amish," said the lass, "ye never lied to me before."

A halflin lad took the horses and we came to the house, and there was
Belle to meet us, smiling to Margaret, and her eyes wandering to where
her son was at the ploughing.

Now it was a droll thing to me to watch these two, for Margaret McBride
had the pride of her mother, and there were many times when she would
be very haughty, and yet in this moorland farmhouse she would be all
softness and the quiet laughter of gladness, and talking very wisely to
Belle about homely things. And I would often be laughing at Margaret
and her talk of milk, and fowls, and calves, and lambs, but she would
be very serious.

"A woman should be knowing these things, Hamish," she would say.

But Belle was the slave of Margaret since the days when Hugh and Bryde
and the little wild lass would be playing in the heather, and climbing
for jackdaw's eggs or young rock-pigeons in Dun Dubh. But that day
Margaret was beside old Betty, and making her comfortable in the chair
by the fire of red peats.

"Will you be very wise, old Betty?" said she, looking down on the old
one.

"Yess, yess, Betty has the wisdom, and Betty kens the secrets o' the
hill folks, but ye will not be needing to ken the secrets, for will you
not be keeping the lads away from ye with a stick. Na, na, ye will not
be needing the love secret."

"My motherless lass!" cried Margaret, with a droll laugh, "and is there
a secret way of it?"

"Yess, yess, a very goot way, mo leanabh; you will chust be scraping a
little from the white of your nail and putting it in his dram, yess,
and he will be yours through all the worlds. . . ."

"But what," said I, "if he'll not be taking a dram?"

"I could always be wheedling him, Hamish," she laughed. At that I
looked at her.

"I am thinking of Hugh," says she, "Hugh and Mistress Helen," but she
had the grace to be shamed a little.

"Indeed," said Belle, "they are a bonny pair, the young Laird and the
young lady. She will be riding here many times, for the Laird of
Scaurdale will have been telling her old tales of the place."

"Will they be making a match of it?" said I.

"I am hoping that, Hamish," said Belle--"and, indeed, she is liking the
hills and the folk, and fond of the horses too, and will be keen to be
seeing Bryde breaking the young beasts, and watching him for long. She
will whiles be putting the old tartan shawl round her."

At that Margaret went out of the ho