk therein." 
 
 His voice took a sterner tone with the last words. 
 
 Ralph bowed his head on the table and listened ; but 
 there was no feeling save resentment and resistance in his 
 heart.
 
 204 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 The minister went on in a level, unemotional tone, like 
 one telling a tale of long ago, of which the issues and even 
 the interests are dead and gone. 
 
 " I do not look now like a man on whom the eye of 
 woman could ever rest with the abandonment of love. Yet 
 I, Allan "Welsh, have seen ' the love that casteth out fear.' " 
 
 After a pause the high, expressionless voice took up the 
 tale. 
 
 " Many years ago there were two students, poor in money 
 but rich in their mutual love. They were closer in affection 
 than twin brothers. The elder was betrothed to be married 
 to a beautiful girl in the country ; so he took down his 
 friend with him to the village where the maid dwelt to stand 
 by his side and look upon the joy of the bridegroom. He 
 saw the trysted (betrothed) of his friend. He and she 
 looked into one another's eyes and were drawn together as 
 by a power beyond them. The elder was summoned sud- 
 denly back to the city, and for a week he, all unthinking, 
 left the friends of his love together glad that they should 
 know one another better. They walked together. They 
 spoke of many things, ever returning back to speak of them- 
 selves. One day they held a book together till they heard 
 their hearts beat audibly, and in the book read no more 
 that day. 
 
 "Upon the friend's return he found only an empty house 
 and distracted parents. Bride and brother had fled. Word 
 came that they had been joined by old Joseph Paisley, the 
 Gretna Green ' welder,' without blessing of minister or kirk. 
 Then they hid themselves in a little Cumbrian village, where 
 for six years the unfaithful friend wrought for his wife — for 
 so he deemed her — till in the late bitterness of bringing forth 
 she died, that was the fairest of women and the unhappiest." 
 
 The minister ceased. Outside the rain had come on in 
 broad single drops, laying the dust on the road. Ralph
 
 THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OP DULLARG. 205 
 
 could hear it pattering on the bi'oad leaves of the plane-tree 
 outside the window. He did not like to hear it. It sounded 
 like a woman's tears. 
 
 But he could not understand how all this bore on his 
 case. He was silenced and awed, but it was with the sight 
 of a soul of a man of years and approved sanctity in deep 
 apparent waters of sorrow. 
 
 The minister lifted his head and listened. In the an- 
 cient woodwork of the manse, somewhere in the crumbling 
 wainscoting, the little boring creature called a death-watch 
 ticked like the ticking of an old verge watch. Mr. Welsh 
 broke oS with a sudden causeless anger very appalling in 
 one so sage and sober in demeanour. 
 
 " There's that beast again ! " he said ; " often have I 
 thought it was ticking in my head. I have heard it ever 
 since the night she died " 
 
 " I wonder at a man like you," said Ralph, " with your 
 wisdom and Christian standing, caring for a worm " 
 
 " You're a very young man, and when you are older 
 maybe you'll wonder at a deal fewer things," answered the 
 minister with a kind of excited truculence very foreign to 
 his habit, " for I myself am a worm and no man," he added 
 dreamily. "And often I tried to kill the beast. Ye see 
 
 thae marks " he broke ofE again — " I bored for it till 
 
 the boards are a honeycomb, but the thing aye ticks on." 
 
 " But, Mr. Welsh," said Ealph eagerly, with some sym- 
 pathy in his voice, "why should you trouble yourself about 
 this story now — or I, for the matter of that ? I can under- 
 stand that Winsome Charteris has somehow to do with it, 
 and that the knowledge has come to you in the course of 
 your duty ; but even if, at any future time. Winsome Char- 
 teris were aught to me or 1 to her — the which I have at pres- 
 ent only too little hope of — her forbears, bo they whomso- 
 ever they might, were no more to me than Julius Ca'sar. I 
 14
 
 20G THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 have seen her and looked into her eyes. What needs she of 
 ancestors that is kin to the angels ? " 
 
 Something like pity came into the minister's stern eyes 
 as he listened to the lad. Once he had sjooken just such 
 wild, heart-eager words. 
 
 " I will answer you in a sentence," he said. " I that 
 speak with you am the cause. I am he that has preached 
 law and the gosi^el — for twenty years covering my sin with 
 the Pharisee's strictness of observance. I am he that was 
 false friend but never false lover — that married without kirk 
 or blessing. I am the man that clasped a dead woman's 
 hand Avhom I never owned as wife, and watched afar off the 
 babe that I never dared to call mine own. I am the father 
 of Winifred Charteris, coward before man, castaway before 
 God. Of my sin two know besides my Maker — the father 
 tliat begot you, whose false friend I was in the days that 
 wore, and Walter Skirving, the father of the first Winifred 
 whose eyes this hand closed under the Peacock tree at 
 Crossthwaite." 
 
 The broad drops fell on the window-panes in splashes, 
 and the thunder rain drummed on the roof. 
 
 The minister rose and went out, leaving Ralph Peden sit- 
 ting in the dark with the universe in ruins about him. The 
 universe is fragile at twenty-one. 
 
 And overhead the great drops fell from the brooding 
 thunder-clouds, and in the wainscoting of Allan Welsh's 
 study the death-watch ticked.
 
 OUTCAST AND ALIEN. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 OUTCAST AND ALIEN FROM THE COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 " MoEEOVER," said the minister — coming in an hour 
 afterwards to take up the interrupted discussion — " the 
 kirk of the Marrow overrides all considerations of affec- 
 tion or self-interest. If you are to enter the Marrow kirk, 
 you must live for the Marrow, and fight for the Marrow, 
 and, above all, you must wed for the Marrow " 
 
 " As you did, no doubt," said Ralph, somewhat ungen- 
 erously. 
 
 Ralph had remained sitting in the study where the 
 minister had left him. 
 
 " No, for myself," said the minister, with a certain firm- 
 ness and high civility, which made the young man ashamed 
 of himself, " I am no true son of the Marrow. I have in- 
 deed served the Marrow kirk in her true and only protest- 
 ing section for twenty-five years ; but I am only kept in my 
 position by the good grace of two men — of your father and 
 of Walter Skirving. And do not think that they keep their 
 mouths sealed by any love for me. Were there only my 
 own life and good name to consider, they would speak in- 
 stantly, and I should be deposed, without cavil or word 
 spoken in my own defence. Nay, by what I have already 
 spoken, I have put myself in your hands. All that you 
 have to do is simply to rise in your place on the Sabbath 
 morn and tell the congregation what I have told you — that 
 the minister of the Marrow kirk in Dullarg is a man re- 
 buking sin when his own hearthstone is unclean — a man 
 irregularly espoused, who wrongfully christened his own 
 unacknowledged child." 
 
 Allan Welsh laid his brow against the hard wood of the 
 study table as though to cool it.
 
 208 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " ISTo," he continued, looking Ealph in the face, as the 
 midnight hummed around, and the bats softly fluttered 
 like gigantic moths outside, " your father is silent for the 
 sake of the good name of the Marrow kirk ; but this thing 
 shall never be said of his own son, and the only hope of the 
 Marrow kirk — the lad she has colleged and watched and 
 prayed for — not only the two congregations of Edinburgh 
 and the Dullarg contributing yearly out of their smallest 
 pittances, but the faithful single members and adherents 
 throughout broad Scotland — many of whom are coming to 
 Edinburgh at the time of our oncoming synod, in order to 
 be present at it, and at the communion Avhen I shall assist 
 your father." 
 
 " But why can not I marry Winsome Charteris, even 
 though she be your daughter, as you say?" asked Ealph. 
 
 " young man," said the minister, " ken ye so little 
 about the kirk o' the jMarrow, and the respect for her that 
 your father and myself cherish for the office of her ministry, 
 that ye think that we could permit a probationer, on trials 
 for the highest office within her gift, to connect himself by 
 tie, bond, or engagement with the daughter of an unblest 
 marriage ? That would be winking at a new sin, darker even 
 than the old." Then, with a burst of passion — " I, even I, 
 "would sooner denounce it myself, though it cost me my 
 position ! For twenty years I have known that before God 
 I was condemned. You have seen me praying — yes, often 
 — all night, but never did you or mortal man hear me pray- 
 ing for myself." 
 
 Ealph held out his hand in sympathy. Mr. Welsh did 
 not seem to notice it. lie went on : 
 
 " I was praying for this poor simple folk — the elect of 
 God — their minister alone a castaway, set beyond the 
 mercy of God by his own act. Have I not prayed that they 
 might never be put to shame by the knowledge of the
 
 OUTCAST AND ALIEN. 209 
 
 minister's sin being made a mockery in the courts of Belial? 
 And have I not been answered ? " 
 
 Here we fear that Mr. Welsh referred to the ecclesias- 
 tical surroundings of the Eeverend Erasmus Teends. 
 
 " And I prayed for my poor lassie, and for you, when I 
 saw you both in the floods of deep waters. I have wept great 
 and bitter tears for you twain. But I am to receive my 
 answer and reward, for this night you shall give me your 
 word that never more will you pass word of love to "Win- 
 some, the daughter of Allan Charteris Welsh. For the sake 
 of the Marrow kirk and the unstained truth delivered to 
 the martyrs, and upheld by your father one great day, you 
 will do this thing." 
 
 " Mr. Welsh," said the young man calmly, " I cannot, 
 even though I be willing, do this thing. My heart and life, 
 my honour and word, are too deeply engaged for me to go 
 back. At whatever cost to myself, I must keep tryst and 
 pledge with the girl who has trusted me, and who for me 
 has to-night suffered things whose depths of pain and shame 
 I know not yet." 
 
 " Then," said the minister sternly, " you and I must part. 
 My duty is done. If you refuse my appeal, you are no true 
 son of the Marrow kirk, and no candidate that I can recom- 
 mend for her ministry. Moreover, to keep you longer in 
 my house and at my board were tacitly to encourage you in 
 your folly." 
 
 " It is quite true," replied Ralph, unshaken and un- 
 daunted, " that I may be as unfit as you say for the oflfice 
 and ministry of the Marrow kirk. It is, indeed, only as I 
 have thought for a long season. If that be so, then it were 
 well that I should withdraw, and leave the place for some 
 one worthier." 
 
 " I wonder to hear ye, Ralph Peden, your father's son," 
 said the minister, " you that have been colleged by the shil-
 
 210 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 lings and sixpences of the poor hill folk. How will ye do 
 with these?" 
 
 " I will pay them back," said Ralph. 
 
 " Hear ye, man : can ye pay back the love that hained 
 and saved to send them to Edinburgh ? Can ye pay back 
 the prayers and expectations that followed ye from class to 
 class, rejoicing in your success, praying that the salt of 
 holiness might be put for you into the fountains of earthly 
 learning? Pay back, Ralph Peden? — I wonder sair that ye 
 are not shamed ! " 
 
 Indeed, Ralph was in a sorrowful quandary. He knew 
 that it was all true, and he saw no way out of it without 
 pain and grief to some. But the thought of Winsome's cry 
 came to him, heard in the lonesome night. That appeal 
 had severed him in a moment from all his old life. He 
 could not, though he were to lose heaven and earth, leave 
 her now to reproach and ignominy. She had claimed him 
 only in her utter need, and he would stand good, lover and 
 friend to be counted on, till the world should end. 
 
 " It is true what you say," said Ralph ; " I mourn for it 
 every word, but I cannot and will not submit my conscience 
 and my heart to the keeping even of the Marrow kirk." 
 
 " Ye should have thought on that sooner," interjected 
 the minister grimly. 
 
 " God gave me my affections as a sacred trust. This 
 also is part of my religion. And I will not, I cannot in 
 any wise give up hope of winning this girl whom I love, 
 and whom you above all others ought surely to love." 
 
 " Then," said the minister, rising solemnly with his hand 
 outstretched as when he pronounced the benediction, " I, 
 Allan Welsh, who love you as my son, and who love my 
 daughter more than ten daughters who bear no reproach, 
 tell you, Ralph Peden, that I can no longer company Av4th 
 you. Heoceforth I count you as a rebel and a stranger.
 
 JOCK GORDON TAKES A IIAKD. 211 
 
 More than self, more than life, more than child or wife, I, 
 sinner as I am, love the honour and discipline of the kirk 
 of the Marrow. Henceforth you and I are strangers." 
 
 The words fired the young man. He took up his hat, 
 which had fallen upon the floor. 
 
 " H that be so, the sooner that this house is rid of the 
 presence of a stranger and a rebel the better for it, and the 
 liappier for you. I thank you for all the kindness you have 
 shown to me, and I bid you, with true affection and respect, 
 farewell ! " 
 
 So, without waiting even to go up-stairs for anything be- 
 longing to him, and with no further word on either side, 
 Ealph Peden stepped into the clear, sobering midnight, 
 the chill air meeting him like a wall. The stars had come 
 out and were shining frosty-clear, though it was June. 
 
 And as soon as he was gone out the minister fell on 
 his knees, and so continued all the night praying with his 
 face to the earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND. 
 
 Whatever is too precious, too tender, too good, too 
 evil, too shameful, too beautiful for the day, happens in the 
 night. Night is the bath of life, the anodyne of heart- 
 aches, the silencer of passions, the breeder of them too, 
 the teacher of those who would learn, the cloak that 
 shuts a man in with his own soul. The seeds of great 
 deeds and great crimes are alike sown in the night. The 
 good Samaritan doeth his good by stealth ; the wicked one 
 cometh and sowetli his tares among the wheat. The lover 
 and the lustful person, the thief and the thinker, the
 
 212 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 preacher and the poacher, are abroad in the night. In 
 factories and mills, beside the ceaseless whirl of machinery, 
 stand men to whom day is night and night day. In cities 
 the guardians of the midnight go hither and thither with 
 measured step under the drizzling rain. No man cares that 
 they are lonely and cold. Yet, nevertheless, both light and 
 darkness, night and day, are but the accidents of a little 
 time. It is twilight — the twilight of the morning and of 
 the gods — that is the true normal of the universe. Night 
 is but the shadow of the earth, light the nearness of the 
 central sun. But when the soul of man goeth its way be- 
 yond the confines of the little multiplied circles of the sys- 
 tem of the sun, it passes at once into the dim twilight of 
 space, where for myriads of myriad miles there is only the 
 grey of the earliest God's gloaming, which existed just so or 
 ever the world was, and shall be when the world is not- 
 Light and dark, day and night, are but as the lights of a 
 station at which the train does not stop. They whisk past, 
 gleaming bright but for a moment, and the world which 
 came out of great twilight plunges again into it, perhaps 
 to be remade and reillumined on some eternal morning. 
 
 It is good for man, then, to be oftentimes abroad in the 
 early twilight of the morning. It is primeval — instinct 
 with possibilities of thought and action. Then, if at all, he 
 will get a glimpse into his soul that may hap to startle him. 
 Judgment and the face of God justly angry seem more 
 likely and actual things than they do in the city when the 
 pavements are thronged and at every turning some one is 
 ready for good or evil to hail you " fellow." 
 
 So Ralph Peden stepped out into the night, the sense of 
 injustice quick upon him. He had no plans, but only the 
 quick resentments of youth, and the resolve to stay no longer 
 in a house where he was an unwelcome guest. He felt that 
 he had been offered the choice between his career and un-
 
 JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND. 213 
 
 faithfulness to the girl who had trusted him. This was 
 not quite so ; but, with the characteristic one-sidedness of 
 youth, that was the way that he put the case to himself. 
 
 It was the water-shed of day and night when Ralph set 
 out from the Dullarg manse. He had had no supper, but 
 he was not hungry. Naturally his feet carried him in the 
 direction of the bridge, whither he had gone on the previous 
 evening and where amid an eager press of thoughts he had 
 waited and watched for his love. When he got there he sat 
 down on the parapet and looked to the north. He saw the 
 wimples of the lazy Grannoch Lane winding dimly through 
 their white lily beds. In the starlight the white cups glim- 
 mered faintly up from their dark beds of leaves. Under- 
 neath the bridge there was only a velvety blackness of 
 shadow. 
 
 What to do was now the question. Plainly he must at 
 once go to Edinburgh and see his father. That was the 
 first certainty. But still more certainly he must first see 
 Winsome, and, in the light of the morning and of her eyes, 
 solve for her all the questions which must have sorely puz- 
 zled her, at the same time resolving his own perplexities. 
 Then he must bid her adieu. Eight proudly would he go to 
 carve out a way for her. He had no doubts that the mas- 
 tership in his old school, which Dr. Abel had offered him a 
 month ago, would still be at his disposal. That Winsome 
 loved him truly he did not doubt. He gave no thought to 
 that. The cry across the gulf of air from the high march 
 dyke by the pines on the hill, echoing down to the bridge 
 in the valley of the Grannoch, had settled that question 
 once for all. 
 
 As he sat on the bridge and listened to the ripple of the 
 Grannoch lane running lightly over the shallows at the 
 Stepping Stones, and to the more distant roar of the falls 
 of the Black Water, he shaped out a course for himself and
 
 214 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 for Winsome. He had ceased to call her Winsome Charte- 
 ris, " She," he called her — the only she. When next he 
 gave her a surname he would call her Winsome Peden. In- 
 stinctively he took off his hat at the thought, as though he 
 had opened a door and found himself light-heartedly and 
 suddenly in a church. 
 
 Sitting thus on the bridge alone and listening to the 
 ocean-like lapse of his own thoughts, as they cast up the 
 future and the past like pebbles at his feet, he had no more 
 thought of fear for his future than he had that first day at 
 Craig Ronald, under the whin-bushes on the ridge behind 
 him, on that day of the blanket-washing so many ages ago. 
 He was so full of love that it had cast out fear. 
 
 Suddenly out of the gloom beneath the bridge upon 
 which he was sitting, dangling his legs, there came a 
 voice. 
 
 " Maister Ealph Peden, Maister Ralph Peden." 
 
 Ralph nearly fell backward over the parapet in his as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Who is that calling on me?" he asked in wonder. 
 
 " Wha but juist daft Jock Gordon ? The hangman haesna 
 catchit him yet, an' thank ye kindly — na, nor ever wull." 
 
 " Where are you, Jock, man ? " said Ralph, willing to 
 humour the instrument of God. 
 
 " The noo Fm on the shelf o' the brig ; a braw bed it 
 maks, if it is raithcr narrow. But graund practice for the 
 narrow bed that I'll get i' the Dullarg kirkyaird some day 
 or lang, unless they catch puir Jock and hang him. Na, 
 na," said Jock with a canty kind of content in his voice, 
 " they may luik a lang while or they wad think o' luikin' for 
 him atween the foundation an' the spring o' the airch. An' 
 that's but yin o' Jock Gordon's hidie holes, an' a braw an' guid 
 yin it is. I hae seen this bit hole as fu' o' pairtricks and 
 pheasants as it could baud, an' a' the keepers and their dowgs
 
 JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND. 215 
 
 smelliu', and them could na find it oot. Na, the water taks 
 awa' the smell." 
 
 "Are ye not coming out, Jock ? " queried Ralph. 
 
 " That's as may be," said Jock briefly. " What do ye 
 want wi' Jock ? " 
 
 " Come up," said Ralph ; " I shall tell you how ye can 
 help me. Ye ken that I helped you yestreen." 
 
 " Weel, ye gied me an unco rive afE that blackguard frae 
 tlie Castle, gin that was a guid turn, I ken na ! " 
 
 So grumbling, Jock Gordon came to the upper level of 
 the bridge, paddling unconcernedly with his bare feet and 
 ragged trousers through the shallows. 
 
 " Weel, na — hae ye a snuff aboot ye, noo that I am here? 
 No — dear sirce, what wad I no do for a snuff ? " 
 
 " Jock," said Ralph, " I shall have to walk to Edinburgh. 
 I must start in the morning." 
 
