d the Mhor. "Plumped right down
at the side of the burn, and then we could fish out of the windows."

The sun had left the glen, the Laverlaw Water ran wan; it seemed
suddenly to have become a wild and very lonely place.

"Now I can believe about the raiders coming over the hills in an autumn
twilight," said Pamela. "There is something haunted about this place. In
Priorsford we are all close together and cosy: that's what I love about
it."

"You've grown quite suburban," Lewis taunted her. "Jean, I was told a
story about two Priorsford ladies the other day. They were in London and
went to see Pavlova dance at the Palace, for the first time. It was her
last appearance that season, and the curtain went down on Pavlova
embedded in bouquets, bowing her thanks to an enraptured audience, the
house rocking with enthusiasm. The one Priorsford lady turned to the
other Priorsford lady and said, 'Awfully like Mrs. Wishart!'"

As the car moved off, Jock's voice could be heard asking, "And who _was_
Mrs. Wishart?"

CHAPTER XIII

"Hast any philosophy in thee?"

_As You Like It_.

Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had
no use for any other denomination, and no sympathy with any but the
Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath
contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"--people who
were more mischievous and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom
she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as
"sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat
contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never
ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If
Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have
tolerated it for a day.

One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to
supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly
excited because the Bishop was to be present. The supper was ready and
keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and
Bella sat crocheting and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy
mountains." For Bella was passionately interested in missions. The needs
of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together
went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could
no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to