her cattle! He was always a great child
for secret, stealthy ways, having been employed by his mother on errands
when the same was necessary; and he came behind the lass without her
hearing.

"Jennet," says he.

"Keep me," cries Janet, springing up. "O, it's you, Maister Francie!
Save us, what a fricht ye gied me."

"Ay, it's me," said Francie. "I've been thinking, Jennet; I saw you and
the curate a while back----"

"Brat!" cried Janet, and coloured up crimson; and the one moment made as
if she would have stricken him with a ragged stick she had to chase her
bestial with, and the next was begging and praying that he would mention
it to none. It was "naebody's business, whatever," she said; "it would
just start a clash in the country"; and there would be nothing left for
her but to drown herself in Dule Water.

"Why?" says Francie.

The girl looked at him and grew scarlet again.

"And it isna that, anyway," continued Francie. "It was just that he
seemed so good to ye--like our Father in heaven, I thought; and I
thought that mebbe, perhaps, we had all been wrong about him from the
first. But I'll have to tell Mr. M'Brair; I'm under a kind of a bargain
to him to tell him all."

"Tell it to the divil if ye like for me!" cried the lass. "I've naething
to be ashamed of. Tell M'Brair to mind his ain affairs," she cried
again: "they'll be hot eneugh for him, if Haddie likes!" And so strode
off, shoving her beasts before her, and ever and again looking back and
crying angry words to the boy, where he stood mystified.

By the time he had got home his mind was made up that he would say
nothing to his mother. My Lady Montroymont was in the keeping-room,
reading a godly book; she was a wonderful frail little wife to make so
much noise in the world and be able to steer about that patient sheep
her husband; her eyes were like sloes, the fingers of her hands were
like tobacco-pipe shanks, her mouth shut tight like a trap; and even
when she was the most serious, and still more when she was angry, there
hung about her face the terrifying semblance of a smile.

"Have ye gotten the billet, Francie?" said she; and when he had handed
it over, and she had read and burned it, "Did you see anybody?" she
asked.

"I saw the laird," said Francie.

"He didna see you, though?" asked his mother.

"Deil a fear," from Francie.

"Francie!" she cried. "What's that I hear? an aith? The Lord forgive me,
have I broughten forth a brand fo