 " Ye'll hae plenty o' sillar, nae doot ? " said Jock prac- 
 tically. 
 
 Ralph felt his pockets. In that wild place it was not his 
 custom to carry money, and he had not even the few shil- 
 lings which were in his purse at the manse. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," he said, " that I have no money 
 with me." 
 
 " Then ye'll be better o' Jock Gordon wi' ye ? " said Jock 
 promptly. 
 
 Ralph saw that it would not do to be saddled with Jock 
 in the city, where it might be necessary for him to begin a 
 new career immediately ; so he gently broke the difficulties 
 to Jock. 
 
 " Deed na, ye needna be feared ; Jock wadna set a fit in 
 a toon. There's ower mony nesty imps o' boys, rinniu' an' 
 cloddin' stanes at puir Jock, forby caa'in' him names. Syne 
 he loses his temper wi' them an' then he micht do them an 
 injury an' get himsel' intil the gaol. Xa, na, when Jock
 
 216 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 sees the blue smoor o' Auld Reeky gaun up into the Hf t he'll 
 turn an' gae hame." 
 
 " Well, Jock," said Ralph, " it behooves me to see Mis- 
 tress Winsome before I go. Ye ken she and I are good 
 friends." 
 
 " So's you an' me ; but had puir Jock no cried up till ye, 
 ye wad hae gane ail" to Embra withoot as muckle as ' Fair- 
 guide'en to ye, Jock.' " 
 
 "Ah, Jock, but then you must know that Mistress Char- 
 teris and I are lad and lass," he continued, putting the case 
 as he conceived in a form that would suit it to Jock's un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 " Lad an' lass ! What did ye think Jock took ye for ? 
 This is nane o' yer Castle tricks," he said ; " mind, Jock can 
 bite yet ! " 
 
 Ralph laughed. 
 
 " No, no, Jock, you need not be feared. She and I are 
 going to be married some day before very long " — a state- 
 ment made entirely without authority. 
 
 " Hoot, hoot ! " said Jock, " wull nocht ser' 3'e but that 
 ava — a sensible man like you ? In that case ye'll hae seen 
 the last 0' Jock Gordon. I canna be doin' wi' a gilravage 
 o' bairns aboot a hoose " 
 
 " Jock," said Ralph earnestly, " will you help me to see 
 her before I go ? " 
 
 " 'Deed that I wull," said Jock, very practically. " I'll 
 gaun an' wauken her the noo ! " 
 
 " You must not do that," said Ralph, " but perhaps if 
 you knew where Meg Kissock slept, you might tell her." 
 
 " Certes, I can that," said Jock ; " I can pit my haund 
 on her in a meenit. But mind yer, when ye're mairret, 
 dinna expect Jock Gordon to come farther nor the back 
 kitchen." 
 
 So grumbling, " It couldna be expeckit — I canna be doin'
 
 THE DEW OP THEIR YOUTH. 217 
 
 wi' bairns ava' " Jock took his way up the long loan- 
 ing of Craig Ronald, followed through the elderbushes by 
 Kalph Peden. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH. 
 
 Jock made his way without a moment's hesitation to the 
 little hen-house which stood at one end of the farm steading 
 of Craig Ronald. Up this he walked with his semi-prehen- 
 sile bare feet as easily as though he were walking along the 
 highway. Up to the rigging of the house he went, then 
 along it — setting one foot on one side and the other on the 
 other, turning in his great toes upon the coping for sup- 
 port. Thus he came to the gable end at which Meg slept. 
 Jock leaned over the angle of the roof and with his hand 
 tapped on the window. 
 
 " Wha's there?" said Meg from her bed, no more sur- 
 prised than if the knock had been upon the outer door at 
 midday. 
 
 " It's me, daft Jock Gordon," said Jock candidly. 
 
 " Gae wa' wi' ye, Jock ! Can ye no let decent fowk sleep 
 in their beds for yae nicht ? " 
 
 " Ye maun get up, Meg," said Jock. 
 
 "An' what for should I get up? "queried Meg indig- 
 nantly. " I had aneuch o' gettin' up yestreen to last me a 
 gye while." 
 
 " There's a young man here wantin' to coort your mis- 
 tress ! " said Jock delicately. 
 
 " Ilaivers ! " said Meg, " hae ye killed another puir 
 man ? " 
 
 " Na, na, he's honest — this yin. It's the young man frae
 
 218 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the manse. The auld carle o' a minister has turned him oot 
 o' hoose an' hame, and he's gaun awa' to Enbra'. He says 
 he maun see the young mistress afore he gangs — but maybe 
 ye ken better, Meg." 
 
 " Gae wa' frae the wunda, Jock, and I'll get up," said 
 Meg, with a brevity which betokened the importance of the 
 news. 
 
 In a little while Meg was in Winsome's room. The 
 greyish light of early morning was just peeping in past the 
 little curtain. On the chair lay the lilac-sprigged muslin 
 dress of her grandmother's, which Winsome had meant to 
 put on next morning to the kirk. Her face lay sideways 
 on the pillow, and Meg could see that she was softly crying 
 even in her sleep. Meg stood over her a moment. Some- 
 thing hard lay beneath Winsome's cheek, pressing into its 
 soft rounding. Meg tenderly slipped it out. It was an ordi- 
 nary memorandum-book written with curious signs. On 
 the pillow by her lay the lilac sunbonnet. 
 
 Meg put her arms gently round Winsome, saying: 
 
 " It's me, my lamb. It's me, your Meg ! " 
 
 And Meg's cheek was pressed against that of Winsome, 
 moist with sleep. The sleeper stirred with a dovelike moan- 
 ing, and opened her eyes, dark with sleep and wet with the 
 tears of dreams, upon Meg. 
 
 " Waken, my bonnie ; Meg has something that she maun 
 tell ye." 
 
 So Winsome looked round with the wild fear with which 
 she now started from all her sleeps ; but the strong arms 
 of her loyal Meg were about her, and she only smiled with a 
 vague wistf ulness, and said : 
 
 " It's you, Meg, my dear ! " 
 
 So into her ear Meg whispered her tale. As she went 
 on, Winsome clasped her round the neck, and thrust her 
 face into the neck of Meg's drugget gown. This is the same
 
 THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH. 219 
 
 girl who had set the ploughmen their work and appointed 
 to each worker about the farm her task. It seems necessary 
 to say so. 
 
 "Noo," said Meg, when she had finished, "ye ken 
 whether ye want to see him or no ! " 
 
 "Meg," whispered Winsome, "can I let him go away to 
 Edinburgh and maybe never see me again, without a word V " 
 
 " Ye ken that best yersel','' said Meg with high impar- 
 tiality, but with her comforting arms very close about her 
 darling. 
 
 " I think," said Winsome, the tears very near the lids of 
 her eyes, " that I had better not see him. I — I do not wish 
 to see him — Meg," she said earnestly ; " go and tell him not 
 to see me any more, and not to think of a girl like me " 
 
 Meg went to Wlnsome's little cupboard wardrobe in the 
 wall and took down the old lilac-sprayed summer gown 
 which she had worn when she first saw Kalph Peden. 
 
 " Ye had better rise, my lassie, an' tak' that message 
 yersel' ! " said Meg dryly. 
 
 So obediently Winsome rose. Meg helped her to dress, 
 holding silently her glimmering white garments for her as 
 she had done when first as a fairy child she came to Craig 
 Ronald. Some of them were a little roughly held, for Meg 
 could not see quite so clearly as usual. Also when she spoke 
 her speech sounded more abruptly and harshly than was its 
 wont. 
 
 At last the girl's attire was complete, and Winsome stood 
 ready for her morning walk fresh as the dew on the white 
 lilies. Meg tied the strings of the old sunbonnet beneath 
 her sweet chin, and stepped back to look at the effect ; then, 
 with sudden impulsive movement, she went tumultuously 
 forward and kissed her mistress on the cheek. 
 
 " I wusli it was me ! " she said, pushing Winsome from 
 the room.
 
 220 THE LILAC SUNBOXNET. 
 
 The day was breaking red in the east when Winsome 
 stepped out upon the little wooden stoop, damp with the 
 night mist, which seemed somehow strange to her feet. She 
 stepped down, giving a little familiar pat to the bosom of her 
 dress, as though to advertise to any one who might be ob- 
 serving that it was her constant habit thus to walk abroad 
 in the dawn. 
 
 Meg watched her as she went. Then she turned into 
 the house to stop the kitchen clock and out to lock the 
 stable door. 
 
 Through the trees Winsome saw Ralph long before he saw 
 her. She was a woman ; he was only a naturalist and a 
 man. She drew the sunbonnet a little farther over her eyes. 
 He started at last, turned, and came eagerly towards her. 
 
 Jock Gordon, who had remained about the farm, went 
 quickly to the gate at the end of the house as if to shut it. 
 
 " Come back oot o' that," said Meg sharply. 
 
 Jock turned quite as briskly. 
 
 " I was gaun to stand wi' my back til't, sae that they 
 micht ken there was naebody luikin'. D'ye think Jock 
 Gordon haes nae mainners ? " he said indignantly. 
 
 " Staun wi' yer back to a creel o' peats, Jock ; it'll fit ye 
 better ! " observed Meg, giving him the wicker basket with 
 the broad leather strap which was used at Craig Ronald for 
 bringing the peats in from the stack. 
 
 Winsome had not meant to look at Ralph as she came 
 up to him. It seemed a bold and impossible thing for her 
 ever again to come to him. The fear of a former time was 
 still strong upon her. 
 
 Bat as soon as she saw him, her eyes somehow could not 
 leave his face. He dropped his hat on the grass beneath, as 
 he came forward to meet her under the great branches of the 
 oak-trees by the little pond. She had meant to tell him that 
 he must not touch her — she was not to be touched ; yet she
 
 THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTO. 221 
 
 went straight into his open arms like a homing dove. Iler 
 great eyes, still dewy with the warm light of love in them, 
 never left his till, holding his love safe in his arms, he drew 
 her to him and upon her sweet lips took his first kiss of love. 
 
 " At last ! " he said, after a silence. 
 
 The sun was rising over the hills of heather. League 
 after league of the imperial colour rolled westward as the 
 level rays of the sun touched it. 
 
 "Now do you understand, my beloved?" said Ralph. 
 Perhaps it was the red light of the sun, or only some roseate 
 tinge from the miles of Galloway heather that stretched to 
 the north, but it is certain that there was a glow of more 
 than earthly beauty on Winsome's face as she stood up, still 
 within his arms, and said : 
 
 " I do not understand at all, but I love you." 
 
 Then, because there is notliing more true and trustful 
 than the heart of a good woman, or more surely an inherit- 
 ance from the maid-mother of the sinless garden than her 
 way of showing that she gives her all. Winsome laid her 
 either hand on her lover's shoulders and drew his face 
 down to hers — laying her lips to his of her own free will and 
 accord, without shame in giving, or coquetry of refusal, in 
 that full kiss of first surrender which a woman may give 
 once, but never twice, in her life. 
 
 This also is part of the proper heritage of man and 
 woman, and whoso has missed it may attain wealth or am- 
 bition, may exhaust the earth — yet shall die without fully or 
 truly living. 
 
 A moment they stood in silence, swaying a little like 
 twin flowers in the wind of the morning. Then taking 
 hands like children, they slowly walked away with their 
 faces towards the sunrise. There was the light of a new 
 life in their eyes. It is good sometimes to live altogether 
 in the present. " Sufficient unto the day is the good 
 15
 
 222 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 thereof," is a proverb in all resjoects equal to the scriptural 
 original. 
 
 For a little while they thus walked silently forward, and 
 on the crest of the ridge above the nestling farm Ealph 
 paused to take his last look of Craig Ronald. Winsome 
 turned with him in complete comprehension, though as yet 
 he had told her no word of his projects. Nor did she think 
 of any possible parting, or of anything save of the eyes 
 into which she did not cease to look, and the lover whose 
 hand it was enough to hold. All true and pure love is an 
 extension of God — the gladness in the eyes of lovers, the 
 tears also, bridals and espousals, the wife's still happiness, 
 the delight of new-made homes, the tinkle of children's 
 laughter. It needs no learned exegete to explain to a true 
 lover what John meant when he said, " For God is love." 
 These things are not gifts of God, they are parts of him. 
 
 It was at this moment that Meg Kissock, having seen 
 them stand a moment still against the sky, and then go 
 down from their hilltop towards the north, unlocked the 
 stable door, at which Ebie Fairrish had been vainly hammer- 
 ing from within for a quarter of an hour. Then she went 
 indoors and pulled close the curtains of Winsome's little 
 room. She came out, locked the bedroom door, and put 
 the key in her pocket. Her mistress had a headache. Meg 
 was a treasure indeed, as a thoughtful person about a house- 
 hold often is. 
 
 As Winsome and Ralph went down the farther slope of 
 the hill, towards the road that stretched away northward 
 across the moors, they fell to talking together very practical- 
 ly. They had much to say. Before they had gone a mile the 
 first strangeness had worn off, and the stage of their inti- 
 macy may be inferred from the fact that they were only at 
 the edge of the great wood of Grannoch bank, when Win- 
 some reached the remark which undoubtedly Mother Eve
 
 THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH. 223 
 
 made to her husband after they had been some time ac- 
 quainted: 
 
 " Do you know, I never tliought I should talk to any 
 one as I am talking to you ? " 
 
 Ealph allowed that it was an entirely wonderful thing — 
 indeed, a belated miracle. Strangely enough, he had experi- 
 enced exactly the same thought. " Was it possible ? " smiled 
 Winsome gladly, from under the lilac sunbonuet. 
 
 Such wondrous and unexampled correspondence of im- 
 pression proved that they were made for one another, did it 
 not? At this point they paused. Exercise in the early 
 morning is fatiguing. Only the unique character of these 
 refreshing experiences induces us to put them on record. 
 
 Then Winsome and Ealph proceeded to other and not 
 less extraordinary discoveries. Sitting on a wind-over- 
 turned tree-trunk, looking out from the edge of the fring- 
 ing woods of the Grannoch bank towards the swells of 
 Cairnsmuir's green bosom, they entered upon their position 
 with great practicality. Nature, with an unusual want of 
 foresight, had neglected to provide a back to this sylvan 
 seat, so Ealph attended to the matter himself. This shows 
 that self-help is a virtue to be encouraged. 
 
 Ealph had some disinclination to speak of the terrors of 
 the night which had forever rolled away. Still, he felt that 
 the matter must be cleared up; so that it was with doubt 
 in his mind that he showed Winsome the written line which 
 had taken him to the bridge instead of to the hill gate. 
 
 " That's Jess Kissock's writing ! " Winsome said at once. 
 Ealph had the same thought. So in a few moments they 
 traced the whole plot to its origin. It was a fit product of 
 the impish brain of Jess Kissock. Jess had sent the false 
 note of appointment to Ealph by Andra, knowing that he 
 would be so exalted with the contents that he would never 
 doubt its accuracy. Then she had despatched Jock Gor-
 
 22i THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 don with Winsome's real letter to Greatorix Castle ; in 
 answer to the supposed summons, which was genuine 
 enough, though not meant for him, Agnew Greatorix had 
 come to the hill gate, and Jess had met Ralph by the bridge 
 to play her own cards as best she could for herself. 
 
 " How wicked ! " said Winsome, " after all." 
 
 " How foolish ! " said Ralph, " to think for a moment 
 that any one could separate you and me." 
 
 But Winsome bethought herself how foolishly jealous 
 she had been when she found Jess putting a flower into 
 Ralph's coat, and Jess's plot did not look quite so impos- 
 sible as before. 
 
 " I think, dear," said Ralph, " you must after this make 
 your letters so full of your love, that there can be no mis- 
 take whom they are intended for." 
 
 " I mean to," said Winsome frankly. 
 
 There was also some fine scenery at this point. 
 
 But there w^as no hesitation in Ralph Peden's tone when 
 he settled down steadily to tell her of his hopes. 
 
 Winsome sat with her eyes downcast and her head a 
 little to one side, like a bright-eyed bird listening. 
 
 " That is all true and delightful," she said, " but we 
 must not be selfish or forget," 
 
 " We must remember one another ! " said Ralph, with 
 the absorption of newly assured love. 
 
 " We are in no danger of forgetting one another," said 
 that wise woman in counsel ; " we must not forget others. 
 There is your father — you have not forgotten him." 
 
 With a pang Ralph remembered that there was yet 
 something that he could not tell Winsome. He had not 
 even been frank with her concerning the reason of his 
 leaving the manse and going to Edinburgh. She only un- 
 derstood that it was connected with his love for her, which 
 was not approved of by the minister of the Marrow kirk.
 
 THE DEW OF THEIK YOUTH. 225 
 
 " My father will be as much pleased with you as I," said 
 Kalph, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " No doubt," said Winsome, laughing ; " fathers always 
 are with their sons' sweethearts. But you have not forgot- 
 ten something else ? " 
 
 " What may that be ? " said Ealph doubtfully. 
 
 " That I cannot leave my grandfather and grandmother 
 at Craig Konald as they are. They have cared for me and 
 given me a home when I had not a friend. Would you 
 love me as you do, if I could leave them even to go out into 
 the world with you ? " 
 
 " No," said Ralph very reluctantly, but like a man. 
 
 " Then," said Winsome bravely, " go to Edinburgh. 
 Fight your own battle, and mine," she added. 
 
 " Winsome," said Ealph, earnestly, for this serious and 
 practical side of her character was an additional and un- 
 expected revelation of perfection, " if you make as good a 
 wife as you make a sweetheart, you will make one man 
 happy." 
 
 " I mean to make a man happy," said Winsome, confi- 
 dently. 
 
 The scenery again asserted its claim to attention. Ob- 
 servation enlarges the mind, and is therefore pleasant. 
 
 After a pause. Winsome said irrelevantly. 
 
 " And you really do not think me so foolish ? " 
 
 " Foolish ! I think you are the wisest and " 
 
 "No, no." Winsome would not let him proceed. " You 
 do not really think so. You know that I am wayward and 
 changeable, and not at all what I ought to be. Granny 
 always tells me so. It was very different when she was 
 young, she says. Do you know," continued Winsome 
 thoughtfully, " I used to be so frightened, when I know 
 that you could read in all these wise books of which I d\d 
 not know a letter? But I must confess — I do not know
 
 226 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 what you will say, you may even be angry — I have a note- 
 book of yours which I kept." 
 
 But if Winsome wanted a new sensation she was disap- 
 pointed, for Ealph was by no means angry. 
 
 " So that's where it went?" said Ralph, smiling gladly. 
 
 " Yes," said Winsome, blushing not so much with guilt 
 as with the consciousness of the locality of the note-book at 
 that moment, which she was not yet prepared to tell him. 
 But she consoled herself with the thought that she would 
 tell him one day. 
 
 Strangely however, Ralph did not seem to care much 
 about the book, so Winsome changed the subject to one of 
 greater interest. 
 
 " And what else did you think about me that first day? 
 — tell me," said Winsome, shamelessly^. 
 
 It was Ralph's opportunity. 
 
 " Why, you know very well, Winsome dear, that ever 
 since the day I first saw you I have thought that there 
 never was any one like you " 
 
 "Yes?" said Winsome, with a rising inflection in her 
 voice. 
 
 " I ever thought you the best and the kindest " 
 
 "Yes?" said Winsome, a little breathlessly. 
 
 " The most helpful and the wisest " 
 
 "Yes?" said Winsome. 
 
 " And the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my 
 life ! " 
 
 " Then I do not care for anything else ! " cried Winsome, 
 clapping her hands. She had been resolving to learn He- 
 brew five minutes before. 
 
