untered with James More. He read the note
scrupulously through like a chapter in his Bible.

"H'm," says he; "ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour. The bird's
flown--we hae letten her out."

"Miss Drummond is set free?" I cried.

"Achy!" said he. "What would we keep her for, ye ken? To hae made a
steer about the bairn would hae pleased naebody."

"And where'll she be now?" says I.

"Gude kens!" says Doig, with a shrug.

"She'll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I'm thinking," said I.

"That'll be it," said he.

"Then I'll gang there straight," says I.

"But ye'll be for a bite or ye go?" said he.

"Neither bite nor sup," said I. "I had a good waucht of milk in by
Ratho."

"Aweel, aweel," says Doig. "But ye'll can leave your horse here and your
bags, for it seems we're to have your up-put."

"Na, na," said I. "Tamson's mear[17] would never be the thing for me
this day of all days."

Doig speaking somewhat broad, I had been led by imitation into an accent
much more countrified than I was usually careful to affect--a good deal
broader indeed than I have written it down; and I was the more ashamed
when another voice joined in behind me with a scrap of a ballad:

"Gae saddle me the bonny black,
Gae saddle sune, and mak' him ready,
For I will down the Gatehope-slack,
An' a' to see my bonny leddy."

The young lady, when I turned to her, stood in a morning gown, and her
hands muffled in the same, as if to hold me at a distance. Yet I could
not but think there was kindness in the eye with which she saw me.

"My best respects to you, Mistress Grant," said I, bowing.

"The like to yourself, Mr. David," she replied, with a deep curtsy. "And
I beg to remind you of an old musty saw, that meat and mass never
hindered man. The mass I cannot afford you, for we are all good
Protestants. But the meat I press on your attention. And I would not
wonder but I could find something for your private ear that would be
worth the stopping for."

"Mistress Grant," said I, "I believe I am already your debtor for some
merry words--and I think they were kind too--on a piece of unsigned
paper."

"Unsigned paper?" says she, and made a droll face, which was likewise
wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to remember.

"Or else I am the more deceived," I went on. "But to be sure, we shall
have the time to speak of these, since your father is so good as to make
me for a while your inmate; and the _gomeril_ begs