l, now he's dead," said the Shepherd.

"Mrs. Crumpet says he goes about with his mouth shut up as tight
as an egg, as though he knew a great deal more than other folk,
being so intimate-like with the Laird," said Jean.

"Aye!" added Jock, "but she said she believed there was a muckle
he did not know at all, and he was keeping his mouth shut to make
folks think he knew but wasna telling."

Jean now took up the tale. "Mrs. Crumpet had all the news in
town," she said, "and she told us that Angus Niel said he hoped
the new Laird was fond of the hunting and would appreciate his
work in preserving the game and driving poachers from the forests
of Glen Cairn. He said he had done the work of ten men, and it
was well that people should know it and be able to tell the new
Laird, when he comes into his own!"

Even the Shepherd couldn't help smiling at that, and as for Jean
and Jock, they shouted with laughter. In spite of themselves, the
children and their father felt such relief from anxiety that they
walked back to the little gray house with lighter hearts than
they had felt for some time. Whoever the new Laird might be, it
would take time to settle the estate and find out the will of its
new owner, and meanwhile they could live on in their old home.
Beyond that, they could even hope that they might not have to go
at all.

That night Jean cooked the first of their early potatoes from the
garden for supper and a bit of ham to eat with them, by way of
celebrating their reprieve, and after supper the Shepherd got out
his bagpipes and played "The Blue Bells of Scotland" until the
rafters rang again. Jean stepped busily about the kitchen in tune
to the music, humming the words to herself.

"Oh where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone?
He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done,
And it's oh! in my heart, I wish him safe at home."

And she thought of Alan as she sang. Afterward, when Jock and
Jean were safely stowed away for the night, the Shepherd went
over and brought from the table in the room his well-worn copy of
Robert Burns's "Poems," and the last view Jean had of him before
she went to sleep, he was reading "The Cotter's Saturday Night"
aloud to himself by the light of a flickering candle.

XIII. THE NEW LAIRD

It was Friday when news of the Auld Laird's death reached the village,
and on the following Sabbath there was not an empty seat in the kirk,
for every one was anx