ised
a little and her lips pouting.

When we were on the brow of the black hill--

"I am thinking we will ride to the peat hags," said Margaret, "and
we'll maybe be seeing Bryde," and she laughed in my face, and, indeed,
after that she was always at the laughing.

"What would his father be like, Hamish--Bryde's father?"

"A fine man he was, Margaret, but a little wild."

"Ay," said she, "he would be spoiled with the lasses."

And for a while she was thoughtful. Bryde was at his plough-tail on an
outlying bit, but his horses were standing at the head-rig, and Bryde
was laughing and talking to a lady, and when I saw the serving-man
holding a pair of Scaurdale's horse, I kent the lass.

"I am wondering," said I, "where is Hugh, and Mistress Helen so far
from hame; but ye were in the right of it, Margaret, for Bryde is at
his plough-tail."

"He will have good company even there, it seems," said the lass.

But in a little Helen and she were at the talking.

"And where would you be leaving all your cavaliers, Helen," said
Margaret, for Hugh had been telling us of the young sparks at Scaurdale.

"Cavaliers, Margaret!" with a very dainty moving of the shoulders. "Of
these I am weary this day, and so I inflict myself on the dragoon," and
here she bowed very low and gracefully to the ploughman, and there was
a little devilry in her black eyes.

Bryde was at his furrow again when Hugh joined us with his very braw
clothes, and he was a little dour-looking.

"We're all on the moor these days," says he, "and keeping a man from
his work seemingly."

"But now you have come we will ride to Scaurdale," said Helen, but
Margaret would not be heeding.

"I am to see my cousin's wife," says she, "in the house yonder, with
Hamish here; but here is Hugh on edge to be on the Scaurdale road, and
Bryde eager to be ploughing." So Margaret and I made our way to the
house, and it was hard to be knowing where the shepherd's hut was among
the outbuildings of the steading, and as we turned into the stackyard
and watched Hugh and Mistress Helen ride on, Margaret turned to me.

"Is it not droll," said she, "that a man o' my folk, my own brother,
cannot be putting a ring on the finger of an easy lass like that?"

"Are you thinking she is easy?" said I.

"I am thinking she is a merry lass and wants a bold man--she will be
loving a bold man."

"I think that too."

"Who is it?" said Margaret, like a flash.

"Oh, just Hugh."

"H