?'

'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we
speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.

'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come
again!'

The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee,
looking up with playful face.

'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'

'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the
old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'

'Oh, well, I just said'--hesitation--'I said he was to come back again
to-morrow.'

'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in
the whisper.

'Not a soul knows but meself.'

'Ye didna tell him I'd been looking for him, Jeanie Trim?'

'Na, na, I made out that ye didna care whether he came or not.'

'But he wouldna be hurt in his mind, would he? I'd no like him to be
affronted.'

'It's no likely he was affronted when he said he'd come back to-morrow.'

The smile of satisfaction came again.

'Did he carry his silver-knobbed cane and wear his green coat, Jeanie?'

'Ay, he wore his green coat, and he looked as handsome a man as ever I
saw in my life.'

The coals in the grate shot up a sudden brilliant flame that eclipsed
the soft light of the candles and set strange shadows quivering about
the huge bed and wardrobe and the dark rosewood tables. The winsome
young woman at her play, and the old dame living back in a tale that was
long since told, exchanged nods and smiles at the thought of the
handsome visitor in his green coat. The whisper of the aged voice came
blithely--

'Ay, he is that, Jeanie Trim; as handsome a man as ever trod!'

The maid rose, and passing out observed the discarded basin of broth.

'What's this?' she said. 'Ye'll no be able to see Mr. Kinnaird to-morrow
if ye don't take yer soup the night.'

'Gie it to me, Jeanie Trim; I thought he wasna coming again when I said
I wouldna.'

The nurse slipped out of the shadow of the wardrobe and went out to tell
that the soup was being eaten.

'Kinnaird,' repeated the minister meditatively. 'I never heard my aunt
speak the name.'

'Kinnaird,' repeated the daughters; and they too searched in their
memories.

'I can remember my grandfather and my grandmother--the married daughter
spoke incredulously--'there was never a gentleman called Kinnaird that
any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have