 "Nor do I, really," said Ralph, speaking out the inmost 
 soul that is in every young man. 
 
 As Ralph Peden sat looking at Winsome the thought 
 came sometimes to him — but not often — " This is Allan
 
 THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH. 927 
 
 Welsh's daughter, the daughter of the woman whom my 
 father once loved, who lies so still under the green sod of 
 Crossthwaite beneath the lea of Skiddaw." 
 
 He looked at her eyes, deep blue like the depths of the 
 Mediterranean Sea, and, like it, shot through with interior 
 light. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " asked Winsome, who had 
 also meanwhile been looking at him. 
 
 " Of your eyes, dear ! " said Ealph, telling half the truth 
 — a good deal for a lover. 
 
 Winsome paused for further information, looking into 
 the depths of his soul. Ralph felt as though his heart and 
 judgment were being assaulted by storming parties, lie 
 looked into these wells of blue and saw the love quivering 
 in them as the broken light quivers, deflected on its way 
 through clear water to a sea bottom of golden sand. 
 
 " You want to hear me tell you something wiser," said 
 Ealph, who did not know everything ; " you are bored with 
 my foolish talk." 
 
 And he would have spoken of the hopes of his future. 
 
 " No, no ; tell me — tell me what you see in my eyes," 
 said Winsome, a little impatiently. 
 
 " Well then, first," said truthful Ralph, who certainly did 
 not flinch from the task, " I see the fairest thing God made 
 for man to see. All the beauty of the world, losing its way, 
 stumbled, and was drowned in the eyes of my love. They 
 have robbed the sunshine, and stolen the morning dew. 
 The sparkle of the light on the water, the gladness of a 
 child when it laughs because it lives, the sunshine which 
 makes the butterflies dance and the world so beautiful — all 
 these I see in your eyes." 
 
 " This story is plainly impossible. This practical girl 
 was not one to find pleasure in listening to flattery. Let us 
 read no more in this book." This is what some wise people
 
 228 I'flE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 will say at this point. So, to their loss will they close the 
 book. They have not achieved all knowledge. The wisest 
 woman would rather hear of her eyes than of her mind. 
 There are those who say the reverse, but then perhaps no 
 one has ever had cause to tell them concerning what lies hid 
 in their eyes. 
 
 Many had wished to tell Winsome these things, but to 
 no one hitherto had been given the discoverer's soul, the 
 poet's voice, the wizard's hand to bring the answering love 
 out of the deep sea of divine possibilities in which the tides 
 ran high and never a lighthouse told of danger. 
 
 " Tell me more," said Winsome, being a woman, as well 
 as fair and young. These last are not necessary ; to desire 
 to be told about one's eyes, it is enough to be a woman. 
 
 Ealph looked down. In such cases it is necessary to 
 refresh the imagination constantly with the facts. As in 
 the latter days wise youths read messages from the quiver- 
 ing needle of the talking machine, so lialph read his mes- 
 sage flash by flash as it pulsated upward from a pure 
 woman's soul. 
 
 " Once you would not tell me why your eyelashes were 
 curled up at the ends," said this eager Columbus of a new 
 continent, drawing the new world nearer his heart in order 
 that his discoveries might be truer, surer, in detail more 
 trustworthy. " I know now without telling. Would you 
 like to know, Winsome ? " 
 
 Winsome drew a haj)py breath, nestling a little closer — 
 so little that no one but Ralph would have known. But the 
 little shook him to the depths of his soul. This it is to be 
 young and for the first time mastering the geography of an 
 unknown and untraversed continent. The unversed might 
 have thought that light breath a sigh, but no lover could 
 have made the mistake. It is only in books, wordy aud un- 
 real, that lovers misunderstand each other in that way.
 
 THE DEW OP THEIR YOUTH. 229 
 
 " I know," said Ealph, needing no word of permission to 
 proceed, " it is with touching your cheek when you sleep." 
 
 " Then I must sleep a very long time ! " said Winsome 
 merrily, making light of his words. 
 
 " Underneath in the dark of either eye," continued Ralj^h, 
 who, he it not forgotten, was a poet, " I see two young 
 things like cherubs." 
 
 " I know," said Winsome ; " I see myself in your eyes — 
 you see yourself in mine." 
 
 She paused to note the effect of this tremendous dis- 
 covery. 
 
 " Then," replied Ealph, " if it be indeed my own self I 
 see in your eyes, it is myself as God made me at first with- 
 out sin. I do not feel at all like a cherub now, but I must 
 have been once, if I ever was like what I see in your eyes." 
 
 " Now go on ; tell me what else you see," said Winsome. 
 
 " Your lips " began Ralph, and paused. 
 
 " No, six is quite enough," said Winsome, after a little 
 while, mysteriously. She had only two, and Ealph only 
 two ; yet she said with little grammar and no sense at all, 
 " Six is enough." 
 
 But a voice from quite other lips came over the rising 
 background of scrub and tangled thicket. 
 
 "Gang on coortin'," it said ; " I'm no lookin', an' I canna 
 see ony thing onyway." 
 
 It was Jock Gordon. lie continued : 
 
 " Jock Scott's gane hame till his breakfast. He'll no 
 bother ye this morniu', sae coort awa'."
 
 230 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 
 
 "Winsome and Ealph laughed, but Winsome sat up and 
 put straight her sunbonuet. Sunbounets are troublesome 
 things. They will not stick on one's head. Manse Bell con- 
 tradicts this. She says that her sunbonnet never comes off, 
 or gets pushed back. As for other people's, lasses are not 
 what they were in her young days. 
 
 " I must go home," said Winsome ; " they will miss me." 
 
 " You know that it is ' good-bye,' then,". said Ralph. 
 
 " What ! " said Winsome, " shall I not see you to-mor- 
 row ? " the bright light of gladness dying out of her eye. 
 And the smile drained down out of her cheek like the last 
 sand out of the sand-glass. 
 
 " No," said Ralph quietly, keeping his eyes full on hers, 
 " I cannot go back to the manse after what was said. It is 
 not likely that I shall ever be there again." 
 
 " Then when shall I see you?" said Winsome piteously. 
 It is the cry of all loving womanhood, whose love goes out 
 to the battle or into the city, to the business of war, or pleas- 
 ure, or even of money-getting. " Then when shall I see yoa 
 again ? " said Winsome, saying a new thing. There is noth- 
 ing new under the sun, yet to lovers like Winsome and 
 Ealph all things are new. 
 
 There was a catch in her throat. A Salter dew gathered 
 about her eyes, and the pupils expanded till the black 
 seemed to shut out the blue. 
 
 Very tenderly Ralph looked down, and said, " Winsome, 
 my dear, very soon I shall come again with more to ask 
 and more to tell." 
 
 " But you are not going straight away to Edinburgh
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 231 
 
 now ? You must get a drive to Dumfries and take the 
 Edinburgh coach." 
 
 " I cannot do that," said Kalph ; " I must walk all the 
 way ; it is nothing." 
 
 Winsome looked at Ralph, the motherly instinct that is 
 in all true love surging up even above the lover's instinct. It 
 made her clasp and unclasp her hands in distress, to think 
 of him going away alone over the waste moors, from the 
 place where they had been so happy. 
 
 " And he will leave me behind ! " she said, with a sudden 
 fear of the loneliness which would surely come when the 
 bright universe was emptied of Ralph. 
 
 " Had it only been to-morrow, I could have borne it bet- 
 ter," she said. " Oh, it is too soon ! How could he let us 
 be so happy when he was going away from me ? " 
 
 Winsome knew even better than Ralph that he must go, 
 but the most accurate knowledge of necessity does not pre- 
 vent the resentful feeling in a woman's heart when one she 
 loves goes before his time. 
 
 But the latent motherhood in this girl rose up. If he 
 were truly hers, he was hers to take care of. Therefore 
 she asked the question which every mother asks, and no 
 sweetheart who is nothing but a sweetheart has ever yet 
 asked : 
 
 " Have you enough money ? " 
 
 Ralph blushed and looked most unhappy, for the first 
 time since the sun rose. 
 
 " I have none at all," he said ; " my father only gave me 
 the money for my journey to the Dullarg, and Mr. Welsh 
 
 was to provide me what was necessary " He stopped 
 
 here, it seemed such a hard and shameful thing to say. " I 
 have never had anything to do with money," he said, hang- 
 ing down his head. 
 
 Now Winsome, who was exceedingly practical in this
 
 232 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 matter, went forward to him quickly and put an arm upon 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " My poor boy ! " she said, with the tenderest and sweet- 
 est expression on her face. And again Ralph Peden per- 
 ceived that there are things more precious than much 
 money. 
 
 " Now bend your head and let me whisper." It was 
 already bent, but it was iu his ear that Winsome wished to 
 speak. 
 
 " No, no, indeed I cannot, "Winsome, my love ; I could 
 not, indeed, and in truth I do not need it." 
 
 Winsome dropjoed her arms and stepped back tragically. 
 She put one hand over the other upon her breast, and 
 turned half way from him. 
 
 "Then you do not love me," she said, purely as a coer- 
 cive measure. 
 
 " I do, I do — you know that I do ; but I could not take 
 it," said Ralj^h, piteously. 
 
 " Well, good-bye, then," said Winsome, without holding 
 out her hand, and turning away. 
 
 " You do not mean it ; Winsome, you cannot be cruel, 
 after all. Come back and sit down. We shall talk about it, 
 and you will see " 
 
 Winsome paused and looked at him, standing so pite- 
 ously. She says now that she really meant to go away, but 
 she smiles when she says it, as if she did not quite believe 
 the statement herself. But something — perhaps the look in 
 his eyes, and the thought that, like herself, he had never 
 known a mother — made her turn. Going back, she took his 
 hand and laid it against her cheek. 
 
 " Ralph," she said, " listen to me ; if / needed help and 
 had none I should not be proud ; I would not quarrel with 
 you when you offered to help me. No, I would even ask 
 you for it ! But then I love you.''''
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 233 
 
 It was hardly fair. "Winsome acknowledges as much 
 herself ; but then a woman has no weapons but her wit and 
 her beauty — which is, seeing the use she can make of these 
 two, on the whole rather fortunate than otherwise. 
 
 Kalph looked eager and a little frightened. 
 
 " Would you do that really ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " Of course I should ! " replied Winsome, a little indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 Ealph took her in his arms, and in such a masterful 
 way, that first she was frightened and then she was glad. 
 It is good to feel weak in the arms of a strong man who 
 loves you. God made it so when he made all things well. 
 
 " My lassie I " said Ralph for all comment. 
 
 Then fell a silence so prolonged that a shy squirrel in 
 the boughs overhead resumed his researches upon the tassels 
 and young shoots of the pine-tops, throwing down the de- 
 bris in a contemptuous manner upon Winsome and Ralph, 
 who stood below, listening to the beating of each other's 
 hearts. 
 
 Finally Winsome, without moving, produced apparently 
 from regions unknown a long green silk purse with three 
 silver rings round the middle. 
 
 As she put it into Ralph's hand, something doubtful 
 started again into his eyes, but Winsome looked so fierce in 
 a moment, and so decidedly laid a finger on his lips, that 
 perforce he was silent. 
 
 As soon as he had taken it, Winsome clapped her hands 
 (as well as was at the time possible for her — it seemed, in- 
 deed, altogether impossible to an outsider, yet it was done), 
 and said : 
 
 " You are not sorry, dear — you are glad ? " with inter- 
 rogatively arched eyebrows. 
 
 "Yes," said Ralph, " I am very glad." As indeed he 
 might well be.
 
 234 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " You see," said the wise young woman, " it is this way : 
 all that is my very own. / am your very own, so what is 
 in the purse is your very own. 
 
 Logic is great — greatest when the logician is distracting- 
 ly pretty ; then, at least, it is sure to prevail — unless, indeed, 
 the opponent be blind, or another woman. This is why 
 they do not examine ladies orally in logic at the great colleges. 
 
 We have often tried to recover Ealph's reply, but the 
 text is corrupt at this place, the context entirely lost. Ex- 
 perts suspect a palimpsest. 
 
 Perhaps we linger overly long on the records ; but there 
 is so much called love in the world, which is no love, that 
 there may be some use in dwelling upon the histories of a 
 love which was fresh and tender, sweet and true. It is at 
 once instruction for the young, and for tlie older folk a 
 cast back into the days that were. If to any it is a mockery 
 or a scorning, so much the worse — for of them who sit in 
 the scorner's chair the doom is written. 
 
 Winsome and Ealph walked on into the eye of the day, 
 hand in hand, as was their wont. They crossed the dreary 
 moor, which yet is not dreary when you came to look at 
 it on such a morning as this. 
 
 The careless traveller glancing at it as he passed might 
 call it dreary ; but in the hollows, miniature lakes glistened, 
 into which the tiny spurs of granite ran out flush with tlie 
 water like miniature piers. The wind of the morning 
 waking, rippled on the lakelets, and blew the bracken softly 
 northward. The heather was dark rose purple, the " ling " 
 dominating the miles of moor ; for the lavender-grey flush 
 of the true heather had not yet broken over the great spaces 
 of the south uplands. 
 
 So their feet dragged slower as they drew near to that 
 spot where they knew they must part. There was no 
 thought of going back. There was even little of pain.
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 235 
 
 Perfect love had done its work. All frayed and second- 
 hand loves may be made ashamed by the fearlessness of 
 these two walking to their farewell trysting-place, lonely 
 amid the world of heather. Only daft Jock Gordon above 
 them, like a jealous scout, scoured the heights — sometimes 
 on all-fours, sometimes bending double, with his long arms 
 swinging like windmills, scaring even the sheep and the 
 deer lest they should come too near. Overhead there was 
 nothing nearer them than the blue lift, and even that had 
 withdrawn itself infinitely far away, as though the angels 
 themselves did not wish to spy on a later Eden. It was 
 that midsummer glory of love-time, when grey Galloway 
 covers up its flecked granite and becomes a true Purple 
 Land. 
 
 If there be a fairer spot within the four seas than 
 this fringe of birch-fringed promontory which juts into 
 westernmost Loch Ken, I do not know it. Almost an 
 island, it is set about with the tiniest beaches of white 
 sand. From the rocks that look boldly up the loch the 
 heather and the saxifrage reflect themselves in the still 
 water. To reach it Winsome led Ealph among the scented 
 gall-bushes and bog myrtle, where in the marshy meadows 
 the lonely grass of Parnassus was growing. Pure white 
 petals, veined green, with spikelets of green set in the 
 angles within, five-lobed broidery of daintiest gold stitch- 
 ing, it shone with so clear a presage of hope that Ealph 
 stooped to pick it that he might give it to Winsome. 
 
 She stoi^ped him. 
 
 " Do not pull it," she said ; " leave it for me to come and 
 look at — when — when you are gone. It will soon wither if 
 it is taken away ; but give me some of the bog myrtle in- 
 stead," she added, seeing that Kalph looked a little dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 Ealph gathered some of the narrow, brittle, frairrant
 
 236 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 leaves. Wiusome carefully kept half for herself, and as 
 carefully inserted a spray in each pocket of his coat. 
 
 " There, that will keep you in mind of Galloway ! " she 
 said. And indeed the bog myrtle is the characteristic 
 smell of the great world of hill and moss we call by that 
 name. In far lands the mere thought of it has brought 
 tears to the eyes unaccustomed, so close do the scents and 
 sights of the old Free Province — the lordship of the Picts 
 — wind themselves about the hearts of its sons. 
 
 " We transplant badly, we plants of the hills. You 
 must come back to me," said Winsome, after a pause of 
 wondering silence. 
 
 Loch Ken lay like a dream in the clear dispersed light 
 of the morning, the sun shimmering upon it as through 
 translucent ground glass. Teal and moor-hen squattered 
 away from the shore as Winsome and Ralph climbed tlie 
 brae, and stood looking northward over the superb levels of 
 the loch. On the horizon Cairnsmuir showed golden tints 
 through his steadfast blue. 
 
 Whaups swirled and wailed about the rugged side of 
 Bennan above their heads. Across the loch there was a 
 solitary farm so beautifully set that Ralph silently pointed 
 it out to Winsome, who smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " The Shirmers has just been let on a nineteen years' 
 lease," she said, " eighteen to run." 
 
 So practical was the answer, that Ralph laughed, and 
 the strain of his sadness was broken. He did not mean to 
 wait eighteen years for her, fathers or no fathers. 
 
 Then beyond, the whole land leaped skyward in great 
 heathery sweeps, save only here and there, where about 
 some hill farm the little emerald crofts and blue-green 
 springing oatlands clustered closest. The loch spread far 
 to the north, sleeping in the sunshine. Burnished like a 
 mirror it was, with no breath upon it. In the south the
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 237 
 
 Dee water came down from the hills peaty and brown. 
 The roaring of its rapids could faintly be heard. To the 
 east, across the loch, an island slept in the fairway, wooded 
 to the water's edge. 
 
 It were a good place to look one's last on the earth, 
 this wooded promontory, which might indeed have been 
 that mountain, though a little one, from which was once 
 seen all the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them. 
 For there are no finer glories on the earth than red heather 
 and blue loch, except only love and youth. 
 
 So here love and youth had come to part, between the 
 heather that glowed on the Bennan Hill and the sapphire 
 pavement of Loch Ken. 
 
 For a long time Winsome and Ralph were silent — the 
 empty interior sadness, mixed of great fear and great hun- 
 ger, beginning to grip them as they stood. Lives only just 
 twined and unified were again to twain. Love lately knit 
 was to be torn asunder. Eyes were to look no more into the 
 answering eloquence of other eyes. 
 
 " I must go," said Ralph, looking down into his be- 
 trothed's face. 
 
 " Stay only a little," said AVinsome. " It is the last 
 time." 
 
 So he stayed. 
 
 Strange, nervous constrictions played at " cat's cradle " 
 about their hearts. Vague noises boomed and drummed in 
 their ears, making their own words sound strange and empty, 
 like voices heard in a dream. 
 
 " Winsome ! " said Ralph. 
 
 " Ralph ! " said Winsome, 
 
 " You will never for a moment forget me ? " said Win- 
 some Charteris. 
 
 " You will never for a moment forget me ? " said Ralph 
 
 Peden. 
 
 IG
 
 238 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 The mutual ans-ver taken and given, after a long silence 
 of soul and body in not-to-be-forgotten communion, they 
 drew apart. 
 
 Ealph went a little way down the birch-fringed hill, but 
 turned to look a last look. Winsome was standing where 
 he had left her. Something in her attitude told of the tears 
 steadily falling upon her summer dress. It was enough and 
 too much. 
 
 Ealph ran back quickly. 
 
 " I cannot go away, Winsome. I cannot bear to leave 
 you like this ! " 
 
 Winsome looked at him and fought a good fight, like the 
 brave girl she was. Then she smiled through her tears with 
 the sudden radiance of the sun upon a showery May morn- 
 ing when the white hawthorn is coming out. 
 
 At this a sob, dangerously deep, rending and sudden, 
 forced itself from Ealph's throat. Her smile was infinitely 
 more heart-breaking than her tears. Ealph uttered a kind 
 of low inarticulate roar at the sight — being his impotent 
 protest against his love's pain. Yet such moments are the 
 ineffaceable treasures of life, had he but known it. Many 
 a man's deeds follow his vows simply because his lips have 
 tasted the salt water of love's ocean upon the face of the be- 
 loved. 
 
 " Be brave, Winsome," said Ealph ; " it shall not be for 
 long." 
 
 Yet she was braver than he, had he but known it ; for it 
 is the heritage of the woman to be the stronger in the crises 
 which inevitably wait upon love and love's achievement. 
 
 Winsome bent to kiss, with a touch like a benediction, 
 not his lips now but his brow, as he stood beneath her on 
 the hill slope. 
 
