and a
little fishing?"

And so it was agreed that he was to stay, with no term to the visit but
the term which he had privily set to it himself--the day, namely, when
his father should have come down with the dust, and he should be able to
pacify the bookseller. On such vague conditions there began for these
two young men (who were not even friends) a life of great familiarity
and, as the days drew on, less and less intimacy. They were together at
meal-times, together o' nights when the hour had come for whisky-toddy;
but it might have been noticed (had there been any one to pay heed) that
they were rarely so much together by day. Archie had Hermiston to attend
to, multifarious activities in the hills, in which he did not require,
and had even refused, Frank's escort. He would be off sometimes in the
morning and leave only a note on the breakfast-table to announce the
fact; and sometimes with no notice at all, he would not return for
dinner until the hour was long past. Innes groaned under these
desertions; it required all his philosophy to sit down to a solitary
breakfast with composure and all his unaffected good-nature to be able
to greet Archie with friendliness on the more rare occasions when he
came home late for dinner.

"I wonder what on earth he finds to do, Mrs. Elliott?" said he one
morning, after he had just read the hasty billet and sat down to table.

"I suppose it will be business, sir," replied the housekeeper drily,
measuring his distance off to him by an indicated curtsey.

"But I can't imagine what business!" he reiterated.

"I suppose it will be _his_ business," retorted the austere Kirstie.

He turned to her with that happy brightness that made the charm of his
disposition, and broke into a peal of healthy and natural laughter.

"Well played, Mrs. Elliott!" he cried; and the housekeeper's face
relaxed into the shadow of an iron smile. "Well played indeed!" said he.
"But you must not be making a stranger of me like that. Why, Archie and
I were at the High School together, and we've been to College together,
and we were going to the Bar together, when--you know! Dear, dear me!
what a pity that was! A life spoiled, a fine young fellow as good as
buried here in the wilderness with rustics; and all for what? A frolic,
silly, if you like, but no more. God, how good your scones are, Mrs.
Elliott!"

"They're no mines, it was the lassie made them," said Kirstie; "and,
saving your presence, there's l