to trouble Donald. He seemed gayer,
happier, every moment.

'We are hungry, mother,' he said; 'make us a good supper of curds
and whey, and then make us a bed of green rushes and cover us
with yonder grey plaids.'

The old woman moved about eagerly as though overjoyed to do all
that she could for her son and his young bride.

Curds and whey was a supper dainty enough for a queen, as Lizzie
whispered to her shepherd lad with a little sigh. Even the bed of
green rushes could not keep her awake. No sooner had she lain
down than, worn out with her long journey, she fell fast asleep,
nor did she awake until the sun was high in the sky.

As she awoke she heard Donald's voice. He was reproaching her,
and she had not been used to reproach.

'It would have been well,' said Donald, 'that you had risen an
hour ago to milk the cows, to tend the flock.'

The tears gathered in Lizzie's eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

'Alas, alas!' she sighed, 'I would I had never left my home, for
here I am of little use. I have never milked a cow, nor do I know
how to begin, and flocks have I never tended. Alas that I ever
came to the Highlands! Yet well do I love Donald MacDonald, and
long and dull would the days have been had he left me behind him
in Edinburgh.'

'Shed no more tears, Lizzie,' said Donald gently. 'Get up and
dress yourself in your silk gown, for to-day I will take you over
the hills of Kingcaussie and show you the glens and dales where
I used to play when I was but a little lad.'

Then Lizzie dried her tears and soon she was up and dressed in
her finest gown, and leaning on Donald's arm she wandered with
him over the heathery hills until they reached a noble castle.

Joyously then laughed the young laird, as he bade Lizzie gaze all
around her and be glad.

'I am the lord of all you see, Lizzie,' cried he, 'for this
castle is my home and the mountains are my own broad lands.'

Then joyously too laughed Lizzie Lindsay, for she knew that her
shepherd lad was none other than the far-famed Sir Donald
MacDonald.

At that moment the castle gates were flung wide, and the old
Laird of Kingcaussie came out to greet the bride.

'Ye are welcome, Lizzie Lindsay, welcome to our castle,' he said
right courteously. 'Many were the lords and nobles who begged for
your hand, but it is young Donald, my son, who has won it, with
no gift save the glance of his bonny blue eyes.' And the old
laird laughed merrily as he looked up at