her work by the brook and went to the house to make
more scones, for the picnic had exhausted the supply and they
used no other bread. She bustled about the kitchen, mixing,
spreading them on the girdle over the fire, keeping the coals
bright, and turning them out nicely browned on the mixing-board.
She was just finishing the sixth one, when there was a great
thumping at the door, and she ran to see what was the matter.
There on the doorstep stood the three boys, Alan dripping wet
from head to heel, shivering with cold, and with mud and water
running from him in streams. Jean threw up her hands.

"It's most michty," she cried, "if I can't ever bake scones in
this kitchen without some man body coming in half drowned to mess
up my clean floor! However did you go and drop yourself in the
burn, Alan McRae? 'Deed and I wonder that your mother lets you go
out alone, you're that careless with yourself. And you not long
out of a sick bed, too."

"He was guddling for trout," shouted Jock and Sandy in one
breath; "and the hole was deep. There was no one sitting on him,
and syne over he went!"

Jean seized Alan by the shoulder and drew him into the kitchen,
and set him to drip on the hearth while she gave her orders.

"Jock, do you fill the basin with warm water, and you, Sandy, put
more peat on the fire. He must have a rinse with hot water and
something hot to drink."

"What'll he do for clothes?" cried Jock.

"Dinna fash yourself about clothes," said Jean, rummaging
furiously in the "kist." "I'm laying out Father's old kilts he
had when he was a boy. He can put them on till his own things are
dry. Here's a towel for you," she added, tossing one to Alan.
"Rub yourself down well, and when you've dressed, just give a
chap at the door, and I'll come in and get you a sup of tea."

Then she disappeared. You can imagine what the kitchen looked
like when she came back again. Alan's wet clothes were spread out
on her father's chair by the fire, and Alan, gorgeous in his
plaid kiltie, was strutting back and forth giving an imitation of
the bagpipes on his nose, with Jock and Sandy marching behind him
singing "Do ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay" at the top of
their lungs.

"Have you gone clean daft?" Jean shouted. "Sit down by the fire and
get out of my way while I mop up after you!"

The boys each seized one of the kitchen stools without stopping
the song and marched with it to the hearth, and when they came to
"Peel'