 " Go," she said ; " go quickly, while I have the strength. 
 I will be brave. Be thou brave also. God be with thee ! "
 
 SUCH SWEET SORROW. 239 
 
 So Ralph turned and fled while he could. He dared not 
 trust himself to look till he was past the hill and some way 
 across the moor. Then he turned and looked back over the 
 acres of heather wliicli he had put between himself and 
 his love. 
 
 Winsome still stood on the hill-top, the sun shining on 
 her face. In her hand was the lilac sunbonnet, making a 
 splash of faint pure colour against the blonde whiteness of 
 her dress. Ralph could just catch the golden shimmer of 
 her hair. He knew but he could not see how it crisped and 
 tendrilled about her brow, and how the light wind blew it 
 into little cirrus wisps of sun-flossed gold. The thought 
 that for long he should see it no more was even harder than 
 parting. It is the hard things on this earth that are the 
 easiest to do. The great renunciation is easy, but it is in- 
 finitely harder to give up the sweet, responsive delight of the 
 eye, the thouglit, the caress. This also is human. God 
 made it. 
 
 The lilac sunbonnet waved a little heartless wave which 
 dropped in the middle as if a string were broken. But the 
 shining hair blew out, as a waft of wind from the Bennan 
 fretted a moving patch across the loch. 
 
 Ralph flung out his hand in one of the savage gestures 
 men use when they turn bewildered and march away, leav- 
 ing the best of their lives behind them. 
 
 So shutting his eyes Ralph plunged headlong into the 
 green glades of the Kenside and looked no more. Winsome 
 walked slowly and sedately back, not looking on the world 
 any more, but only twining and pulling roughly the strings 
 of her sunbonnet till one came off. Winsome threw it on 
 the grass. What did it matter now ? She would wear it 
 no longer. There was none to cherish the lilac sunbonnet 
 any more.
 
 240 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'. 
 
 Winsome came buck to a quiet Craig Eonald. The men 
 were in the field. The farmsteading was hushed, Meg not 
 to be seen, the dogs silent, the bedroom blind undrawn when 
 she entered to find the key in the door. She went within 
 instantly and threw herself down upon the bed. Outside, 
 the morning sun strengthened and beat on the shining 
 white of the walls of Craig Ronald, and on Ralph far across 
 the mooi's. 
 
 Winsome must wait. We shall follow Ralph. It is the 
 way of the world at any rate. The woman always must wait 
 and nothing said. With the man are the keen interests of 
 the struggle, the grip of opposition, the clash of arms. With 
 the woman, naught worth speaking of — only the silence, the 
 loneliness, and waiting. 
 
 Ralph went northward wearing Winsome's parting kiss 
 on his brow like an insignia of knighthood. It meant much 
 to one who had never gone away before. So simple was 
 he that he did not know that there are all-experiencing 
 young men who love and sail away, clearing as they go the 
 decks of their custom-staled souls for the next action. 
 
 He stumbled, this simple knight, blindly into the ruts 
 and pebbly water courses down which the winter rains had 
 rushed, tearing the turf clean from the granite during the 
 November and February rains. 
 
 So he journeyed onward, heedless of his going. 
 
 To him came Jock Gordon, skipping like a wild goat 
 down the Bennan side. 
 
 " Hey, mon, d'ye want to drive intil Loch Ken ? Ye wad 
 mak' braw ged-bait. Hand up the hill, breest to the brae." 
 
 Through his trouble Ralph heard and instinctively
 
 OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'. 241 
 
 obeyed. In a little while he struck the beautiful road which 
 runs north and south along the side of the long loch of Ken. 
 Now there are fairer bowers in the south sunlands. There 
 are Highlands and Alp-lands of sky-piercing beauty. But to 
 Galloway, and specially to the central glens and flanking 
 desolations thereof, one beauty belongs. She is like a plain 
 girl with beautiful eyes. There is no country like her in 
 the world for colour — so delicately fresh in the rain-washed 
 green of her pasture slopes, so keen the viridian * of her 
 turnip-fields when the dew is on the broad, fleshy, crushed 
 leaves, so tender and deep the blue in the hollow places. It 
 was small wonder that Ralph had set down in the note-book 
 in which he sketched for future use all that passed under 
 his eye : 
 
 " Hast thou seen the glamour that follows 
 
 The falling of summer rain — 
 The mystical blues in the hollows. 
 
 The purples and greys on the plain ?" 
 
 It is true that all these things were but the idle garniture 
 of a tale that had lost its meaning to Ralph this morning ; 
 but yet in time the sense that the beauty and hope of life 
 lay about him stole soothingly upon his soul. He was glad 
 to breathe the gracious breaths of sj)raying honeysuckle 
 running its creamy riot of honey-drenched petals over the 
 hedges, and flinging daring reconnaissances even to the tops 
 of the dwarf birches by the wayside. 
 
 So quickly Nature eased his smart, that — for such is the 
 nature of the best men, even of the very best — at the mo- 
 ment when Winsome threw herself, dazed and blinded with 
 pain, upon her low white bed in the little darkened chamber 
 over the hill at Craig Ronald, Ralph was once more, even 
 though with the gnaw of emptiness and loss in his heart, 
 
 * Veronese green.
 
 242 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 looking forward to the future, and planning what the day 
 would bring to him on which he should return. 
 
 Even as he thought he began to whistle, and his step 
 went lighter, Jock Gordon moving silently along the 
 heather by his side at a dog's trot. Let no man think 
 hardly of Ralph, for this is the nature of the man. It was 
 not that man loves the less, but tliat with him in his dar- 
 ing initiative and strenuous endeavour the future lies. 
 
 The sooner, then, that he could compass and overpass 
 his difficulties the more swiftly would his face be again set 
 to the south, and the aching emptiness of his soul be filled 
 with a strange and thrilling expectancy. The wind whistled 
 in his face as *he rounded the Bennan and got his first 
 glimpse of the Kells range, stretching far away over surge 
 after surge of heather and bent, through which, here and 
 there, the grey teeth of the granite shone. It is no 
 blame to him that, as he passed on from horizon to horizon, 
 each step which took him farther and farther from Craig 
 Eonald seemed to bring him nearer and nearer to Winsome. 
 He was going away, yet with each mile he regained the 
 rebounding spirit of youth, while Winsome lay dazed in her 
 room at Craig Ronald. But let it not be forgotten that he 
 went in order that no more she might so lie with the dry 
 mechanic sobs catching ever and anon in her throat. So 
 the world is not so ill divided, after all. And, being a 
 woman, perhaps Winsome's grief was as dear and natural to 
 her as Ralph's elastic hopefulness. 
 
 Soon Ralph and Jock Gordon were striding across the 
 moors towards Moniaive. Ralph wished to breakfast at 
 one of the inns in New Galloway, but this Jock Gordon 
 would not allow. He did not like that kind o' folk, he 
 said. 
 
 " Gie's tippens, an' that'll serve brawly," said Jock. 
 
 Ralph drew out Winsome's purse ; he looked at it rever-
 
 OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'. 2-13 
 
 ently and put it back again. It seemed too early, and too 
 material a use of her love-token. 
 
 "Nae sillar in't?" queried Jock. "How's that? It 
 looks brave and baggy." 
 
 " I think I will do without for the present," said Ralph. 
 
 " Aweel," said Jock, " ye may, but I'm gaun to hae my 
 breakfast a' the same, sillar or no sillar." 
 
 In twenty minutes he was back by the dykeside, where 
 he had left Ralph sitting, twining Winsome's purse through 
 his fingers, and thinking on the future, and all that was 
 awaiting him in Edinburgh town. 
 
 Jock seemed what he had called Winsome's purse — 
 baggy. 
 
 Then he undid himself. From under the lower buttons 
 of his long russet " sleeved waistcoat " with the long side 
 flaps which, along with his sailor-man's trousers, he wore 
 for all garment, he drew a barn-door fowl, trussed and 
 cooked, and threw it on the ground. Now came a dozen 
 farles of cake, crisp and toothsome, from the girdle, and 
 three large scones raised with yeast. 
 
 Then followed, out of some receptacle not too strictly to 
 be localized, half a pound of butter, wrapped in a cabbage- 
 leaf, and a quart jug of pewter. 
 
 Ralph looked on in amazement. 
 
 " Where did you get all these ? " he asked. 
 
 "Get them? Took them ! " said Jock succinctly. "I 
 gaed alang to Mistress MacMorrine's, an' says I, ' Guid- 
 mornin' till ye, mistress, an' hoo's a' wi' ye the day ? ' for 
 I'm a ceevil chiel when folks are ceevil to me." 
 
 " ' Nane the better for seein' you, Jock Gordon,' says 
 she, for she's an unceevil wife, wi' nae mair mainners nor 
 gin she had just come ower frae Donuachadee — the ill- 
 mainnered randy. 
 
 " ' But,' says I, ' maybes ye wad be the better o' kennin'
 
 244 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 that the kye's eatin' your washin' up on the loan. I saw- 
 Provost Weir's muckle Ayreshire halfway through wi' yer 
 best quilt,' says I. 
 
 " She flung up her hands. 
 
 " ' Save us ! ' she cries ; ' could ye no hae said that at 
 first?' 
 
 " An' wi' that she ran as if Auld Ilornie was at her tail, 
 scree vin' ower the kintra as though she didna gar the beam 
 kick at twa hunderweicht guid." 
 
 "But was that true, Jock Gordon?" asked Ealph, 
 astounded, 
 
 " True ! — what for wad it be true? Her washin' is lyin' 
 bleachin', fine an' siccar, but she get a look at it and a 
 braw sweet. A race is guid exercise for ony yin that sits as 
 muckle as Luckie MacMorrine." 
 
 " But the provisions — and the hen ? " asked Ralph, fear- 
 ing the worst. 
 
 " They were on her back-kitchen table. There they 
 are noo," said Jock, pointing with his foot, as though that 
 was all there was to say about the matter. 
 
 " But did you pay for them ? " he asked. 
 
 " Pay for them ! Does a dowg pay for a sheep's held 
 when he gangs oot o' the butcher's shop wi' yin atween his 
 teeth, an' a twa-pund w^echt playin' dirl on his hench-bane? 
 Pay for't ! Weel, I wat no ! Didna yer honour tell me 
 that ye had nae sillar, an' sae gaed it in hand to Jock? " 
 
 Ralph started up. This might be a very serious matter. 
 He pulled out Winsome's purse again. In the end he tried 
 first there was silver, and in the other five golden guineas 
 in a little silken inner case. One of the guineas Ralph 
 took out, and, handing it to Jock, he bade him gather up 
 all that he had stolen and take his way back with them. 
 Then he was to buy them from Luckie MacMorrine at her 
 own price.
 
 OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'. 245 
 
 " Sic a noise aboot a bit trifle ! " said Jock. " What's 
 aboot a bit chuckie an' a heftin' o' cake ? Haivers ! " 
 
 But very quickly Ralph prevailed upon him, and Jock 
 took the guinea. At his usual swift wolf's lope he was out 
 of sight over the long stretches of heather and turf so 
 speedily that he arrived at the drying-ground on the hill- 
 side before Luckie MacMorrine, handicapped by her twenty 
 stone avoirdupois, had perspired thither. 
 
 Jock met her at the gate. 
 
 "Noo, mistress," exclaimed Jock, busily smoothing out 
 the wrinkles and creases of a fine linen sheet, with 
 " E. M. M." on the corner, "d'ye see this? I juist gat here 
 in time, and nae mair. Ye see, thae randies o' kye, wi' 
 their birses up, they wad sune hae seen the last o' yer bonny 
 sheets an' blankets, gin I had letten them." 
 
 Mistress MacMorrine did not waste a look on the herd 
 of cows, but proceeded to go over her washing with great 
 care. Jock had just arrived in time to make hay of it, 
 before the owner came puffing up the road. Had she 
 looked at the cows curiously it might have struck her that 
 they were marvellously calm for such ferocious animals. 
 This seemed to strike Jock, for he went after them, throw- 
 ing stones at them in the manner known as " henchin' " 
 [jerking from the side], much practised in Galloway, and 
 at which Jock was a remarkable adept. Soon he had them 
 excited enough for anything, and pursued them with many 
 loud outcryings till they were scattered far over the moor. 
 
 When he came back he said : " Mistress MacMorrine, I 
 ken brawly that ye'll be wushin' to mak' me some sma' 
 recompense for my trouble an' haste. Weel, I'll juist open 
 my errand to ye. Ye see the way o't was this : There is twa 
 gentlemen shooters on the moors, the Laird o' Balblothe- 
 rum an' the Laird o' Glower-ower-'em — twa respectit an' 
 graund gentlemen. They war wantin' some luncheon, but
 
 246 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 they were that busy shootin' that they hadna time to come, 
 so they says to me, ' Jock Gordon, do ye ken an honest 
 woman in this neighbourhood that can supply something to 
 eat at a reasonable chairge ? ' ' Yes,' says I, ' Mistress Mac- 
 Morrine is sic a woman, an' nae ither.' ' Do ye think she 
 could pit us up for ten days or a fortnight ? ' says they. ' I 
 doot na', for she's weel plenisht an' providit,' I says. Noo, 
 I didua ken but ye micht be a lang time detained wi' the 
 kye (as indeed ye wad hae been, gin I hadna come to help 
 ye), an' as the lairds couldna be keepit, I juist took up the 
 bit luncheon that I saw on your kitchie table, ah' here it 
 is, on its way to the wames o' the gentlemen — whilk is an 
 honour till't." 
 
 Mistress MacMorrine did not seem to be very well pleased 
 at the unceremonious way in which Jock had dealt with the 
 contents of her larder, but the inducement was too great to 
 be gainsaid. 
 
 " Ye'll raak' it reasonable, nae doot," said Jock, " sae as 
 to gie the gentlemen a good impression. There's a' thing 
 in a first impression." 
 
 " Tak' it till them an' welcome — wi' the compliments o' 
 Mrs. MacMorrine o' the Blue Bell, mind an' say till them. 
 Ye may consider it a recognition o' yer ain trouble in the 
 matter o' the kye ; but I will let the provost hear o't on the 
 deafest side o' his heid when he ca's for his toddy the 
 nicht." 
 
 " Thank ye, mistress," said Jock, quickly withdrawing 
 with his purchases ; " there's nocht like obleegements for 
 makin' freends." 
 
 At last Ralph saw Jock coming at full speed over the 
 moor. 
 
 He went forward to him anxiously. 
 
 "Is it all right?" he asked. 
 
 " It's a' richt, an' a' paid for, an' mair, gin ye like to
 
 UNDER THE RED HEATHER. 247 
 
 send Jock f or't ; an' I wasna to forget Mistress MacMor- 
 rine's compliments to ye intil the bargain." 
 
 Ealph looked mystified. 
 
 " Ye wadna see the Laird o' Balbletherum ? Did ye?" 
 said Jock, cocking his impudent, elvish head to the side. 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked Ralph. 
 
 " Nor yet the Laird o' Glower-ower-'em? " 
 
 " I have seen nobody from the time you went away," 
 said Ralph, 
 
 " Then we'll e'en fa' to. For gin thae twa braw gentle- 
 men arena here to partake o' the guid things o' this life, 
 then there's the mair for you an' Jock Gordon." 
 
 Jock never fully satisfied Ralph's curiosity as to the 
 manner in which he obtained this provender. Luckie 
 Morrine bestowed it upon him for services rendered, he 
 said ; which was a true, though somewhat abbreviated and 
 imperfect account of the transaction. 
 
 What the feelings of the hostess of the Blue Bell were 
 when night passed without the appearance of the two 
 lairds, for whom she had spread her finest sheets, and 
 looked out her best bottles of wine, we have no means of 
 knowing. Singularly enough, for some considerable time 
 thereafter Jock patronized the " Cross Keys " when he 
 happened to be passing that way. He " preferred it to the 
 Blue Bell," he said. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 UNDER THE RED HEATHER. 
 
 So refreshed, Ralph and Jock passed on their way. All 
 the forenoon they plodded steadily forward. From Moni- 
 aive they followed the windings of a flashing burn, dashing
 
 248 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 and roaring in a shallow linn, here and there white with 
 foam and fretting, and again dimpling black in some deep 
 and quiet pool. Through the ducal village of Thornhill 
 and so northward along the Nithside towards the valley of 
 the Menick they went. The great overlapping purple folds 
 of the hills drew down about these two as they passed. 
 Jock Grordon continually scoured away to either side like a 
 dog fresh off the leash. Ealph kept steadily before him the 
 hope in his heart that before long the deep cleft would be 
 filled up and that for always. 
 
 It so happened that it was night when they reached the 
 high summit of the Leadhills and the village of Wanlock- 
 Head gleamed grey beneath them. Ralph proposed to go 
 down and get lodgings there ; but Jock had other inten- 
 tions. 
 
 " What for," he argued, " what for should ye pay for the 
 breadth of yer back to lie doon on? Jock Gordon wull 
 mak' ye juist as comfortable ablow a heather buss as ever ye 
 war in a bed in the manse. Bide a wee ! " 
 
 Jock took him into a sheltered little " hope," where they 
 were shut in from the world of sheep and pit-heads. 
 
 With his long, broad-bladed sheath-knife Jock was not 
 long in piling under the sheltered underside of a great rock 
 over which the heather grew, such a heap of heather twigs 
 as Ealph could hardly believe had been cut in so short a 
 time. These he compacted into an excellent mattress, 
 springy and level, with pliable interlacings of broom. 
 
 " Lie ye doon there, an' I'll mak' ye a bonnie plaidie," 
 said Jock. 
 
 There was a little " cole " or haystack of the smallest sort 
 close at hand. To this Jock went, and, throwing off the top 
 layer as possibly damp, he carried all the rest in his arms and 
 piled it on Ralph till he was covered up to his neck. 
 
 " We'll mak' a' snod [neat] again i' the mornin' ! " he
 
 UNDER THE RED HEATHER. 249 
 
 said. " Noo, we'll theek [thatch] ye, an' feed ye ! " said Jock 
 comprehensively. So saying, he put other layers of heather, 
 thinner than the mattress underneath, but arranged in the 
 same way, on the top of the hay. 
 
 " Noo ye're braw an' snug, are ye na' ? What better wad 
 ye hae been in a three-shillin' bed ? " 
 
 Then Jock made a fire of broken last year's heather. 
 This he carefully watched to keep it from spreading, and on 
 it he roasted half a dozen plover's eggs which he had picked 
 up during the day in his hillside ranging. On these high 
 moors the moor-fowls go on laying till August. These being 
 served on warmed and buttered scones, and sharpened with 
 a whiff of mordant heather smoke, were most delicious to 
 Ealph, who smiled to himself, well pleased under his warm 
 covering of hay and overthatching of heather. 
 
 After each egg was supplied to him piping hot, Jock 
 would say : 
 
 "An' isna that as guid as a half-croon supper ? " 
 
 Then another pee-wit's egg, delicious and fresh — 
 
 " Luckie Morrine couldna beat that," said Jock. 
 
 There was a surprising lightness in the evening air, the 
 elastic life of the wide moorland world settling down to rest 
 for a couple of hours, which is all the night there is on these 
 hill-tops in the crown of the year. 
 
 Jock Gordon covered himself by no means so elaborately 
 as he had provided for Ralph, saying : " I hae covered you 
 for winter, for ye're but a laddie ; the like o' me disna need 
 coverin' when the days follow yin anither like sheep jumpin' 
 through a slap." 
 
 Ralph was still asleep when the morning came. But 
 when the young sun looked over the level moors — for thoy 
 were on the very top of the heathery creation — Jock Gordon 
 made a little hillock of dewy heather to shelter Ralph from 
 the sun. He measured at the same time a hand's breadth in
 
 250 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 the sky, saying to himself, " I'll wakken the lad when he 
 gets to there ! " He was speaking of the sun. 
 
