wanderings, was known by the sobriquet of Randy Dand.

It will be understood that not all this information was communicated by
the aunt, who had too much of the family failing herself to appreciate
it thoroughly in others. But as time went on, Archie began to observe an
omission in the family chronicle.

"Is there not a girl too?" he asked.

"Ay: Kirstie. She was named for me, or my grandmother at least--it's the
same thing," returned the aunt, and went on again about Dand, whom she
secretly preferred by reason of his gallantries.

"But what is your niece like?" said Archie at the next opportunity.

"Her? As black's your hat! But I dinna suppose she would maybe be what
you would ca' _ill-looked_ a'thegither. Na, she's a kind of a handsome
jaud--a kind o' gipsy," said the aunt, who had two sets of scales for
men and women--or perhaps it would be more fair to say that she had
three, and the third and the most loaded was for girls.

"How comes it that I never see her in church?" said Archie.

"'Deed, and I believe she's in Glesgie with Clem and his wife. A heap
good she's like to get of it! I dinna say for men folk, but where weemen
folk are born, there let them bide. Glory to God, I was never far'er
from here than Crossmichael."

In the meanwhile it began to strike Archie as strange, that while she
thus sang the praises of her kinsfolk, and manifestly relished their
virtues and (I may say) their vices like a thing creditable to herself,
there should appear not the least sign of cordiality between the house
of Hermiston and that of Cauldstaneslap. Going to church of a Sunday, as
the lady housekeeper stepped with her skirts kilted, three tucks of her
white petticoat showing below, and her best India shawl upon her back
(if the day were fine) in a pattern of radiant dyes, she would sometimes
overtake her relatives preceding her more leisurely in the same
direction. Gib of course was absent: by skreigh of day he had been gone
to Crossmichael and his fellow-heretics; but the rest of the family
would be seen marching in open order: Hob and Dand, stiff-necked,
straight-backed six-footers, with severe dark faces, and their plaids
about their shoulders; the convoy of children scattering (in a state of
high polish) on the wayside, and every now and again collected by the
shrill summons of the mother; and the mother herself, by a suggestive
circumstance which might have afforded matter of thought to a more
experienced observ