half in the window
resting on the sill, for the walls were very thick, and I gazed at the
foot of the great stone where a plumed helmet was carved, and a sword
in its sheath; and round the helmet and sword battle-gear lay as though
the warrior had flung down his harness as he rested. In imagination I
had girt me with the sword, the plumed helmet was on my head, when my
feet were seized and a rumbling voice cried--

"Can ye read?"

"Ay."

"Read that stane. I'm no' a bawkin."

"BLENHEIM.
BAMILLIES.
OUDENARDE.
MALPLAQUET."

"Thayse the battles; read the man's name.

"MAJOR EWAN McBRIDE."

"Ay, ay; come oot," and I was pulled out of the window, and an enormous
man stood before me, looking at me with a queer smile, and scratching
his neck till I could hear the hairs of his whiskers crickle and snap
like breaking twigs.

"D'ye ken who Major Ewan McBride was?"

"No."

"Well--Dan's faither; he was kilt; he's no in there at a'--it's a
peety, for things wid hiv been different.

"Eat ye your pease-brose and keep clear o' the weemen, and ye'll be as
great a man as him, but never say a word tae Dan. Says you, when ye go
home and see him wi' nobody aboot, says you: 'Jock McGilp was saying
the turf's in and the gull's a bonny bird.' Mind it noo; '_The turfs
in_' and '_the gull's a bonny bird_.'"

And that night so long ago, when Dan and I kneeled on the stone-flagged
floor beside one another and listened to my uncle pray and pray and
pray in Gaelic, I whispered--

"Dan."

"What?"

"Jock McGilp was saying . . ."

Uncle gave a great pause after asking "a clean heart," and Dan
whispered--

"Come nearer, ye devil, and don't speak so loud, or a' the servants 'll
be damned and sent to hell for lack o' attention."

"Jock McGilp was saying the turf was in and the seagull's a bonny bird."

"Wheest noo and listen, ye graceless deevil. . . ."

For a week after that I never saw Dan, but my uncle got sterner and
sterner, and when Dan returned, loud voices I heard in the night and
slamming doors, but Dan was whistling among his horses at cock-crow,
and told me I took after my mother's folk and would be a man yet. . . .

But on this April Sunday, after the week of ploughing stubble, we lay
long and listened to the pleasant rattling of horse chains, and
rustling of bedding, when the horses pawed for their morning meal.
There was the sun, well up on his day's journey, and a whole day to be
and enjoy h