ay's hot lunch
cold to-morrow, and a rapacious Scotch-woman will charge us for it
twice over."

"I wish you would say 'Scots,' not 'Scotch,'" complained MacFadden.

"Sorry, Kiltie," rejoined Hilda; "and perhaps one of you two will deal
with the Scots woman."

"Leave her to me and none of you interfere," answered MacFadden.
"Willoughby is no good at a job that needs tact. He's not half as
lovable as I am either. Is he, Molly? We'll send the wire at once.
Come on."

Next day the steamer dropped us into the ferry-boat off Lochrie Bay,
and our bicycles, more frightened than hurt, but much shaken, were
hurled in after us. After five miles on a primitive road we arrived at
the hotel very late.

MacFadden, assuring us that if we only kept quiet he would see us
through in spite of any Scots innkeeper, led the way.

The landlady, a dour woman, appeared.

"Good morning, Madam," began Mac politely.

"Will you be Mr. Willoughby?" she replied.

"No," said Mac truthfully, assuming a puzzled expression.

"Weel, then," resumed the lady, addressing Sylvia, who happened to be
close behind, "will you be Mrs. Willoughby?"

Molly sniggered; Sylvia reddened and answered hastily, "No, I won't!"
at which Willoughby sighed audibly.

"What I wanted to ask you was whether perhaps you could be so kind
as to give us a bit of bread and cheese or something," said Mac
ingratiatingly. "Of course one doesn't expect a proper lunch in these
places without ordering it beforehand."

"And those that order beforehand dinna come," she replied with some
asperity. "A pairty of six ordered for yesterday then they telegraphs
to say they mean to-day, and now they're no here and the time lang
gone by. I thocht ye were the pairty at first."

"What a shame!" murmured MacFadden sympathetically.

"Ay, if they had turned up they should hae had their lunch, and paid
for it too," said the good lady grimly. "Twa days they should hae paid
for. But if ye like ye can eat their lunch for them; it's cauld but
guid."

So we ate heartily, paid reasonably and went away on good terms with
ourselves and the lady.

Walking up the steep hill from the hotel I was just behind Willoughby
and Sylvia. He was pushing the two bicycles and explaining something
elaborately.

"Awfully sorry about that silly woman, Sylvia," he said, "but it's
only their rotten way of talking English. You see, when she says,
'_Will_ you be Mrs. Willoughby?' she really means, '_Are_ you?' I