ryde McBride, the sailor, rode with
her."

"Ay," said Kate, "she came home like a lass that goes to her
grave-claes instead o' her braws, and never a word from her, but a
white hue round her lips and her eyes staring. . . . Did you go to my
father's," said Kate, for she was of a jealous nature.

"No, I was at McKelvie's for a wee after I would be with my mother, and
I was thinking Dol Beag your father would be there too."

"There was no lass you were with, then?"--this a little more softly and
her body came closer to his.

"There was no lass that I saw," said McCook, "but there were many
people at the inn," said he.

"Give me the news, then," she cried, and put an arm round his neck now
that she kent he would not have been with another woman. And then he
told her how the South End folk would be at the smuggling on the night
of the wedding, and all that he had heard, meaning no ill, and the lass
was laughing, and her kindness came back to her.

"I will not have been good to you," said she, and lay back against the
stack, "and I am wearying this long while for your arms round me, and
the jagging of your hair on my face."

And as she sat there was more of her ankle showing than she would maybe
be liking in strange company.

"Ye have the fine legs," said John, looking at them, for he would be a
great gallant by his way of it; but the lass just smiled and pulled
them under her.

"It will be as well ye should ken, my man," said she, "and I will be
needing them the morn, for I am to be walking hame and seeing my folk."

And there they were in each other's arms, and he promised to meet her
well on, on the road home, for she was feart of the giant that lived in
the glen and was killed by the folk long ago--but that is an old wife's
tale.

* * * * * *

They were good to her at hame the next day when she was seated with her
folk at a meal, and after that she was with her mother for a while, a
little red in the face, but brave enough.

"He will be marrying me, mother," said she; "I ken he will be coming to
you soon, and--and there will be no cutty-stool either," said she, "for
he is a nice lad and dacent, if he will be a little game," maybe
thinking of the stackyard.

"Time will be curing that," said her mother.

"I daresay that," and then with a hearty laugh and her head flung back,
"Kate will be helping too," said she, and ran into the kitchen.

Dol Beag, her father, was baiti