 But before the flood of light overtopped the tiny break- 
 water and shot again upon Ralph's face, he sat up bewil- 
 dered and astonished, casting a look about him upon the 
 moorland and its crying birds. 
 
 Jock Gordon was just coming towards him, having 
 scoured the face of the ridge for more plover's eggs. 
 
 " Dinna rise," said Jock, " till I tak' awa' the beddin'. 
 Ye see," continued the expert in camping out on hills, 
 " the hay an' the heather gets doon yer neck an' mak's ye 
 yeuk [itch] an' fidge a' day. An' at first ye mind that, 
 though after a while gin ye dinna yeuk, ye find it michty 
 oninterestin' ! " 
 
 Ealph sat up. Something in Jock's bare heel as he sat 
 on the grass attracted his attention. 
 
 " Wi', Jock," he said, infinitely astonished, " what's that 
 in yer heel ? " 
 
 " On ! " said Jock, " it's nocht but a nail ! " 
 
 " A nail ! " said Ralph ; " what are ye doin' wi' a nail in 
 yer foot '? " 
 
 " I gat it in last Martinmas," he said. 
 
 " But why do you not get it out ? Does it not hurt ? " 
 said Ralph, compassionating. 
 
 " 'Deed did it awhile at the first," said Jock, " but I got 
 used to it. Ye can use wi' a'thing. Man's a wunnerful 
 craitur ! " 
 
 " Let mo try to pull it out," said Ralph, shivering to 
 think of the pain he must have suffered. 
 
 " Na, na, ye ken what ye hae, but ye dinna ken what ye 
 micht get. I ken what I hae to pit up wi', wi' a nail in my 
 fit ; but wha kens what it micht be gin I had a muckle hole 
 ye could pit yer finger in ? It wadna be bonny to hae the 
 clocks howkin' [beetles digging] and the birdies biggin'
 
 UNDER THE RED HEATHER. 251 
 
 tlieir nests i' my heel ! Na, na, it's a guid lesson to be con- 
 tent wi' yer doou-settin', or ye may get waur ! " 
 
 It was in the bright morning light that these two took 
 the Edinburgh road, which clambered down over the hill- 
 sides by the village of Leadhills into the valley of the 
 Clyde. Through Abingdon and Biggar they made their 
 way, and so admirable were Jock's requisitioning abilities 
 that Winsome's green purse was never once called into 
 action. 
 
 When they looked from the last downward step of the 
 Mid-Lothian table-land upon the city of Edinburgh, there 
 was a brisk starting of smoke from many chimneys, for the 
 wives of the burgesses were kindling their supper fires, and 
 tlieir husbands were beginning to come in with the ex- 
 pectant look of mankind about meal-time. 
 
 " Come wi' me, Jock, and I'll show ye Edinburgh, as ye 
 have showed me the hills of heather ! " This was Ealph's 
 invitation. 
 
 " Na," said Jock, " an' thank ye kindly a' the same. 
 There's muckle loons there that micht snap up a guid-look- 
 iu' lad like Jock, an' ship him ontill their nesty ships afore 
 he could cry ' Mulquarchar and Craignell ! ' Jock Gordon 
 may be a f ule, but he kens when he's weel aff. Nae Auld 
 Reekies for him, an' thank ye kindly. When he wants to 
 gang to the gaol he'll steal a horse an' gang daicent ! He'll 
 no gang wi' his thoom in his mooth, an' when they say till 
 him, ' What are ye here for ? ' be obleeged to answer, ' Fegs, 
 an' I dinna ken what for ! ' Na, na, it wadna be mensefu' 
 like ava'. A' the Gordons that ever was hae gaen to the 
 gaol — but only yince. It's aye been a hangin' maitter, an' 
 Jock's no the man to turn again the rule an' custom o' liis 
 forebears. ' Yince gang, yince hang,' is Jock's motto." 
 
 Ralph did not press the point. But he had some unex- 
 pected feeling in saying good-bye to Jock. It was not so
 
 252 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 easy. He tried to put three of Winsome's guineas into his 
 hand, but Jock would have none of them. 
 
 "J/c wi' gowden guineas ! " he said. " Surely ye maun hae 
 an ill-wull at puir Jock, that wusses ye weel ; what wad ony 
 body say gin I poo'ed out sic a lump of gowd? 'There's 
 that loon Jock been breakiu' somebod3''s bank,' an' then 
 ' Fare-ye-weel, Kilaivie,' to Jock's guid name. It's gane, 
 like his last gless o' whusky, never to return." 
 
 " But you are a long way from home, Jock ; how will you 
 get back ? " 
 
 " Hoots, haivers, Maister Ealph, gin Jock has providit 
 for you that needs a' things as gin ye war in a graund hoose, 
 dinna be feared for Jock, that can eat a wamefu' o' green 
 heather-taps wi' the dew on them like a bit flafferin' grouse 
 bird. Or Jock can catch the muir-fowl itsel' an' eat it 
 ablow a heather buss as gin he war a tod [fox]. Hoot awa' 
 wi' ye ! Jock can fend for himsel' brawly. Sillar wad only 
 tak' the edge aff his genius." 
 
 " Then is there nothing that I can bring you from 
 Edinburgh when I come again? "said Ealph, with whom 
 the coming again was ever present. 
 
 " 'Deed, aye, gin ye are so ceevil — it's richt prood I wad be 
 o' a boxf u' o' Maister Cotton's Dutch sneeshin' — him that's 
 i' the High Street — they say it's terrible graund stuff. Wullie 
 Hulliby gat some when he was up wi' his lambs, an' he said 
 that, after the first snifter, he grat for days. It maun be 
 graund ! " 
 
 Ralph promised, with gladness to find some way of easing 
 his load of debt to Jock. 
 
 " Noo, Maister Ealph, it's a wanchancy [uncertain] place, 
 this Enbra', an' I'll stap aff an' on till the morrow's e'en 
 here or hereaboots, for sae it micht be that ye took a notion 
 to gang back amang kent fowk, wliaur ye wad be safe an' 
 soun'."
 
 BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR. 253 
 
 " But, Jock," urged Ealph, " ye need not do that. I was 
 born and brought up in Edinburgh ! " 
 
 " That's as may be ; gin I bena mista'en, there's a byous 
 [extraordinary] heap o' things has happened since then. 
 Gang yer ways, but gin ye hae message or word for Jock, 
 juist come cannily oot, an' he'll be here till dark the morn." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR. 
 
 " The Lord save us, Maister Kalph, what's this ? " said 
 John Bairdieson, opening the door of the stair in James's 
 Court. It was a narrow hall that it gave access to, more 
 like a passage than a hall. "Hoo hae ye come ? An' what 
 for didna Maister Welsh or you write to say ye war comiii' ? 
 An' whaur's a' the bulks an' the gear?" continued John 
 Bairdieson. 
 
 " I have walked all the way, John," said Ealph, " I 
 quarrelled with the minister, and he turned me to the 
 door." 
 
 " Dear sirce ! " said John anxiously, " was't ill-doing or 
 unsound doctrine ?" 
 
 " Mr. Welsh said that he could not company with un- 
 believers." 
 
 " Then it's doctrine — wae's me, wae's me ! I wuss it had 
 been the lasses. What wuU his faither say ? Gin it had been 
 ill-doin', he micht hae pitten it doou to the sins o' yer 
 youth ; but ill-doctrine he canna forgie. Maister Ealph, 
 gin ye canna tell a lee yersel', wull ye no baud yer tongue 
 — I can lee, for I'm but an elder — an' I'll tell him that at 
 a kirn [harvest festival] ye war persuaded to drink the 
 17
 
 25i THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 health o' the laird, an' you no bein' acqiianc wi' the strength 
 o' Glenlivat " 
 
 " John, John, indeed I cannot allow it. Besides, you're 
 a sailor-man, an' even in Galloway they do not have kirns 
 till the corn's ripe," replied Ealph with a smile. 
 
 " Aweel, can ye no say, or let me say for ye, gin ye be 
 particular, that ye war a wee late oot at nicht seeiu' a bit 
 lassie — or ocht but the doctrine ? It wasna anything con- 
 cernin' the fundamentals o' the Marrow, Maister Ralj^h, 
 though, surely," continued John Bairdieson, whose elect 
 position did not prevent him from doing his best for the 
 interests of his masters, young and old. Indeed, to start 
 with the acknowledged fact of personal election sometimes 
 gives a man like John Bairdieson an unmistakable advan- 
 tage. Ralph went to his own room, leaving John Bairdie- 
 son listening, as he prayed to be allowed to do, at the door of 
 his father's room. 
 
 In a minute or two John Bairdieson came up, with a 
 scared face. 
 
 " Ye're to gang doon, Maister Ealph, an' see yer faither. 
 But, sir, see that ye speak lown [calm] to him. He hasna 
 gotten sleep for twa nichts, an' he's fair pitten by himsel' 
 wi' thae ill-set Conformists — weary fa' them ! that he's been 
 in the gall o' bitterness wi'." 
 
 Ralph went down to his father's study. Knocking softly, 
 he entered. Ilis father sat in his desk chair, closed in on 
 every side. It had once been the pulpit of a great Reformer, 
 and each time that Gilbert Peden shut himself into it, he 
 felt that he was without father or mother save and except 
 the only true and proper Covenant-keeping doctrine in 
 broad Scotland, and the honour and well-being of the sorely 
 dwindled Kirk of the Marrow. 
 
 Gilbert Peden was a noble make of a man, larger in 
 body though hardly taller than his son. He wore a dark-
 
 BEFORE TEE REFORMER'S CHAIR. 255 
 
 blue cloth coat with wide flaps, and the immense white 
 neckerchief on which John Bairdieson weekly expended all 
 his sailor laundry craft. His face was like his son's, as clear- 
 cut and statuesque, though larger and broader in frame and 
 mould. There was, however, a coldness about the e3'e and 
 a downward compression of the lips, which speaks the man 
 of narrow though fervid enthusiasms. 
 
 Kalph went forward to his father. As he came, his 
 father stayed him with the palm of his hand, the finger-tips 
 turned upward. 
 
 " Abide, my son, till I know for what cause you have 
 left or been expelled from the house of the man to whom I 
 committed you during your trials for license. Answer me, 
 why have you come away from the house of Allan Welsh 
 like a thief in the night ? " 
 
 " Father," said llalph, " I cannot tell you everything at 
 present, because the story is not mine to tell. Can you not 
 trust me ? " 
 
 " I could trust you with my life and all that I possess," 
 said his father; "they are yours, and welcome; but this is 
 a matter that affects your standing as a probationer on trials 
 in the kirk of the Marrow, which is of divine institution. 
 The cause is not mine, my son. Tell me that the cause of 
 your quarrel had nothing to do with the Marrow kirk and 
 your future standing in it, and I will ask you no more 
 till you choose to tell me of your own will concerning the 
 matter." 
 
 The Marrow minister looked at his son with a gleam 
 of tenderness forcing its way through the sternness of his 
 words. 
 
 But Ralph was silent. 
 
 " It was indeed in my duty to the Marrow kirk that Mr. 
 Welsh considered that I lacked. It was for this cause that 
 he refused to company further with me."
 
 256 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Then there came a hardness as of grey hill stone upon 
 the minister's face. It was not a pleasant thing to see in 
 a father's face. 
 
 " Then," he said slowly, " Ralph Peden, this also is a 
 manse of the Marrow kirk, and, though ye are my own 
 son, I cannot receive ye here till your innocence is proven 
 in the presbytery. Ye must stand yer trials." 
 
 Ealph bowed his head. He had not been unprepared 
 for something like this, but the pain he might have felt at 
 another time was made easier by a subtle anodyne. He 
 hardly seemed to feel the smart as a week before he might 
 have done. In some strange way Winsome was helping 
 him to bear it — or her prayers for him were being an- 
 swered. 
 
 John Bairdieson broke into the study, his grey hair 
 standing on end, and the shape of the keyhole cover im- 
 printed on his brow above his left eye. John could see best 
 with his left eye, and hear best with his right ear, which 
 he had some reason to look upon as a special equalization 
 of the gifts of Providence, though not well adapted for 
 being of the greatest service at keyholes. 
 
 " Save us, minister !" he burst out; " the laddie's but a 
 laddie, an' na doot his pranks hae upset guid Maister Welsh 
 a wee. Lads will be lads, ye ken. But Maister Ralph's 
 soond on the fundamentals — I learned him the Shorter 
 Questions mysel', sae I should ken — forbye the hunner an' 
 nineteenth Psalm that he learned on my knee, and how to 
 mak' a Fifer's knot, an' the double reef, an' a heap o' use- 
 f u' knowledge forbye ; an' noo to tak' it into your held that 
 )'er ain son's no sooud in the faith, a' because he has fa'en 
 oot wi' a donnert auld carle " 
 
 " John," said the minister sternly, " leave the room ! 
 You have no right to speak thus of an honoured servant of 
 the kirk of the Marrow."
 
 BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR. 257 
 
 Ealpli could see through the window the light fading 
 off the Fife Lomonds, and the long line of the shore dark- 
 ening under the night into a more ethereal blue. 
 
 There came to him in this glimpse of woods and dewy 
 pastures overseas a remembrance of a dearer shore. The 
 steading over the Grannoch Loch stood up clear before him, 
 the blue smoke going straight up, Winsome's lattice stand- 
 ing open with the roses peeping in, and the night airs 
 breathing lovingly through them, airing it out as a bed- 
 chamber for the beloved. 
 
 The thought made his heart tender. To his father he 
 said : 
 
 " Father, will you not take my word that there is nothing 
 wicked or disgraceful in what I have done ? If it were my 
 own secret, I would gladly tell you at once ; but as it is, I 
 must wait until in his own time Mr. Welsh communicates 
 with you." 
 
 The minister, sitting in the Eeformer's seat, pulling at 
 his stern upper lip, winced ; and perhaps had it not been for 
 the pulpit the human in him might have triumphed. But 
 he only said : 
 
 " I am quite prepared to support you until such time 
 as at a meeting of the presbytery the matter be tried, but 
 I cannot have in a Marrow Manse one living under the 
 fama of expulsion from the house of a brother minister in 
 good standing." 
 
 " Thank you, father," said his son, " for your kind offer, 
 but I do not think I shall need to trouble you." 
 
 And so with these words the young man turned and 
 went out proudly from the father's sight, as he had gone 
 from the manse of the other minister of the Marrow kirk. 
 
 As he came to the outside of the door, leaving his father 
 sitting stately and stern in the Eeformer's pulpit, he said, 
 in the deeps of his heart :
 
 258 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 " God do so to me, and more also, if I ever seek again 
 to enter the Marrow kirk, if so be that, like my father, I 
 must forget my humanity in order worthily to serve it ! " 
 
 After he had gone out, the Reverend Gilbert Peden took 
 his Bible and read the parable of the prodigal son. He 
 closed the great book, which ever lay open before him, and 
 said, as one who both accuses and excuses himself : 
 
 " But the prodigal son was not under trials for license 
 in the kirk of the Marrow ! " 
 
 At the door, John Bairdieson, his hair more than ever on 
 end, met Ralph. He held up his hands. 
 
 " It's an awf u'-like thing to be obleegit to tell the hale 
 truth ! man, couldna ye hae tell't a wee bit lee ? It wad 
 hae saved an awf u' deal o' fash ! But it's ower late now ; ye 
 can juist bide i' the spare room up the stair, an' come an' 
 gang by door on the Castle Bank, an' no yin forbye mysel' 
 'ill be a hair the wiser. I, John Bairdieson, '11 Juist fetch 
 up yer meals the same as ordinar'. Ye'll be like a laddie 
 at the mastheid up there ; it'll be braw an' quate for the 
 studyin' ! " 
 
 " John, I am much obliged to you for your kind 
 thought," said Ralph, " but I cannot remain in his house 
 against my father's expressed wish, and without his knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 " Hear till him ! Whaur else should he bide but in the 
 hoose that he was born in, an' his faither afore him? That 
 would be a bonny like story. Na, na, ye'll juist bide, Mais- 
 ter Ralph, an' " 
 
 " I must go this very night," said Ralph. " You mean 
 well, John, but it cannot be. I am goiug down to sec my 
 uncle. Professor Thricpneuk." 
 
 " Leave yer faither's hoose to gang to that o' a Aveezened 
 auld " 
 
 " John ! " said Ralph, warningly.
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH. 259 
 
 " He's nae uncle o' yours, onygate, though he married 
 your mother's sister. Au' a sair life o't she had wi' him, 
 though I doot na but thae dochters o' his sort him to 
 richts noo." 
 
 So, in spite of John Bairdieson's utmost endeavours, and 
 waiting only to put his clothes together, Ralph took his way 
 over to the Sciennes, where his uncle, the professor, lived 
 in a new house with his three daughters, Jemima, Kezia, 
 and Keren-happuch. The professor had always been very 
 kind to Ralph. He was not a Marrow man, and therefore, 
 according to the faith of his father, an outcast from the 
 commonwealth. But he was a man of the Avorld of affairs, 
 keen for the welfare of his class at the University Col- 
 lege — a man crabbed and gnarled on the surface, but 
 within him a strong vein of tenderness of the sort that 
 always seems ashamed of catching its possessor in a kind 
 action. 
 
 To him Ralph knew that he could tell the whole story. 
 The Sciennes was on the very edge of the green fields. The 
 corn-fields stretched away from the dyke of the Professor's 
 garden to the south towards the red-roofed village of Echo 
 Bank and the long ridge of Liberton, crowned by the square 
 tower on which a stone dining-room table had been turned 
 up, its four futile legs waving in the air like a beetle overset 
 on its back. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH. 
 
 Ralph found the professor out. He was, indeed, en- 
 gaged in an acrimonious discussion on the Wernerian theo- 
 ry, and at that moment he was developing a remarkable sci-
 
 260 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 entific passion, which threatened to sweep his adversaries 
 from the face of the earth in the debris of their heresies. 
 
 Within doors, however, Ealph found a very warm wel- 
 come from his three cousins — Jemima, Kezia, and Keren- 
 happuch. Jemima was tall and angular, with her hair 
 accurately parted in the middle, and draAvn in a -great 
 sweep over her ears — a fashion intended by Nature for 
 Keren-happuch, who was round of face, and with a com- 
 plexion in which there appeared that mealy pink upon the 
 cheeks which is peculiar to the metropolis. Kezia was 
 counted the beauty of the family, and was much looked up 
 to by her elder and younger sisters. 
 
 These three girls had always made much of Ralph, 
 ever since he used to play about the many garrets and 
 rooms of their old mansion beneath the castle, before they 
 moved out to the new house at the Sciennes. They had 
 long been in love with him, each in her own way ; though 
 they had always left the first place to Kezia, and wove 
 romances in their own heads with Ealph for the central 
 figure. Jemima, especially, had been very jealous of her 
 sisters, who were considerably younger, and had often 
 spoken seriously to them about flirting with Ralph. It 
 was Jemima who came to the door ; for, in those days, all 
 except the very grandest persons thought no more of open- 
 ing the outer than the inner doors of their houses, 
 
 " Ralph Peden,have you actually remembered that there 
 is such a house as the Sciennes?" said Jemima, holding up 
 her face to receive the cousinly kiss. 
 
 Ralph bestowed it chastely. AVhereupon followed Kezia 
 and little Keren-happuch, who received slightly varied du- 
 plicates. 
 
 Then the three looked at one another. They knew that 
 this Ralph had eaten of the tree of knowledge. 
 
 " That is not the way you kissed us before you went
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-nAPPUCH. 261 
 
 away," said outspoken Kezia, who had experience in the 
 matter wider than that of the others, looking him straight 
 in the eyes as became a beauty. 
 
