ure by his wife, the old man at last gave
his promise.

"Gin the doctor can spare me," he said.

Marjory smiled, for she well knew that Peter had had his own way at
Hunters' Brae for many a long year, and the doctor had very little to do
with the disposal of his time; but Peter was faithful to the smallest
detail, his duty was his life, and the doctor could trust him.

Marjory then betook herself to the kitchen to try her powers of
persuasion upon Lisbeth.

The kitchen at Hunters' Brae was a picture to see. A large room, bright
and airy, plates in orderly rows upon the dresser, copper pans that
shone like mirrors, spotless table and spotless floor, a big open fire
throwing out a cheerful glow--such was Lisbeth's domain. To complete the
picture, there was Lisbeth herself, a most wholesome hearty-looking old
lady, with rosy cheeks and kindly eyes. Her dress was made of
lilac-coloured print, and her apron was an immense size. She wore a
round cap with a goffered frill and strings which tied under her chin.
She was firmly convinced that no finer family than the Hunters of
Hunters' Brae ever existed, and that the world did not contain such
another man as her Peter--two beliefs which went a long way towards
maintaining that domestic peace which was the rule at Hunters' Brae.

"Weel, Marjory, what is't?" she asked, as Marjory entered the kitchen.
Lisbeth had never adopted the formal "Miss" in her mode of addressing
Marjory, the baby she had seen grow up. She had determined that when the
"bairn" should reach the age of fifteen, then would be time enough to
begin it.

"I want to ask you a favour," said Marjory.

"Ask awa," replied Lisbeth, her arms akimbo.

"Will you do it?"

"No till I hear what it is."

"Well, I want you to make some shortbread for tea."

"Shortbread the day?" asked the old woman in surprise; "the morn's no
the Sawbath."

"I know; but Blanche Forester, my new friend, is coming to tea, and I
want her to taste it. You know very well that you make the best
shortbread and wear the biggest aprons in Heathermuir. You will make us
some, won't you? Peter has promised to do what I asked him," added
naughty Marjory.

"I suppose I micht just as weel, though there's scones and cookies
enough for a regiment only bakit yesterday."

"That's a good Lisbeth," said Marjory, delighted with the result of her
mission, and feeling that the success of the afternoon's entertainment
was assured.

CHAPTER IV.