g, until the scattered village
came in sight, and curiosity awakened once more.

"Why did they have two churches, I wonder? There can't be enough people
to fill even one, and every one is Presbyterian in the Highlands. Why
don't they all meet together?" cried Margot, in her ignorance.

At the door of the outlying cottages the fair-haired matrons stood to
stare at the new arrivals. They all seemed fresh and rosy, and of an
exquisite cleanliness; they each bore a linty-haired infant in their
arms, or held by the hand a toddling mite of two or three summers; but
they made no sign of welcome, and, when Margot smiled and nodded in her
friendly fashion, either retreated hastily into the shadow, or responded
in a manner painfully suggestive of Mrs McNab's contortion. Then came
the scattered shops; the baker's, the draper's, (fancy being condemned
to purchase your whole wardrobe in that dreary little cell!) the grocer
and general emporium in the middle of the row; last of all, the post
office and stationer's shop combined.

Brother and sister cast a swift glance down the road, but there was no
male figure in sight which could by any possibility belong to a visitor
from the South.

"You go in, and I'll mount guard at the door. Buy some postcards to
send home!" suggested Ron; and, nothing loath, Margot entered the little
shop, glancing round with a curious air. There was no other customer
but herself; but a queer little figure of a man stood behind the
counter, sorting packets of stationery. He turned his head at her
approach, and displayed a face thickly powdered with freckles of
extraordinary size and darkness. Margot was irresistibly reminded of an
advertisement of "The Spotted Man," which she had once seen in a
travelling circus, and had some ado to restrain a start of surprise.
The eyes looking out between the hairless lids, looked like nothing so
much as a pair of larger and more animated freckles, and the hair was of
the same washed--out brown. Whether the curious-looking specimen was
fourteen or forty was at first sight a problem to decide, but a closer
inspection proved the latter age to be the more likely, and when Margot
smiled and wished him a cheery good afternoon, he responded with unusual
cordiality for an inhabitant of the glen.

"Good efternoun to ye, mem! What may ye be seeking, the day?"

Margot took refuge in the picture postcards, which afforded a good
excuse for deliberation. The great objec