 For once Ralph was thoroughly taken aback, and blushed 
 richly and long. 
 
 Kezia laughed as one who enjoyed his discomfiture. 
 
 " I knew it would come," she said. " Is she a milk- 
 maid ? She's not the minister's daughter, for he is a bach- 
 elor, you said ! " 
 
 Jemima and Keren-happuch actually looked a little re- 
 lieved, though a good deal excited. They had been standing 
 in the hall while this conversation was running its course. 
 
 " It's all nonsense, Kezia ; I am astonished at you ! " said 
 Jemima. 
 
 " Come into the sitting-parlour," said Kezia, taking 
 Ealph's hand ; " we'll not one of us bear any malice if only 
 you tell us all about it." 
 
 Jemima, after severe consideration, at last looked in a 
 curious sidelong way to Ralph. 
 
 " I hope," she said, " that you have not done anything 
 hasty." 
 
 " Tuts ! " said Kezia, " I hope he has. He was far too 
 slow before he went away. Make love in haste ; marry at 
 leisure — that's the right way." 
 
 " Can I have the essay that you read us last Ajiril, on 
 the origin of woman ? " asked Keren-happuch unexpectedly. 
 " You won't want it any more, and I should like it." 
 
 Even little Keren-happuch had her feelings. 
 
 The three Misses Thriepneuks were a little jealous of 
 one another before, but already they had forgotten this 
 slight feeling, which indeed was no more than the instinct 
 of proprietorship which young women come to feel in one 
 who has never been long out of their house, and with whom 
 they have been brought up.
 
 262 TEE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 But in the face of~ this new interest they lost their 
 jealousy of one another ; so that, in place of presenting a 
 united front to the enemy, these three kindly young women, 
 excited at the mere hint of a love-story, vied with one an- 
 other which should be foremost in interest and sympathy. 
 The blush on Ralph's face spoke its own message, and now, 
 when he was going to speak, his three cousins sat round 
 with eager faces to listen. 
 
 " I have something to tell, girls," said Ralph, " but I 
 meant to tell it first to my uncle. I have been turned out 
 of the manse of Dullarg, and my father Avill not allow me 
 to live in his house till after the meeting of the presby- 
 tery." 
 
 This was more serious than a love-story, and the bright 
 expression died down into flickering uncertainty in the faces 
 of Jemima, Kezia, and Keren-happuch. 
 
 " It's not anything wrong ? " asked Jemima, anxiously. 
 
 " No, no," said Ralph quickly, " nothing but what I 
 have reason to be proud enough of. It is only a question of 
 the doctrines and practice of the Marrow kirk " 
 
 " Oh ! " said all three simultaneously, with an accent of 
 mixed scorn and relief. The whole matter was clear to 
 them now. 
 
 " And of the right of the synod of the IMarrow kirk to 
 control my actions," continued Ral^^h. 
 
 But the further interest was entirely gone from the 
 question. 
 
 " Tell us about Zicr," they said in unison. 
 
 " How do you know it is a ' her ' ? " asked Ralj)h, clum- 
 sily trying to put off time, like a man. 
 
 Kezia laughed on her own account, Keren-happuch be- 
 cause Kezia laughed, but Jemima said solemnly : 
 
 " I hope she is of a serious disposition." 
 
 " Nonsense ! / hope she is pretty," said Kezia.
 
 JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCn. 2G3 
 
 " And / hope she will love me," said little Keren-hap- 
 puch. 
 
 Ralph thought a little, and then, as it was growing dark, 
 he sat on the old sofa with his back to the fading day, and 
 told his love-story to these three sweet girls, who, though 
 they had played with him and been all womanhood to him 
 ever since he came out of petticoats, had not a grain of jeal- 
 ousy of the unseen sister who had come suddenly past them 
 and stepped into the primacy of Ealph's life. 
 
 "When he was half-way through with his tale he sudden- 
 ly stopped, and said : 
 
 " But I ought to have told all this first to your father, 
 because he may not care to have me in his house. There is 
 only my word for it, after all, and it is the fact that I have 
 not the right to set foot in my own father's house." 
 
 " We will make our father see it in the right way," said 
 Jemima quietly. 
 
 " Yes," interposed Kezia, " or I would not give sixpence 
 for his peace of mind these next six months." 
 
 " It is all right if you tell us," said little Keren-happuch, 
 who was her father's playmate. Jemima ruled him, Kezia 
 teased him — the privilege of beauty — but it was generally lit- 
 tle Keren-happuch who fetched his slippers and sat with her 
 cheek against the back of his hand as he smoked and read 
 in his great wicker chair by the north window. 
 
 There was the sound of quick nervous footsteps with an 
 odd halt in their fall on the gravel walk outside. The three 
 girls ran to the door in a tumultuous greeting, even Jemima 
 losing her staidness for the occasion. Ralph could hear 
 only the confused babble of tongues and the expressions, 
 
 " Now you hear, father " " Now you understand " 
 
 " Listen to me, father " as one after another took up 
 
 the tale. 
 
 Ralph retold the story that night from the very begin-
 
 264 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 ning to the professor, who listened silently, punctuating his 
 thoughts with the puffs of his pipe. 
 
 When he had finished, there was an unwonted moisture 
 in the eyes of Professor Thriepneuk — perhaps the memory 
 of a time when he too had gone a-cuurting. 
 
 He stretched the hand which was not occupied with his 
 long pipe to Ralph, who grasped it strongly. 
 
 " You have acted altogether as I could have desired my 
 own son to act ; I only wish that I had one like you. Let 
 the Marrow Kirk alone, and come and be my assistant till 
 you see your way a little into the writer's trade. Pens and 
 ink are cheap, and you can take my classes in the summer, 
 and give me quietness to write my book on ' The Abuses 
 of Ut with the Subjunctive.' " 
 
 " But I must find lodgings " interrupted Ralph. 
 
 " You must find nothing — just bide here. It is the 
 house of your nearest kin, and the fittest place for you. 
 Your meat's neither here nor there, and my lasses " 
 
 " They are the best and kindest in the world," said 
 Ralph. 
 
 The professor glanced at him with a sharp, qiiizzical look 
 under his eyebrows. He seemed as if he were about to say 
 something, and then thought better of it and did not. Per- 
 haps he also had had his illusions. 
 
 As Ralph was going to his room that night Kezia met 
 him at the head of the stairs. She came like a flash from 
 nowhere in particular. 
 
 " Good-night, Ralph," she said ; " give your Winsome a 
 kiss from me — the new kind — like this ! " 
 
 Then Kezia vanished, and Ralph was left wondering, with 
 his candle in his hand.
 
 A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATIOlSr. 
 
 It was the day of the fast before the Communion in the 
 Dullarg. The services of the day were over, and Allan 
 Welsh, the minister of the Marrow kirk, was resting in liis 
 study from his labours. Manse Bell came up and knocked, 
 inclining her ear as she did so to catch the minister's low- 
 toned reply. 
 
 " Mistress Winifred Charteris frae the Craig Ronald to 
 see ye, sir." 
 
 Allan "Welsh commanded his emotion without difficulty 
 — what of it he felt — as indeed he had done for many years. 
 
 He rose, however, with his hand on the table as though 
 for support, as Winsome came in. He received her in si- 
 lence, bending over her hand with a certain graye rever- 
 ence. 
 
 Winsome sat down. She was a little paler but even love- 
 lier in the minister's eyes than when he had seen her before. 
 The faint violet shadows under her lower lids were deeper, 
 and gave a new depth to her sapphire eyes whose irises were 
 so large that the changeful purple lights in them came and 
 went like summer lightnings. 
 
 It was Winsome who first spoke, looking at him with a 
 strange pity and a stirring of her soul that she could not ac- 
 count for. She had come unwillingly on her errand, dis- 
 liking him as the cause of her lover's absence — one of the 
 last things a woman learns to forgive. But, as she looked 
 on Allan Welsh, so bowed and broken, his eyes fallen in, 
 looking wistfully out of the pain of his life, her heart went 
 out to him, even as she thought that of a truth he was Ralph 
 Peden's enemy. 
 
 " My grandfather," she said, and her voice was low, equa-
 
 266 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 ble, and serious, " sent me with a packet to you that he in- 
 structed me only to give into your own hands." 
 
 Winsome went over to the minister and gave him a 
 sealed parcel. Allan Welsh took it in his hand and seemed 
 to weigh it. 
 
 " I thank you," he said, commanding his voice with some 
 difficulty. "And I ask you to thank Walter Skirving for 
 his remembrance of me. It is many years since we were 
 driven apart, but I have not forgotten the kindness of the 
 long ago ! " 
 
 He opened the parcel. It was sealed with Walter Skir- 
 ving's great seal ring which he wore on his watch-chain, 
 lying on the table before him as he kept his never-ending 
 vigil. There was a miniature and a parcel of letters within. 
 
 It was the face of a fair girl, with the same dark-blue 
 eyes of the girl now before him, and the same golden hair 
 — ^the face of an earlier but not a fairer Winifred. Allan 
 Welsh set his teeth, and caught at the table to stay his 
 dizzying head. The letters were his own. It was Walter 
 Skirving*s stern message to him. From the very tomb his 
 own better self rose in judgment against him. He saw 
 what he might have been — the sorrow he had wrought, and 
 the path of ultimate atonement. 
 
 He had tried to part two young lovers who had chosen 
 the straight and honest way. It was true that his duty to 
 the kirk which had been his life, and which he himself was 
 under condemnation according to his own standard, had 
 seemed to him to conflict with the path he had marked out 
 for Ralph. 
 
 But his own letters, breaking from their brittle confin- 
 ing band, poured in a cataract of folded paper and close- 
 knit writing which looked like his own self of long ago, 
 upon the table before him. He was condemned out of his 
 own mouth.
 
 A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION. 2G7 
 
 Winsome sat with her face turned to the window, from 
 which she could see the heathery back of a hill which 
 heaved its bulk between the manse and the lowlands at the 
 mouth of the Dee. There was a dreamy look in her e3'es, 
 and her heart was far away in that Edinburgh town from 
 which she had that day received a message to shake her 
 soul with love and pity. 
 
 The minister of the Dullarg looked up. 
 
 "Do you love him?" he asked, abruptly and harshly. 
 
 Winsome looked indignant and surprised. Her love, 
 laid away in the depths of her heart, was sacred, and not 
 thus to be at the mercy of every rude questioner. But as 
 her eye rested on Allan Welsh, the unmistakable accent of 
 sincerity took hold on her — that accent which may ask all 
 things and not be blamed. 
 
 " I do love him," she said — " with all my heart." 
 
 That answer does not vary while God is in his heaven. 
 
 The eye of Allan Welsh fell on the miniature. Tlie 
 woman he had loved so long ago took part in the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " That is what you said twenty years ago ! " the unseen 
 Winsome said from the table. 
 
 "And he loves you?" he asked, without looking up. 
 
 " If I did not believe it, I could not live ! " 
 
 Allan Welsh glanced with a keen and sudden scrutiny 
 at Winsome Charteris ; but the clearness of her eye and the 
 gladness and faith at the bottom of it satisfied him as to his 
 thought. 
 
 This Ealph Peden was a better man than he. A sad 
 yearning face looked up at him from the table, and a voice 
 thrilled in his ears across the years — i 
 
 " So did not you ! " 
 
 "You know," said Allan Welsh, again untrue to him- 
 self, " that it is not for Ealph Peden's good that he should
 
 2G8 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 love you." The formal part of him was dictating the 
 words. 
 
 " I know you think so, and I am here to ask you why," 
 said Winsome fearlessly. 
 
 " And if I persuade you, will you forbid him ? " said 
 Allan Welsh, convinced of his own futility. 
 
 Wlnsome's heart caught the accent of insincerity. It 
 had gone far beyond forbidding love or allowing it with 
 Ealph Peden and herself. 
 
 " I shall try ! " she said, with her own sweet serenity. 
 But across the years a voice was pleading their case. As 
 the black and faded ink of the letters flashed his own 
 sentences across the minister's eye, the soul God had put 
 within him rose in revolt against his own petty and useless 
 preaching. 
 
 " So did not you,'''' persisted the voice in his ear. "Me 
 you counselled to risk all, and you took me out into the 
 darkness, lighting my way with love. Did ever I complain 
 — father lost, mother lost, home lost, God well nigh lost — all 
 for you ; yet did I even regret when you saw me die ? " 
 
 " Think of the Marrow kirk," said the minister. " Her 
 hard service does not permit a probationer, before whom 
 lies the task of doctrine and reproof, to have father or 
 mother, wife or sweetheart." 
 
 " And what did you," said the voice, " in that past 
 day, care for the Marrow kirk, when the light shone upon 
 me, and you thought the world, and the Marrow kirk with 
 it, well lost for love's sake and mine ? " 
 
 Allan Welsh bowed his head yet lower. 
 
 W^insome Charteris went over to him. His tears were 
 falling fast on the dulled and yellowing paper. 
 
 Winsome put her hands on his shoulder. 
 
 " Is that my mother's picture?" she said, hardly know- 
 ing what she said.
 
 THE MEETING OP THE SYNOD. 2G9 
 
 Allan Welsh put his hand g-reedily about it. He could 
 not let it go. 
 
 "Will you kiss me for your mother's sake?" he said. 
 
 And then, for the first time since her babyhood, 
 Winsome Charteris, whose name was Welsh, kissed her 
 father. 
 
 There were tears on her mother's miniature, but through 
 them the face of the dead Winifred seemed to smile well 
 pleased. 
 
 " For my mother's sake ! " said Winsome again, and 
 kissed him of her own accord on the brow. 
 
 Thus Walter Skirvinff's message was delivered. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE MEETING OF THE SYNOD. 
 
 Within the vestry of the Marrow kirk in Bell's Wynd 
 the synod met, and was constituted with prayer. Sederunt^ 
 the Reverend Gilbert Peden, moderator, minister of the 
 true kirk of God in Scotland, commonly called the Marrow 
 Kirk, in which place the synod for the time being was as- 
 sembled ; the Reverend Allan Welsh, minister of the Mar- 
 row kirk in Dullarg, clerk of the synod ; John Bairdieson, 
 synod's officer. The minutes of the last meeting having 
 been read and approved of, the court proceeded to take up 
 business. Inter alia the trials of Master Ralph Peden, some 
 time student of arts and humanity in the College of Edin- 
 burgh, were a remit for this day and date. Accordingly, the 
 synod called upon the Reverend Allan Welsh, its clerk, to 
 make report upon the diligence, humility, and obedience, 
 as well as upon the walk and conversation of the said Ralph 
 18
 
 270 TUB LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 Peden, student in divinity, now on trials for license to 
 preach the gospel. 
 
 Allan Welsh read all this gravely and calmly, as if the 
 art of expressing ecclesiastical meaning lay in clothing it 
 in as many overcoats as a city watchman wears in winter. 
 
 The moderator sat still, with a grim earnestness in his 
 face. He was the very embodiment of the kirk of the 
 Marrow, and though there were but two ministers with no 
 elders there that day to share the responsibility, what did 
 that matter? 
 
 He, Gilbert Peden, successor of all the (faithful) Re- 
 formers, was there to do inflexible and impartial justice. 
 
 John Bairdieson came in and sat down. The moderator 
 observed his presence, and in his official capacity took notice 
 of it. 
 
 " This sederunt of the synod is private," he said. 
 " Officer, remove the strangers." 
 
 In his official capacity the officer of the court promptly 
 removed John Bairdieson, who went most unwillingly. 
 
 The matter of the examination of probationers comes 
 up immediately after the reading of the minutes in well- 
 regulated church courts, being most important and vital. 
 
 " The clerk will now call for the report upon the life 
 and conduct of the student under trials," said the moder- 
 ator. 
 
 The clerk called upon the Eeverend Allan Welsh to 
 present his report. Then he sat down gravely, but imme- 
 diately rose again to give his report. All the while the mod- 
 erator sat impassive as a statue. 
 
 The minister of Dullarg began in a low and constrained 
 voice. He had observed, he said, with great pleasure the 
 diligence and ability of Master Ralph Peden, and considered 
 the same in terms of the remit to him from the synod. He 
 was much pleased with the clearness of the candidate upon
 
 THE MEETING OP THE SYNOD. 271 
 
 the great questions of theology and church government. 
 He had examined him daily in his work, and had confidence 
 in bearing testimony to the able and spiritual tone of all his 
 exercises, both oral and written. 
 
 Soon after he began, a surprised look stole over the face 
 of the moderator. As Allan Welsh went on from sentence to 
 sentence, the thin nostrils of the representative of the Re- 
 formers dilated. A strange and intense scorn took posses- 
 sion of him. He sat back and looked fixedly at the slight 
 figure of the minister of Dullarg bending under the weight 
 of his message and the frailty of his body. His time was 
 coming. 
 
 Allan Welsh sat down, and laid his written report on 
 the table of the synod. 
 
 " And is that all that you have to say ? " queried the 
 moderator, rising. 
 
 " That is all," said Allan Welsh. 
 
 " Then," said the moderator, " I charge it against you 
 that you have either said too much or too little : too much 
 for me to listen to as the father of this young man, if it be 
 true that you extruded him, being my son and a student of 
 the Marrow kirk committed to your care, at midnight from 
 your house, for no stated cause ; and too little, far too 
 little to satisfy me as moderator of this synod, when a re- 
 port not only upon diligence and scholarship, but also 
 upon a walk and conversation becoming the gospel, is de- 
 manded." 
 
 " I have duly given my report according to the terms of 
 the remit," said Allan Welsh, simply and quietly. 
 
 " Then," said the moderator, " I solemnly call you to 
 account as the moderator of this synod of the only true and 
 protesting Kirk of Scotland, for the gravest dereliction of 
 your duty. I summon you to declare the cause why Ralph 
 Peden, student in divinity, left your house at midnight,
 
 272 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 and, returning to mine, was for that cause denied bed and 
 board at his father's house." 
 
 " I deny your right, moderator, to ask that question as 
 an officer of this synod. If, at the close, you meet me as 
 man to man, and, as a father, ask me the reasons of my con- 
 duct, some particulars of which I do not now seek to defend, 
 I shall be prepared to satisfy you." 
 
 " We are not here convened," said the moderator, " to 
 bandy compliments, but to do justice " 
 
 " And to love mercy," interjected John Bairdieson 
 through the keyhole. 
 
 " Officer," said the moderator, " remove that rude inter- 
 rupter." 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir," responded the synod officer promptly, 
 and removed the offender as much as six inches. 
 
 " You have no more to say ? " queried the moderator, 
 bending his brows in threatening fashion. 
 
 " I have no more to say," returned the clerk as firmly. 
 They were both combative men ; and the old spirit of that 
 momentous conflict, in which they had fought so gallantly 
 together, moved them to as great obstinacy now that they 
 were divided. 
 
 " Then," said the moderator, " there's nothing for't but 
 another split, and the Lord do so, and more also, to him 
 whose sin brings it about ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " said Allan Welsh. 
 
 " You will remember," said the moderator, addressing 
 the minister of Dullarg directly, " that you hold your office 
 under my pleasure. There is that against you in the past 
 which would justify me, as moderator of the kirk of the 
 Marrow, in deposing you summarily from the office of the 
 ministry. This I have in writing under your own hand 
 and confession." 
 
