astor."

"I am ashamed of you, Penelope; or I should be if you meant what you
say. She can make the people love her if she tries; when did she ever
fail at that? But with Mr. Macdonald's talent, to say nothing of his
family connections, he is sure to get a church in Edinburgh in a few
years if he wishes. Undoubtedly, it would not be a great match in a
money sense. I suppose he has a manse and three or four hundred pounds a
year."

"That sum would do nicely for cabs."

"Penelope, you are flippant!"

"I don't mean it, dear; it's only for fun; and it would be so absurd
if we should leave Francesca over here as the presiding genius of an
Inchcaldy parsonage--I mean a manse!"

"It isn't as if she were penniless," continued Salemina; "she has
fortune enough to assure her own independence, and not enough to
threaten his--the ideal amount. I hardly think the good Lord's first
intention was to make her a minister's wife, but He knows very well that
Love is a master architect. Francesca is full of beautiful possibilities
if Mr. Macdonald is the man to bring them out, and I am inclined to
think he is."

"He has brought out impishness so far," I objected.

"The impishness is transitory," she returned, "and I am speaking of
permanent qualities. His is the stronger and more serious nature,
Francesca's the sweeter and more flexible. He will be the oak-tree, and
she will be the sunshine playing in the branches."

"Salemina, dear," I said penitently, kissing her grey hair, "I
apologise: you are not absolutely ignorant about Love, after all, when
you call him the master architect; and that is very lovely and very true
about the oak-tree and the sunshine."

Chapter XXIII. Ballad revels at Rowardennan.

'"Love, I maun gang to Edinbrugh,
Love, I maun gang an' leave thee!"
She sighed right sair, an' said nae mair
But "O gin I were wi' ye!"'

Andrew Lammie.

Jean Dalziel came to visit us a week ago, and has put new life into our
little circle. I suppose it was playing 'Sir Patrick Spens' that set us
thinking about it, for one warm, idle day when we were all in the
Glen we began a series of ballad-revels, in which each of us assumed
a favourite character. The choice induced so much argument and
disagreement that Mr. Beresford was at last appointed head of the clan;
and having announced himself formally as The Mackintosh, he was placed
on the summit of a hastily arranged pyramidal cairn. He was giv