hen he went 'sourrying--God forbid that he should--when he went
courting, and after the reading there was a little time to talk, and,
said he, stretching his legs--

"Helen was telling me Bryde will be home one of these days."

Now here, thinks I, is a bonny kettle of fish, for Margaret was sitting
with us, but for all the suddenness of it she never geed her beaver,
and I kent then that she had word some way.

"Mistress Helen has quick news," said I.

"She has a maid yonder, Dol Beag's lass, and she brought the word frae
McKinnon's son, it seems; Kate Dol Beag had the news."

"Imphm," said I, for Margaret was looking down and smiling in a way
that angered me a little--"imphm," said I. "Did she say was he
bringing his wife with him?"

"Wife?" said Hugh with a start.

Margaret was not smiling now, but I will say this; she was making a
brave try at it.

"Some lady in Jamaica," said I, "wi' bonny bright eyes, young McKinnon
was thinking."

At that Hugh left us, smiling.

"Hamish," said Margaret, "you are not being kind to me any more--it is
not true."

"Margaret, when did you see Ronald's son?"

"Oh, I was looking for a sailor coming home," said she, "since yon day
we went to old Mhari nic Cloidh's, and then the lassies told me
Ronald's boy was home--and--and the night you were at Dan's they
brought him here--a nice quiet boy--and I _happened_ to go into the
kitchen when he was there . . . and, Hamish, it is not nice to be
unfriends like this, you and me, and I would not be meaning yon I said
to you about old wives' havers--_now_," and after that she came and sat
beside me, and put an arm round my neck.

"Will you tell me this, Hamish?" says she in her wheedling voice.
"Will you tell me truly?"

"What is it?" said I.

"Did McKinnon's son say anything about bonny bright eyes?"

"He said there were bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the towns
thereabout, Margaret, and he kind o' looked as though maybe he was
wearying to be back there."

"Poof!" said she, "and was that all. I am thinking I would maybe be
like that myself, if the Lord had made me a boy."

"Well, my lass, there's nane will deny that Bryde was a little that way
himself--he would aye have a quick eye for a likely lass from what I
can mind."

"Well," said she, being very merry and bold, and showing herself before
me, "am not I a likely lass, Hamish, my dear?"

Now the old folk will use that expression with a very definite meaning,
and wh