s, a basket of fruit for the boys, and a book for Jean.

The little Miss Watsons hopped forth from their dwelling with an
offering of a home-baked cake, "just in case you get hungry on the road,
you know."

Bella Bathgate was there, looking very saturnine, and counselling Mhor
as to his behaviour. "Dinna lean oot o' the caur. Mony a body has lost
their heid stickin' it oot of a caur. Here's some tea-biscuits for
Peter. You'll be ower prood for onything but curranty-cake, I suppose."

Mhor assured her he was not, and gratefully accepted the biscuits.
"Isn't it fun Peter's going? I couldn't have gone either if he hadn't
been allowed, but I expect I'll have to hold him in my arms a lot.
He'll want to jump out at dogs."

And Mr. and Mrs. Macdonald were there--Mrs. Macdonald absolutely weighed
down with gifts. "It's just a trifle for each of you," she explained.
"No, no, don't thank me; it's nothing."

"I've brought you nothing but my blessing, Jean," the minister said.
"You'll never be better than I wish you."

"Don't talk as if I were going away for good," said Jean, with a lump in
her throat. "It's only a little holiday."

"Who can tell?" sighed Mrs. Macdonald. "It's an uncertain world. But
we'll hope that you'll come back to us, Jean. Are you sure you are
warmly clad? Remember it's only April, and the evenings are cold."

David packed Jean, Jock, and Mhor into the car. Peter was poised on one
of the seats that let down, a cushion under him to protect the pale fawn
cloth from his paws. All the presents found places, the luggage was put
on the top, Stark took his seat, David, his coat pocket bulging with
maps, got in beside him; and amid a chorus of good-byes they were off.

Jean, looking back rather wistfully at The Rigs, got a last sight of
Mrs. M'Cosh shaking her head dubiously at the departing car.

One of the best things in life is to start on a spring morning for a
holiday. To Jock and Mhor at least life seemed a very perfect thing as
the car slid down the hill, over Tweed Bridge, over Cuddy Bridge, and
turned sharp to the left up the Old Town. Soon they were out of the
little grey town that looked so clean and fresh with its shining morning
face, and running through the deep woods above Peel Tower. Small
children creeping unwillingly to school stopped to watch them, and Mhor
looked at them pityingly. School seemed a thing so far removed from his
present happy state as not to be worth remembering. Somewhere