rch, and the children's games and tea
on the links in the afternoon.

We have determined not to desert our beloved Pettybaw for the metropolis
on this great day, but to celebrate it with the dear fowk o' Fife who
had grown to be a part of our lives.

Bide-a-Wee Cottage does not occupy an imposing position in the
landscape, and the choice of art fabrics at the Pettybaw draper's is
small, but the moment it should stop raining we were intending to carry
out a dazzling scheme of decoration that would proclaim our affectionate
respect for the 'little lady in black' on her Diamond Jubilee. But would
it stop raining?--that was the question. The draper wasna certain that
so licht a shoo'r could richtly be called rain. The village weans
were yearning for the hour to arrive when they might sit on the wet
golf-course and have tea; manifestly, therefore, it could not be a bad
day for Scotland; but if it should grow worse, what would become of our
mammoth subscription bonfire on Pettybaw Law--the bonfire that Brenda
Macrae was to light, as the lady of the manor?

There were no deputations to request the honour of Miss Macrae's
distinguished services on this occasion; that is not the way the
self-respecting villager comports himself in Fifeshire. The chairman of
the local committee, a respectable gardener, called upon Miss Macrae
at Pettybaw House, and said, "I'm sent to tell ye ye're to have the
pleasure an' the honour of lichtin' the bonfire the nicht! Ay, it's a
grand chance ye're havin', miss, ye'll remember it as long as ye live,
I'm thinkin'!"

When I complimented this rugged soul on his decoration of the triumphal
arch under which the school-children were to pass, I said, "I think if
her Majesty could see it, she would be pleased with our village to-day,
James."

"Ay, ye're richt, miss," he replied complacently. "She'd see that
Inchcawdy canna compeer wi' us; we've patronised her weel in Pettybaw!"

Truly, as Stevenson says, 'he who goes fishing among the Scots peasantry
with condescension for a bait will have an empty basket by evening.'

At eleven o'clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with an
interesting-looking package, which I promptly opened. That dear foolish
lover of mine (whose foolishness is one of the most adorable things
about him) makes me only two visits a day, and is therefore constrained
to send me some reminder of himself in the intervening hours, or
minutes--a book, a flower, or a note. Uncovering the pr