eard me."

"Well, you may call that gentleman what you please here," said Mr
Cameron; "but I usually style him King George."

"Nay, Sandy, do not teach the child to disobey her father," said my
Uncle Drummond. "The Fifth Command is somewhat older than the Brunswick
succession and the Act of Settlement."

"A little," said Mr Cameron, drily.

"Little Cary," said my uncle, softly, turning to me, "do you know that
you are very like somebody?"

"Like whom, Uncle?" said I.

"Somebody I loved very much, my child," he answered, rather sadly; "from
whom Angus has his blue eyes, and Flora her smile."

"You mean Aunt Jane," said I, speaking as softly as he had done, for I
felt that she had been very dear to him.

"Yes, my dear," he replied; "I mean my Jeannie. You are very like her.
I think we shall love each other, Cary."

I thought so too.

Mr Cameron left us this morning. To-day I have been exploring with
Flora, who wants to go all over the house and garden and village--speaks
of her pet plants as if they were old friends, and shakes hands with
everyone she meets, and pats every dog and cat in the place. And they
all seem so glad to see her--the dogs included; I do not know about the
cats. As we went down the village street, it was quite amusing to hear
the greetings from every doorway.

"Atweel, Miss Flora, ye've won hame!" said one.

"How's a' wi' ye, my bairn?" said another.

"A blessing on your bonnie e'en, my lassie!" said a third.

And Flora had the same sort of thing for all of them. It was, "Well,
Jeannie, is your Maggie still in her place?" or, "I hope Sandy's better
now?" or, "Have you lost your pains, Isabel?" She seemed to know all
about each one. I was quite diverted to hear it all. They all appeared
rather shy with me, only very kindly; and when Flora introduced me as
"her cousin from England," which she did in every cottage, they had all
something kind to say: that they hoped I was well after my journey, or
they trusted I should like Scotland, or something of that sort. Two
told me I was a bonnie lassie. But at last we came to a shut door--most
were open--and Flora knocked and waited for an answer. She said gravely
to me,--

"A King's daughter lies here, Cary, waiting for her Father's chariot to
take her home."

A fresh-coloured, middle-aged woman came to the door, and I was
surprised to hear Flora say, "How is your grandmother, Elsie?"

"She's mickle as ye laft her, Miss Flora,