had strayed over to the
neighbourhood of the Aberdeen express were restored to the extemporised
fold in the minister's top-coat pockets. Carmichael had knelt on that
very platform six months or so before, but then he stooped in the
service of two most agreeable dogs and under the approving eyes of Miss
Carnegie; that was a different experience from hunting after single
potatoes on all fours among the feet of unsympathetic passengers, and
being prodded to duty by the umbrella of an obese Free Kirk minister.
As a reward for this service of the aged, he was obliged to travel to
Kildrummie with his neighbour--in whom for the native humour that was
in him he had often rejoiced, but whose company was not congenial that
day--and Kildrummie laid himself out for a pleasant talk. After the
roots had been secured and their pedigree stated, Kildrummie fell back
on the proceedings of Presbytery, expressing much admiration for the
guidance of Doctor Dowbiggin and denouncing Saunderson as "fair
dottle," in proof of which judgment Kildrummie adduced the fact that
the Rabbi had allowed a very happily situated pigsty to sink into ruin.
Kildrummie, still in search of agreeable themes to pass the time,
mentioned a pleasant tale he had gathered at the seed shop.

"Yir neebur upbye, the General's dochter, is cairryin' on an awfu' rig
the noo at the Castle"--Kildrummie fell into dialect in private life,
often with much richness--"an' the sough o' her ongaeins hes come the
length o' Muirtown. The place is foo' o' men--tae say naethin' o'
weemin; but it's little she hes tae dae wi' them or them wi'
her--officers frae Edinburgh an' writin' men frae London, as weel as
half a dozen coonty birkies."

"Well?" said Carmichael, despising himself for his curiosity.

"She hes a wy, there 's nae doot o' that, an' gin the trimmie hesna
turned the heads o' half the men in the Castle, till they say she hes
the pick of twa lords, five honourables, and a poet. But the lassie
kens what's what; it's Lord Hay she 's settin' her cap for, an' as sure
as ye 're sittin' there, Drum, she 'll hae him.

"Ma word"--and Kildrummie pursued his way--"it 'll be a match, the
dochter o' a puir Hielant laird, wi' naethin' but his half pay and a
few pounds frae a fairm or twa. She 's a clever ane; French songs,
dancin', shootin', ridin', actin', there's nae deevilry that's beyond
her. They say upbye that she's been a bonnie handfu' tae her
father--General though he b