sitor had plenty of tact to overcome it. He put Mrs. Johnstone at
her ease by a cautiously worded compliment upon the repast, for he had
learned that a true Scotch woman must ever be approached warily with
flattery. He set Janet into a flutter of happiness by relating to her
a humourous account of some of his sister's attempts at housekeeping,
an art in which Janet was well versed, and he soon had her laughing at
the city girl's mistakes with quite a feeling of superiority. Wee
Andra was more difficult,--horses, foot-ball, farm work, music, he rose
to none of these baits. But he came to life in a most surprising
manner when, in dilating upon the beauties of Glenoro scenery, the
minister happened to mention the enjoyment he had experienced in his
afternoon walk up the green slopes.

This seemed to be the one topic in which the son of the house was
interested. He looked up suddenly and remarked, "Awful quiet road;
s'pose you didn't meet anybody?"

"Yes, I did meet a man," responded the other readily, glad at having
made an impression at last, "a man named McBess or some such name."

"McBeth it would be," said old Andrew, "Allister McBeth,--Catchach they
call him. He's a danderin' bit o' a firebrand."

"Were you speakin' to him?" Wee Andra shot out the question and took
refuge in a huge gulp of tea. John Egerton glanced across the table
quickly. He was beginning to suspect that Donald Neil's chum had had a
hand in this childish affair, but he was too wise to show any annoyance.

"I didn't get a chance to say much to him," he said, laughing good
naturedly; "he did the talking. He seemed to have become possessed of
the idea that I was past-master of the art of Gaelic, and when I
confessed my culpable ignorance of the language, he flew into a rage.
He seemed to lay the blame upon your friend, young McDonald." He
looked steadily at Wee Andra as he spoke.

Old Andrew shot a suspicious glance at his son; that young man's face
was an innocent blank which did not deceive his parent.

"Aye," he grunted, "it's quite likely he was to blame. Yon Neil lads
are aye up to some ill. Ye hae a hard set o' young people to deal wi'
in this place, Maister Egerton, an' Ah houp the Lord'll gie ye grace to
wrastle wi' them!"

Mr. Egerton looked uncomfortable. He saw quite plainly that, though
the Elder was addressing him, he was talking at his son, and tried to
turn the conversation. But old Andrew felt that here was an
op