 " And I," said the clerk, rising with the gleaming light
 
 THE MEETING OP THE SYNOD. 273 
 
 of war in his eye, " have to set it against these things that 
 you are guilty of art and part in the concealment of that 
 which, had you spoken twenty years ago, would have removed 
 from the kirk of the Marrow an unfaithful minister, and 
 given some one worthier than I to report on the fitness of 
 your son for the ministry. It was you, Gilbert Peden, who 
 made this remit to me, knowing what you know. I shall 
 accept the deposition which you threaten at your hands, but 
 remember that co-ordinately the power of this assembly lies 
 with me — you as moderator, having only a casting, not a de- 
 liberative, vote ; and know you, Gilbert Peden, minister and 
 moderator, that I, Allan Welsh, will depose you also from 
 the office of the ministry, and my deposition will stand as 
 good as yours." 
 
 " The Lord preserve us ! In five meenetes there'll 
 be nae Marrow Kirk" said John Bairdieson, and flung 
 himself against the door ; but the moderator had taken 
 the precaution of locking it and placing the key on his 
 desk. 
 
 The two ministers rose simultaneously. Gilbert Peden 
 stood at the head and Allan Welsh at the foot of the little 
 table. They were so near that they could have shaken 
 hands across it. But they had other work to do. 
 
 " Allan Welsh," said the moderator, stretching out his 
 hand, " minister of the gospel in the parish of Dullarg to 
 the faithful contending remnant, I call upon you to show 
 cause why you should not be deposed for the sins of con- 
 tumacy and contempt, for sins of person and life, confessed 
 and communicate under your hand." 
 
 " Gilbert Peden," returned the minister of the Dullarg 
 and clerk to the Marrow Synod, looking like a cock-boat 
 athwart the hawse of a leviathan of the deep, " I call upon 
 you to show cause why you should not be deposed for un- 
 faithfulness in the discharge of your duty, in so far as you
 
 274 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 have concealed known sin, and by complicity and compli- 
 ance have been sharer in the wrong." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Gilbert Peden knew well 
 that what his opponent said was good Marrow doctrine, for 
 Allan Welsh had confessed to him his willingness to accept 
 deposition twenty years ago. 
 
 Then, as with one voice, the two men pronounced against 
 each other the solemn sentence of deposition and depriva- 
 tion : 
 
 " In the name of God, and by virtue of the law of the 
 Marrow Kirk, I solemnly depose you from the office of the 
 ministry." 
 
 John Bairdieson burst in the door, leaving the lock 
 hanging awry with the despairing force of his charge. 
 
 " Be merciful, oh, be merciful ! " he cried ; " let not the 
 Philistines rejoice, nor the daughter of the uncircumcised 
 triumph. Let be! let be! Say that ye dinna mean it! Oh, 
 say ye dinna mean it ! Tak' it back — tak' it a' back ! " 
 
 There was the silence of death between the two men, who 
 stood lowering at each other, 
 
 John Bairdieson turned and ran down the stairs. He 
 met Ealph and Professor Thriepneuk coming up. 
 
 " Gang awa' ! gang awa' ! " he cried. " There's nae 
 leecense for ye noo. There's nae mair ony Marrow Kirk ! 
 There's nae mair heaven and earth ! The Kirk o' the Mar- 
 row, precious and witnessing, is nae mair ! " 
 
 And the tears burst from the old sailor as he ran down 
 the street, not knowing whither he went. 
 
 Half-way down the street a seller of sea-coal, great and 
 grimy, barred his way. He challenged the runner to fight. 
 The spirit of the Lord came upon John Bairdieson, and, re- 
 joicing that a foe withstood him, he dealt a bullet so sore 
 and miglity that the seller of coal, whose voice could rise 
 like the grunting of a sea beast to the highest windows of
 
 PURGING AND RESTORATION. 275 
 
 the New Exchange Buildings, dropped as an ox drops when 
 it is felled. And John Bairdieson ran on, crying out : 
 " There's nae kirk o' God in puir Scotland ony mair ! " 
 
 CHAPTEK XLII. 
 
 PUEGING AND KESTOKATIOK. 
 
 It was the Lord's day in Edinburgh town. The silence 
 in the early morning was something which could be felt — 
 not a footstep, not a rolling wheel. Window-blinds were 
 mostly down — on the windows provided with them. Even 
 in Bell's Wynd there was not the noise of the week. Only a 
 tinker family squabbled over the remains of the deep drink- 
 ing of the night before. But then, what could Bell's Wynd 
 expect — to harbour such ? 
 
 It was yet early dawn when John Bairdieson, kirk officer 
 to the little company of the faithful to assemble there later 
 in the day, went up the steps and opened the great door with 
 his key. He went all round the church with his hat on. It 
 was a Popish idea to take off the head covering within stone 
 walls, yet John Bairdieson was that morning possessed with 
 the fullest reverence for the house of God and the highest 
 sense of his responsibility as the keeper of it. 
 
 He was wont to sing : 
 
 " Rather in 
 My God's house would I keep a door 
 Than dwell in tents of sin." 
 
 That was the retort which he flung across at Tammas 
 Laidlay, the beadle of the Established Kirk opposite, with 
 all that scorn in the application which was due from one in 
 John Bairdieson's position to one in that of Tammas Laidlay.
 
 2Y6 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 But this morning John had no spirit for the encounter. 
 He hurried in and sat down by himself in the minister's 
 vestry. Here he sat for a long season in deep and solemn 
 thought. 
 
 " I'll do it ! " he said at last. 
 
 It was near the time when the minister usually came to 
 enter into his vestry, there to prepare himself by meditation 
 and prayer for the services of the sanctuary. John Bairdie- 
 son posted himself on the top step of the stairs which led 
 from the street, to wait for him. At last, after a good 
 many passers-by, all single and all in black, walking very 
 fast, had hurried by, John's neck craning after every one, 
 the minister appeared, walking solemnly down the street 
 with his head in the air. His neckcloth was crumi^led and 
 soiled — a fact which was not lost on John. 
 
 The minister came up the steps and made as though he 
 would pass John by without speaking to him ; but that 
 guardian of the sanctuary held out his arms as though he 
 were wearing sheep. 
 
 " Na, na, minister, ye come na into this Kirk this day as 
 minister till ye be lawfully restored. There are nae minis- 
 ters o' the kirk o' the Marrow the noo ; we're a body with- 
 out a heid. I thocht that the Kirk was at an end, but the 
 Lord has revealed to me that the Marrow Kirk canna end 
 while the world lasts. In the nicht season he tolled me what 
 to do." 
 
 The minister stood transfixed. If his faithful serving- 
 man of so many years had turned against him, surely the 
 world was at an end. But it was not so. 
 
 John Bairdieson went on, standing with his hat in his 
 hand, and the hairs of his head erect with the excitement of 
 unflinching justice. 
 
 " I see it clear. Ye are no minister o' this kirk. Mr. 
 Welsh is no minister o' the Dullarg. I, John Bairdieson, am
 
 PURGING AND RESTORATION. 277 
 
 the only officer of the seenod left ; therefore I stand atween 
 the people and you this day, till ye hae gaue intil the seenod 
 hall, that we ca' on ordinary days the vestry, and there, tak- 
 kiu' till ye the elders that remain, ye be solemnly ordainit 
 ower again and set apairt for the office o' the meenistry." 
 
 " But I am your minister, and need nothing of the sort ! " 
 said Gilbert Peden. " I command you to let me pass ! " 
 
 " Command me nae commands ! John Bairdieson kens 
 better nor that. Ye are naither minister nor ruler ; ye are 
 but an elder, like mysel' — equal among your equals ; an' ye 
 maun sit amang us this day and help to vote for a teachin' 
 elder, first among his equals, to be set solemnly apairt." 
 
 The minister, logical to the verge of hardness, could not 
 gainsay the admirable and even-handed justice of John 
 Bairdieson's position. More than that, he knew that every 
 man in the congregation of the Marrow Kirk of Bell's Wynd 
 would inevitably take the same view. 
 
 Without another word he went into the session-house, 
 where in due time he sat down and opened the Bible. 
 
 He had not to wait long, when there joined him Gavin 
 MacFadzean, the cobbler, from the foot of Leith Walk, and 
 Alexander Taylour, carriage-builder, elders in the kirk of 
 the Marrow ; these, forewarned by John Bairdieson, took 
 their places in silence. To them entered Allan Welsh. 
 Then, last of all, John Bairdieson came in and took his own 
 place. The five elders of the Marrow kirk Avere met for 
 the first time on an equal platform, John Bairdieson 
 opened with prayer. Then he stated the case. The two 
 ex-ministers sat calm and silent, as though listening to a 
 chapter in the Acts of the Apostles. It was a strange scene 
 of equality, only possible and actual in Scotland. 
 
 " But mind ye," said John Bairdieson, " this was dune 
 hastily, and not of set purpose — for ministers are but 
 men — even ministers of the Marrow kirk. Therefore sliall
 
 278 I^IiE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 we, as elders of the kirk, iu full standing, set apairt two of 
 our number as teaching elders, for the fulfilling of ordi- 
 nances and the edification of them that believe. Have you 
 anything to say '? If not, then let ns proceed to set apairt 
 and ordain Gilbert Peden and Allan Welsh," 
 
 But before any progress could be made, Allan Welsh 
 rose. John Bairdieson had been afraid of this. 
 
 " The less that's said, the better," he said hastily, " an' 
 it's gettin' near kirk-time. We maun get it a' by or 
 then." 
 
 " This only I have to say," said Allan Welsh, " I recog- 
 nize the justice of my deposition. I have been a sinful 
 and erring man, and I am not worthy to teach in the pulpit 
 any more. Also, my life is done. I shall soon lay it down 
 and depart to the Father whose word I, hopeless and cast- 
 away, have yet tried faithfully to preach." 
 
 Then uprose Gilbert Peden. His voice was husky with 
 emotion. " Hasty and ill-advised, and of such a character 
 as to bring dishonour on the only true Kirk in Scotland, 
 has such an action been. I confess myself a hasty man, a 
 man of wrath, and that wrath unto sin. I have sinned the 
 sin of anger and presumption against a brother. Long ere 
 now I would have taken it back, but it is the law of God 
 that deeds once done cannot be undone ; though we seek 
 repentance carefully with tears, we cannot put the past 
 away." 
 
 Thus, with the consecration and the humility of con- 
 fession Gilbert Peden purged himself from the sin of hasty 
 anger. 
 
 " Like Uzzah at the threshing-floor of Nachon," he 
 ■went on, " I have sinned the sin of the Israelite who set 
 his hand to the ox-cart to stay the ark of God. It is of the 
 Lord's mercy that I am not consumed, like the men of 
 Beth-shemesh."
 
 PURGING AND RESTORATION. 279 
 
 So Gilbert Peden was restored, but Allan "Welsh would 
 not accept any restoration. 
 
 " I am not a man accepted of God," he said. And even 
 Gilbert Peden said no word. 
 
 " Noo," said John Bairdieson, " afore this meetin' scales 
 [is dismissed], there is juist yae word that I hae to say. 
 There's nane o' us haes wives, but an' except Alexander 
 Taylour, carriage-maker. Noo, the proceedings this morn- 
 in' are never to be yince named in the congregation. If, 
 then, there be ony soond of this in the time to come, mind 
 you Alexander Taylour, that it's you that'll hae to bear the 
 weight o't ! " 
 
 This was felt to be fair, even by Alexander Taylour, 
 carriage-maker. 
 
 The meeting now broke up, and John Bairdieson went 
 to reprove Margate Truepenny for knocking with her 
 crutch on the door of the house of God on the Sabbath 
 morning. 
 
 " D'ye think," he said, " that the fowk knockit wi' their 
 staves on the door o' the temjole in Jerusalem ? " 
 
 " Aiblins," retorted Margate, " they had feller [quicker] 
 doorkeepers in thae days nor you, John Bairdieson." 
 
 The morning service was past. Gilbert Peden had 
 preached from the text, ' Greater is he that ruleth his 
 spirit than he that taketh a city." 
 
 " Cor minister is yin that looks deep in til the work- 
 ings o' his ain heart," said Margate, as she hirpled home- 
 ward. 
 
 But when the church was empty and all gone home, in 
 the little vestry two men sat together, and the door was shut. 
 Between them they held a miniature, the picture of a girl 
 with a flush of rose on her cheek and a laughing light in 
 her eyes. There was sile.nce, but for a quick catch in the 
 stronger man's breathing, which sounded like a sob. Gil-
 
 280 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 bert Peden, who had only lost and never won, and Allan 
 Welsh, who had both won and lost, were forever at one. 
 There was silence between them, as they looked with eyes 
 of deathless love at the picture which spoke to them of long 
 ago. 
 
 Walter Skirving's message, which Winsome had brought 
 to the manse of Dullarg, had united the hearts estranged 
 for twenty years. Winsome had builded better than she 
 knew. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 THREADS DIIAWN TOGETHER. 
 
 WiFSOME took her grandmother out one afternoon into 
 the rich mellow August light, when the lower corn-fields 
 were glimmering with misty green shot underneath with 
 faintest blonde, and the sandy knowes were fast yellowing. 
 The blithe old lady was getting back some of her strength, 
 and it seemed possible that once again she might be able to 
 go round the house without even the assistance of an arm. 
 
 " And what is this I hear," said Mistress Skirving, " that 
 the daft young laird frae the Castle has rin' aff wi' that cot- 
 tar's lassie, Jess Kissock, an' marriet her at Gretna Green. 
 It's juist no possible." 
 
 " But, grandma, it is quite true, for Jock Gordon 
 brought the news. He saw them postin' back from Gretna 
 wi' four horses ! " 
 
 " An' what says his mither, the Lady Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " They say that she's delighted," said Winsome. 
 
 " That's a lee, at ony rate ! " said the mistress of Craig 
 Ronald, without a moment's hesitation. She knew the 
 Lady Elizabeth.
 
 THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER. 281 
 
 " They say," said Winsome, " that Jess can make them 
 do all that she wants at the Castle." 
 
 " Gin she gars them pit doon new carpets, she'll do 
 wonders," said her grandmother, acidly. She came of a 
 good family, and did not like mesalliances, though she had 
 been said to have made one herself. 
 
 But there was no misdoubting the fact that Jess had 
 done her sick nursing well, and had possessed herself in 
 honourable and lawful wedlock of the Honourable Agnew 
 Greatorix — and that too, apparently with the consent of the 
 Lady Elizabeth. 
 
 " What took them to Gretna, then ? " said Winsome's 
 grandmother. 
 
 " Well, grandmammy, you see, the Castle folk are Cath- 
 olic, and would not have a minister ; an' Jess, though a queer 
 Christian, as well as maybe to show her power and be 
 romantic, would have no priest or minister either, but must 
 go to Gretna. So they're back again, and Jock Gordon 
 says that she'll comb his hair. He has to be in by seven 
 o'clock now," said Winsome, smiling. 
 
 " Wha's ben wi' yer grandfaither?" after a pause, Mis- 
 tress Skirving asked irrelevantly. 
 
 " Only Mr. Welsh from the manse," said Winsome. " I 
 suppose he came to see grandfather about the packet I took 
 to the manse a month ago. Grandmother, why does Mr. 
 Welsh come so seldom to Craig Eonald ? " she asked. 
 
 But her grandmother was shaking in a strange way, 
 
 " I have not heard any noise," she said. " You had 
 better go in and see." 
 
 Winsome stole to the door and looked within. She saw 
 the minister with his head on the swathed knees of her 
 grandfather. The old man had laid his hand upon the 
 grey hair of the kneeling minister. Awed and solemnised, 
 Winsome drew back.
 
 282 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 She told her grandmother what she had seen, and the 
 old lady said nothing for the space of a quarter of an hour. 
 At the end of that time she said : 
 
 "Help me ben." 
 
 And Winsome, taking her arm, guided her into the 
 hushed room where her husband sat, still holding his hand 
 on the head of Allan Welsh. 
 
 Something in the pose of the kneeling man struck her 
 — a certain helpless inclination forward. 
 
 Winsome ran, and, taking Allan Welsh by the shoulders, 
 lifted him up in her strong young arms. 
 
 He was dead. He had passed in the act of forgiveness. 
 
 Walter Skirving, who had sat rapt and silent through it 
 all as though hardly of this world, now said clearly and 
 sharply : 
 
 " ' For if ye forgive men their trespasses, so also shall your 
 heavenly Father forgive you.' " 
 
 Walter Skirving did not long survive the man, in hatred 
 of whom he hnd lived, and in unity with whom he had died. 
 It seemed as though he had only been held to the earth by 
 the necessity that the sun of his life should not go down 
 upon his wrath. This done, like a boat whose moorings are 
 loosed, very gladly he went out that same night upon the 
 ebb tide. The two funerals were held upon the same day. 
 Minister and elder were buried side by side one glorious 
 August day, which was a marvel to many. So the Dullarg 
 kirk was vacant, and there was only Manse Bell to take care 
 of the property. Jonas Shillinglaw came from Cairn Ed- 
 ward and communicated the contents of both Walter Skir- 
 ving's will and of that of Allan Welsh to those whom it 
 concerned. Jonas had made several journeys of late both 
 to the manse as well as to the steading of Craig Eonald. 
 Walter Skirving left Craig Ronald and all of which he died
 
 THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER. 283 
 
 possessed to Winsome Charteris, subject to the approval of 
 her grandmother as to whom she might marry. There was 
 a recent codicil. " I desire to record my great satisfaction 
 that Winifred Charteris or Welsh is likely to marry the son 
 of my old friend Gilbert Peden, minister of the Marrow 
 kirk in Edinburgh ; and hearing that the young man con- 
 templates the career of letters, 1 desire that, if it be possible, 
 in the event of their marriage, they come to abide at Craig 
 Eonald, at least till a better way be opened for them. I 
 commend my wife, ever loving and true, to them both ; 
 and in the good hope of a glorious resurrection I commit 
 myself to Him who made me." 
 
 Allan Welsh left all his goods and his property to Ralph 
 Peden, " being as mine own son, because he taught me to 
 know true love, and fearlessness and faith unfeigned. Also 
 because one dear to him brought me my hope of forgiveness." 
 
 There was indeed need of Ralph at Craig Eonald. Mis- 
 tress Skirving cried out incessantly for him. Meg begged 
 Winsome to let her look every day at the little miniature 
 Ealph had sent her from Edinburgh. The Cuif held forth 
 upon the great event every night when he came over to hold 
 the tails of Meg's cows. Jock Forrest still went out, saying 
 nothing, whenever the Cuif came in, which the Cuif took to 
 be a good sign. Only Ebie Fairrish, struck to the heart by 
 the inconstancy of Jess, removed at the November term 
 back again to the " laigh end " of the parish, and there 
 plunged madly into flirtations with several of his old sweet- 
 hearts. He is reported to have found in numbers the ano- 
 dyne for the unfaithfulness of one. As for what Winsome 
 thought and longed for, it is better that we should not 
 begin to tell, not having another volume to spare. 
 
 Only she went to the hill-top by the side of Loch Ken 
 and looked northward every eventide ; and her heart 
 yearned within her.
 
 28i THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 winsome's last tryst. 
 
 It was the morn before a wedding, and there had been a 
 constant stir all night all about the farmsteading, for a 
 brand-new world was in the making. Such a marrying had 
 not been for years. The farmers' sons for miles around 
 were coming on their heavy plough-horses, with here and 
 there one of better breed. Long ago in the earliest morn- 
 ing some one had rung the bell of the little kirk of the 
 Dullarg. It came upon the still air a fairy tinkle, and many 
 a cottar and many a shepherd turned over with a comfort- 
 able feeling : " This is the Sabbath morn ; I need not rise so 
 soon to-day." But all their wives remembered, and ttirned 
 them out with wifely elbow. 
 
 It was Winsome Charteris's wedding day. The flower 
 of all the countryside was to wed the young Edinburgh lad 
 who had turned out so great a poet. It was the opinion of 
 the district that her " intended " had unsettled the thrones 
 of all the great writers of the past by his volume of poems, 
 which no one in the parish had read ; but the fame of whose 
 success had been wafted down upon the eastern breezes 
 which bore the snell bite of the metropolis upon their front. 
 
