gave explicit ante-mortem
directions to the other Scots lords to spread themselves out in like
manner.

"Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,
'T is fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet."

"Oh, it is grand!" he repeated jubilantly. "If I could only be the
king and see it all from Dunfermline tower! Could you be Sir Patrick
once, do you think, now that I have shown you how?" he asked
Francesca.

"Indeed I could!" she replied, glowing with excitement (and small
wonder) at being chosen for the principal role.

"The only trouble is that you do look awfully like a girl in that
white frock."

Francesca appeared rather ashamed at her natural disqualifications for
the part of Sir Patrick. "If I had only worn my long black cloak!" she
sighed.

"Oh, I have an idea!" cried the boy. "Hand her the minister's gown
from the hedge, Rafe. You see, Mistress Ogilvie of Crummylowe lent us
this old gown for a sail; she's doing something to a new one, and this
was her pattern."

Francesca slipped it on over her white serge, and the Pettybaw parson
should have seen her with the long veil of her dark locks floating
over his ministerial garment.

"It seems a pity to put up your hair," said the stage manager
critically, "because you look so jolly and wild with it down, but I
suppose you must; and will you have Rafe's bonnet?"

Yes, she would have Rafe's bonnet; and when she perched it on the side
of her head and paced the deck restlessly, while the black gown
floated behind in the breeze, we all cheered with enthusiasm, and,
having rebuilt the ship, began the play again from the moment of the
gale. The wreck was more horribly realistic than ever, this time,
because of our rehearsal; and when I crawled from under the masts and
sails to seat myself on the beach with the Wrig, I had scarcely
strength enough to remove the cooky from her hand and set her
a-combing her curly locks.

When our new Sir Patrick stretched herself on the ocean bed, she fell
with a despairing wail; her gown spread like a pall over the earth,
the Highland bonnet came off, and her hair floated over a haphazard
pillow of Jessie's wild flowers.

"Oh, it is fine, that part; but from here is where it always goes
wrong!" cried the king from the castle tower. "It's too bad to take
the maidens away from the strand where they look so bonnie, and Rafe
is splendid as the gude sailor, but Dandie looks