Auntie Jinit had been a pretty girl once and had not yet
outlived the memories of that potent fact.

As the white road dipped into the first hollow, where the crimson
leaves of the maples and the gold of the elms softly floated down from
the blue above, there arose from a barnyard on their right the sound of
loud, uproarious singing.

"_Oh, and it's whippity whoppity too,
And how I'd love to sing to you!
I'd laugh and sing,
With joy and glee,
If Mrs.--ti-dee-dilly-dee-dilly-dee!_"

The singer had fortunately caught sight of the familiar gray horse,
with the accustomed bunch of hay sticking out behind, and had saved his
life by an adroit improvisation. For Tom had been in the habit of
substituting another name for "Mrs. McQuarry," and though he might take
liberties with his neighbor across the way, well he knew the dire
consequences of taking Auntie Jinit's name in vain.

Elizabeth crumpled up with silent laughter; but either Mrs. McKerracher
did not notice, or designedly ignored the singer. She was looking in
the opposite direction, examining with a critical eye the trim fields
of Jake Martin's prosperous-looking farm.

"Yon's no a place to be sneezed at, Lizzie," she remarked tentatively.

"The place is lovely, Auntie Jinit," Elizabeth returned, with marked
emphasis. "Only--only----"

Auntie Jinit gave a little giggle. There was a queer mixture of
girlish coquetry and masculine strength about her that was
disconcerting. Elizabeth paused, afraid to go on.

Auntie Jinit gave her trim bonnet-strings a jerk, flapped the old gray
mare with the lines and began her confidences in a business-like manner.

"Ye're a wise lassock, Lizzie," she said, by way of introduction, "an'
ah'm gaun to hae a bit private crack wi' ye. Ye're aunt's brocht ye up
weel, an' ah ken ah'm takin' nae risk in confidin' in ye. Some o' the
neeighbors 'll be sayin' ye're a' that prood, but ah've always stood up
for the Gordons, an' said ye were nae mair prood than ye ocht to be.
Noo, aboot this business. Ah wanted tae get yer help." The girlish
manner had returned, she hesitated and gave Elizabeth a half-shy,
half-sly glance over her shoulder. "It's aboot him--yonder, ye ken."
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the receding farm-house.
"There's a pint o'--o' beesiness ah'd like ye tae see Maister Coulson
aboot, Lizzie--if ye would'na mind obleegin' an' auld neeighbor buddy."

Elizabeth's risibilities were ne