 " Tra-la-la-AA ! " chanted the cocks of Craig Ronald. 
 
 " Tra-la-la — la-la ! " airily sang the solitary bird which 
 lived up among the pine woods, where, in the cot of Mistress 
 Kissock, Ralph Peden occupied the little bedroom which 
 Meg had got ready for him with such care and honour. 
 
 " Tra-la-la-laa ! " was echoed in the airiest diminuendo 
 from the far-away leader of the harem at the Nether Crae. 
 His challenge crossed the wide gulf of air above Loch Gran- 
 noch, from which in the earliest morning the mists were 
 rising.
 
 WINSOME'S LAST TRYST. 285 
 
 Ealpli Peden heard all three birds. He had a delight- 
 fully comfortable bedroom, and the flowers on the little 
 white-covered table have come from the front square of 
 Mistress Kissock's garden. There was a passion-flower on 
 his table, which somehow reminded him of a girl who had 
 put poppies in hair of the raven's wing hue. It had not 
 grown in the garden of the cot. 
 
 Yet Kalpli was out in the earliest dawn, listening to the 
 sighing of the trees and taking in the odour of the perfume 
 from the pines on the slope. 
 
 Ealph did not write any poem this morning, though the 
 Muses were abroad in the stillness of the dawn. His eyes 
 were on a little window once more overclambered by the 
 June roses. His poem was down there, and it was coming 
 to him. 
 
 How eagerly he looked, his eyes like telescopes ! Then 
 his heart thrilled. In the cool flood of slanting morning 
 sunshine which had just overflowed the eastern gable of the 
 house, some one swiftly crossed the court-yard of the farm. 
 In a moment the sun, winking on a pair of tin pails, told him 
 that Meg Kissock was going to the well. From the barn 
 end some one stepped out by her side and walked to the 
 well. Then, as they returned, it was not the woman who 
 was carrying the winking pails. At the barn end they drew 
 together in the shadow for a long minute, and then again 
 Ralph saw Meg's back as she walked sedately to the kitchen 
 door, the cans flashing rhythmically as she swung them. So 
 high was he above them that he could even notice the 
 mellow dimple of diffused light from the water in the 
 bright pail centring and scattering the morning sunliglit as 
 it swayed. 
 
 Presently the one half of the blue kitchen door became 
 black. It had been opened. Ralph's heart gave a great 
 bound. Then the black became white and glorified, for 
 19
 
 2SG THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 framed within it appeared a slender shape like a shaft of 
 light. Ealph's eyes did not leave the figure as it stepped 
 out and came down by the garden edge. 
 
 Along the top of the closely-cut hawthorn a dot of light 
 moved. It was but a speck, like the paler centre of the 
 heather bells. Ealph ran swiftly down the great dyke in a 
 manner more natural to a young man than dignified in a 
 poet. In a minute he came to the edge of the glen in which 
 Andra Kissock had guddled the trouts. That flash of lav- 
 ender must pass this way. It passed and stayed. 
 
 So in the cool translucence of morning light the lovers 
 met in this quiet glade, the great heather moors above them 
 once more royally purple, the burnie beneath singing a gen- 
 tle song, the birds vying with each other in complicated 
 trills of pretended artlessness. 
 
 It was purely by chance that Winsome Charteris passed 
 this way. And a kind Providence, supplemented on Ealph's 
 side by some activity and observation, brought him also to 
 the glen of the elders that June morning. Yet there are 
 those who say that there is nothing in coincidence. 
 
 When Winsome, moving thoughtfully onward, gently 
 waving a slip of willow in her hand, came in sight of Ealph, 
 she stood and waited. Ealph went towards her, and so on 
 their marriage morn these two lovers met. 
 
 It was like that morning on which by the lochside they 
 parted, yet it was not like it. 
 
 With that prescience which is a sixth sense to women, 
 Winsome had slipped on the old sprigged gown which had 
 done duty at the blanket- washing so long ago, and her hair, 
 unbound in the sun, shone golden as it flowed from beneath 
 the lilac sunbonnet. As for Ealph, it does not matter how 
 he was dressed. In love, dress does not matter a brass 
 button after the first corner is turned — at least not to the 
 woman.
 
 WINSOME'S LAST TRYST. 287 
 
 " Sweet," said Ealpli, " you are awake ? " 
 
 Winsome looked up with eyes so glorious and triumphant 
 that a blind man could scarce have doubted the fact. 
 
 "And you love me?" he continued, reading her eyes. 
 With her old ripple of laughter she lightened the strain of 
 the occasion. 
 
 " You are a silly boy," she said ; " but you'll learn. I 
 have come out to gather flowers," she added, ingenuous- 
 ly. " I shall expect you to help. No — no — and nothing 
 else." 
 
 Had Ralph been in a fit condition to observe Nature this 
 morning, it might have occurred to him that when girls 
 come out to gather flowers for somewhat extensive decora- 
 tion, they bring with them at least a basket and generally 
 also their fourth best pair of scissors. Winsome had neither. 
 But he was not in a mood for careful inductions. 
 
 The morning lights sprayed upon them as they went 
 hither and thither gathering flowers — dew-drenched hya- 
 cinths, elastic wire-strung bluebells the colour of the sky 
 when the dry east wind blows, the first great red bushes of 
 the ling. Now it is a known fact that, in order properly to 
 gather flowers, the collectors must divide and so quarter the 
 ground. 
 
 " But this was not a scientific expedition," said Ralph, 
 when the folly of their mode of proceeding was pointed out 
 to him. 
 
 It was manifestly impossible that they could gather flow- 
 ers walking with the palm of Ralph's left hand laid on tlie 
 inside of Winsome's left arm. The thing cannot be done. 
 At least so Ralph admitted afterwards. 
 
 " No," said Ralph, " but you made me promise to keep 
 my shoulders back, and I am trying to to do it now." 
 
 And his manner of assisting Winsome to gather her 
 flowers for her wedding bouquet was, when you come to
 
 288 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 think of it, admirably adapted for keeping the shoulders 
 back. 
 
 " Meg waked me this morning," said "Winsome sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " She did, did she ? " remarked Ralph ineffectively, 
 with a quick envy of Meg. Then it occurred to him that 
 he had no need to envy Meg. And Winsome blushed for 
 no reason at all. 
 
 Then she became suddenly practical, as the protective 
 instinct teaches women to be on these occasions. 
 
 " You have not seen your study," she said. 
 
 " No," said Ralph, " but I have heard enough about it. 
 It has occupied sixteen pages in the last three letters. 
 
 Ralph considered the study a good thing, but he had his 
 views upon the composition of love-letters. 
 
 " You are an ungrateful boy," said Winsome sternly, 
 *' and I shall see that you get no more letters — not any 
 more ! " 
 
 " I shall never want any, little woman," cried Ralph 
 joyously, " for I shall have you ! " 
 
 It was a blessing that at this moment they were passing 
 under the dense shade of the great oaks at the foot of the 
 OBchard. Winsome had thought for five minutes that it 
 would happen about there. It happened. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later they came out into the cool 
 ocean of leaf shadow which lay blue upon the grass and 
 daisies. Winsome now carried the sunbonnet over her arm, 
 and in the morning sunshine her uncovered head was so 
 bright that Ralph could not gaze at it long. Besides, he 
 wanted to look at the eyes that looked at him, and one 
 cannot do everything at once. 
 
 " This is your study," she said, standing back to let 
 him look in. It was a long, low room with an outside stair 
 above the farthermost barn, and Winsome had fitted it up
 
 WINSOME'S LAST TRYST. 289 
 
 wondrously for Ralph. It opened off tlie orchard, and the 
 late blossoms scattered into it when the winds blew from 
 the south. 
 
 They stood together on the topmost step. There was a 
 desk and one chair, and a low window-seat in each of the 
 deep windows. 
 
 " You will never be disturbed here," said Winsome. 
 
 " But I want to be disturbed," said Ralph, who was 
 young and did not know any better. 
 
 " Now go in," said Winsome, giving him a little push 
 in the way that, without any offence, a proximate wife may. 
 " Go in and study a little this morning, and see how you 
 like it." 
 
 Ralph considered this as fair provocation, and turned, 
 with bonds and imprisonment in his mind. But Winsome 
 had vanished. 
 
 But from beneath came a clear voice out of the unseen : 
 
 " If you don't like it, you can come round and tell me. 
 It will not be too late till the afternoon. Any time before 
 three ! " 
 
 A mere man is at a terrible disadvantage in word play of 
 this kind. On this occasion Ralph could think of nothing 
 better than — 
 
 " Winsome Charteris, I shall pay you back for this ! " 
 
 Then he heard what might either have been a bell ring- 
 ing for the fairies' breakfast, or a ripple of the merriest 
 earthly laughter very far away. 
 
 Then he sat down to study. 
 
 It took him quite an hour to arrive at a conclusion ; but 
 when reached it was a momentous one. It was, that it is a 
 mistake to be married in summer, for three o'clock in the 
 afternoon is such a long time in coming.
 
 290 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBON'lSrET. 
 
 Craig EoisrALD lies bright in a dreaming day in mid- 
 September. The reapers are once more in the fields. Far 
 away there is a crying of voices. The corn-fields by the 
 bridge are white with a bloomy and mellow whiteness. 
 Some part of the oats is already down. Close into the 
 standing crop there is a series of rhythmic flashes, the 
 scythes swinging like a long wave that curls over here and 
 there. Behind the line of flashing steel the harvesters 
 swarm like ants running hither and thither crosswise, ap- 
 parently in aimless fashion. 
 
 Up through the orchard comes a girl, tall and graceful, 
 but with a touch of something nobler and stiller that does 
 not come to girlhood. It is the seal of the diviner Eden 
 grace which only comes with the after-Eden pain. 
 
 Winsome Peden carries more than ever of the old grace 
 and beauty ; and the eyes of her husband, who has been 
 finishing the proofs of his next volume and at intervals 
 looking over the busy fields to the levels of Loch Grannoch, 
 tell her so as she comes. 
 
 But suddenly from opposite sides of the orchard this girl 
 with the gracious something in her eyes is "borne down by 
 simultaneous assault. Shrieking with delight, a boy and a 
 girl, dressed in complete defensive armour of daisies, and 
 wielding desperate arms of lath manufactured by Andra 
 Kissock, their slave, rush fiercely upon her. They pull 
 down their quarry after a brisk chase, who sinks helj)lessly 
 upon the grass under a merciless fire of caresses. 
 
 It is a critical moment. A brutal and licentious soldiery 
 are not responsible at such moments. They may carry sack 
 and rapine to unheard-of extremities.
 
 THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 291 
 
 " You young barbarians, be careful of your only mother 
 — unless you have a stock of them ! " calls a voice from the 
 top of the stairs which lead to the study, 
 
 " Father's come out — hurrah ! Come on, Allan ! " shouts 
 Field-Marshal Winifred the younger who is leader and 
 commander, to her army whose tottery and chubby youth 
 does not suggest the desperation of a forlorn hope. So the 
 study is carried at the point of the lath, and the banner of 
 the victors — a cross of a sort unknown to heraldry, marked 
 on a white ground with a blue pencil — is planted on the 
 sacred desk itself. 
 
 Winsome the matron comes more slowly up the stairs. 
 
 "Can common, uninspired people come in?" she says, 
 pausing at the top. 
 
 She looks about with a motherly eye, and pulls down the 
 blind of the window into which the sun has been streaming 
 all the morning. It is one of the advantages of such a wife 
 that her husband, especially the rare literary variety, may be 
 treated as no more than the eldest but most helpless of the 
 babes. It is also true that Ralph had pulled up the blind in 
 order that he might the better be able to see his wife mov- 
 ing among the reapers. For Winsome was more than ever 
 a woman of affairs. 
 
 She stood in the doorway, looking in spite of the au- 
 tumn sun and the walk up from the corn-field, deliciously 
 cool. She fanned herself with a broad rhubarb-leaf — an 
 impromptu fan plucked by the way. She sat down on the 
 ledge of the upper step of Ealph's study, as she often did 
 when she worked or rested. Ralph was again within, re- 
 clining on a window-seat, while the pack of reckless ban- 
 ditti swarmed over him. 
 
 "Have the rhymes been behaving themselves this morn- 
 ing?" Winsome said, looking across at Ralph as only a 
 wife of some years' standing can look at her husband — with
 
 292 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 love deepened into understanding, and tempered with a 
 spice of amusement and a wide and generous tolerance — the 
 look of a loving woman to whom her husband and her hus- 
 band's ways are better than a stage play. Such a look is a 
 certificate of happy home and an ideal life, far more than 
 all heroics. The love of the after-years depends chiefly on 
 the capacity of a wife to be amused by her husband's pe- 
 culiarities — and not to let him see it. 
 
 " There are three blanks," said Ealph, a little wistfully. 
 " I have written a good deal, but I dare not read it over, 
 lest it should be nothing worth." 
 
 This was a well-marked stage in Ralph's composition, 
 and it was well that his wife had come. 
 
 " I fear you have been dreaming, instead of working," 
 she said, looking at him with a kind of pitying admiration. 
 Ealph, too, had grown handsomer, so his wife thought, since 
 she had him to look after. How, indeed, could it be other- 
 wise? 
 
 She rose and went towards him. 
 
 " Eim down, now, children, and play on the grass," she 
 said. " Eun, chicks — oli with you — shoo ! " and she flirted 
 her apron after them as she did when she scattered the 
 chickens from the dairy door. The pinafored people fled 
 shrieking across the grass, tumbling over each other in riot- 
 ous heaps. 
 
 Then Winsome went over and kissed her husband. He 
 was looking so handsome that he deserved it. And she did 
 not do it too often. She was glad that she had made him 
 wear a beard. She put one of her hands behind his head 
 and the other beneath his chin, tilting his profile with the 
 air of a connoisseur. This can only be done in one posi- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, does it suit your ladyship ? " said Ealph. 
 
 She gave him a little box on the ear.
 
 THE LAST OP THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 293 
 
 " I knew," he said, " that you wanted to come and sit on 
 my knee ! " 
 
 " I never did," replied Winsome with animation, making 
 a statement almost certainly inaccurate upon the face of it. 
 
 " That's why you sent away the children," he went on, 
 pinching her ear. 
 
 " Of all things in this world," said Winsome indignantly, 
 " commend me to a man for conceit ! " 
 
 " And to winsome wives for wily ways ! " said her hus- 
 band instantly. To do him justice, he did not often do this 
 sort of thing. 
 
 "Keep the alliteration for the poems," retorted Win- 
 some. " Truth will do for me." 
 
 After a little while she said, without apparent connec- 
 tion : 
 
 " It is very hot." 
 
 " What are they doing in the hay-field ? " asked Ealph. 
 
 " Jock Forrest was leading and they were cutting down 
 the croft very steadily. I think it looks like sixty bushels 
 to the acre," she continued practically ; " so you shall have 
 a carpet for the study this year, if all goes well." 
 
 " That will be famous ! " cried Ralph, like a schoolboy, 
 waving his hand. It paused among Winsome's hair. 
 
 " I wish you would not tumble it all down," she said ; " I 
 am too old for that kind of thing now ! " 
 
 The number of times good women perjure themselves is 
 almost unbelievable. 
 
 But the recording angel has, it is said, a deaf side, oth- 
 erwise he would need an ink-eraser. Ralph knew very well 
 what she really meant, and continued to throw the fine-spun 
 glossy waves over her head, as a miser may toss his gold for 
 the pleasure of the cool, crisp touch. 
 
 " Then," continued Winsome, without moving (for, 
 though so unhappy and uncomfortable, she sat still — some
 
 294 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 women are born with a genius for martyrdom), " then I had 
 a long talk with Meg." 
 
 " And the babe ? " queried Ealph, letting her hair run 
 through his fingers. 
 
 ^^And the babe," said Winsome ; " she had laid it to sleep 
 under a stook, and when we went to see, it looked so sweet 
 under the narrow arch of the corn ! Then it looked up with 
 big wondering eyes. I believe he thought the inside of the 
 stook was as high as a temple." 
 
 " It is not I that am the poet ! " said Kalph, transferring 
 his attention for a moment from her hair. 
 
 " Meg says Jock Forrest is perfectly good to her, and 
 that she would not change her man for all Greatorix Castle." 
 
 " Does Jock make a good grieve ? " asked Ealph. 
 
 " The very best ; he is a great comfort to me," reiDlied his 
 wife. " I get far more time to work at the children's things 
 — and also to look after my Ursa Major ! " 
 
 " What of Jess ? " asked Ralph ; " did Meg say ? " 
 
 " Jess has taken the Lady Elizabeth to call on My Lord 
 at Bowhill ! What do you think of that? And she leads Ag- 
 new Greatorix about like a lamb, or rather like a sheep. He 
 gets just one glass of sherry at dinner," said Winsome, who 
 loved a spice of gossip — as who does not ? 
 
 " There is a letter from my father this morning," said 
 Ralph, half turning to pick it off his desk ; " he is well, but 
 he is in distress, he says, because he got his pocket picked 
 of his handkerchief while standing gazing in at a shop win- 
 dow wherein books were displayed for sale, but John Bair- 
 dieson has sewed another in at the time of writing. They 
 had a repeating tune the other day, and the two new licen- 
 tiates are godly lads, and turning out a credit to the kirk of 
 the Marrow." 
 
 "And that is more than ever you would have done, 
 Ralph," said his wife candidly.
 
 THE LAST OP THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 295 
 
 " Kezia is to be married in October, and there is a young 
 man coming to see little Keren-liappuch, but Jemima thinks 
 that the minds of both of her younger sisters are too much 
 set on the frivolous things of this earth. The professor has 
 received a new kind of snuff from Holland which Kezia says 
 is indistinguishable in its effects from pepper — one of his old 
 students brought it to him — and that's all the news," said 
 Kalph, closing up the letter and laying it on the table. 
 
 " Has Saunders Moudiewort cast his easy affections on 
 any one this year yet ? " Ealph asked, returning to the con- 
 sideration of Winsome's hair. 
 
 Saunders was harvesting at present at Craig Ronald. 
 The mistress of the farm laughed. 
 
 " I think not," she said ; " Saunders says that his mother 
 is the most ' siccar ' housekeeper that he kens of, and that 
 after a while ye get to mind her tongue nae mair nor the 
 mill fanners." 
 
 " That's just the way with me when you scold me," said 
 Ralph. 
 
 " Very well, then, I must go to the summer seat and put 
 you out of danger," replied Winsome. " Since you are so 
 imposed upon, I shall see if the grannymother has done 
 with her second volume. She never gets dangerous, except 
 when she is kept waiting for the third." 
 
 But before they had time to move, the rollicking storm- 
 cloud of younglings again came tumultuously up the stairs 
 — Winifred far in front, Allan toddling doggedly in the 
 rear. 
 
 " See what granny has put on my head ! " cried Mistress 
 Winifred the youngest, whose normal manner of entering a 
 room suggested a revolution. 
 
 " <9o," said Allan, pointing with his chubby finger, " yook, 
 yook ! mother's sitting on favver's knee — rock-a-dy,favver^ 
 rock-a-hy ! "
 
 296 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 But Ealpli had no eyes for anything but the old sunbon- 
 net in which the piquant flower face of Mistress Five-year- 
 old Winifred was all but lost. He stooped and kissed it, 
 and the face under it. It was frayed and faded, and it had 
 lost both strings. 
 
 Then he looked up and kissed the wife who was still 
 his sweetheart, for the love the lilac sunbonnet had brought 
 to them so many years ago was still fresh with the dew of 
 their youth. 
 
 THE END.
 
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