were
called so soon from their beds on such a peaceful morning after being
out the night before.

Malcolm went to meet them. "Freen's," he said, "I'm in want o' yer
help."

"Onything ye like, Ma'colm, sae far 's I'm concernt, 'cep' it be to ride
yer mere. That I wull no tak in han'," said Jeames Gentle.

"It's no that," returned Malcolm. "It's naething freely sae hard 's
that, I'm thinkin'. The hard 'ill be to believe what I'm gaein' to tell
ye."

"Ye'll no be gaein' to set up for a proaphet?" said Girnel, with
something approaching a sneer. Girnel was the one who came down behind
the rest.

"Na, na--naething like it," said Blue Peter.

"But first ye'll promise to hand yer tongues for half a day?" said
Malcolm.

"Ay, ay, we'll no clype." "We s' haud wer tongues!" cried one and
another and another, and all seemed to assent.

"Weel," said Malcolm, "my name 's no Ma'colm MacPhail, but--"

"We a' ken that," said Girnel.

"An' what mair du ye ken?" asked Blue Peter, with some anger at his
interruption.

"Ow, naething."

"Weel, ye ken little," said Peter; and the rest laughed.

"I'm the markis o' Lossie," said Malcolm.

Every man but Peter laughed again: all took it for a joke precursive of
some serious announcement. That which it would have least surprised them
to hear would have been that he was a natural son of the late marquis.

"My name 's Ma'colm Colonsay," resumed Malcolm quietly, "an' I'm the
saxt markis o' Lossie."

A dead silence followed, and in doubt, astonishment, bewilderment and
vague awe, accompanied in the case of two or three by a strong
inclination to laugh, with which they struggled, belief began. Always a
curious observer of humanity, Malcolm calmly watched them. From discord
of expression, most of their faces had grown idiotic. But after a few
moments of stupefaction, first one, then another, turned his eyes upon
Blue Peter, and perceiving that the matter was to him not only serious,
but evidently no news, each began to come to his senses, the chaos
within him slowly arranged itself, and his face gradually settled into
an expression of sanity--the foolishness disappearing, while the wonder
and pleasure remained.

"Ye maunna tak it ill, my lord," said Peter, "gien the laads be ta'en
aback wi' the news. It's a some suddent shift o' the win', ye see, my
lord."

"I wuss yer lordship weel," thereupon said one, and held out his hand.

"Lang life to yer lordship!" said another.

Ea