ssage for Peter, reminding him of his promise,
and saying that they would meet him in the wood-shed after dinner. When
they went there they found the old man sawing wood and apparently very
busy.

"You have dreadfully wet weather here, haven't you, Peter?" said
Blanche, by way of opening the conversation.

The old man stopped his sawing and looked at her.

"I wouldna exactly say it's dreadfully wet," he replied. "It's maybe
just a wee bittie saft, but no for to say _wet_."

"O _Peter_!" remonstrated Blanche. "Not wet, and it's been simply
pouring cats and dogs for four whole days, and mother wouldn't let me
come out. I hope it isn't often like this."

"Na, na, missie, only whiles."

"Well, I hope 'whiles' don't come very often, then," laughing.

"What are you going to tell us about to-day, Peter?" asked Marjory,
anxious to begin the business of the afternoon.

"Me tell ye? What hae I to tell?" And the old man began his sawing
again.

"Do be nice and begin, Peter darling," coaxed Marjory. "You promised,
you know."

"Ay, to be sure, I begin to mind something aboot some story ye was
wanting." Peter's eyes twinkled.

"Of course you remember. Now please begin, and don't let's waste any
more time."

"Gin I dae that I canna saw wood," objected Peter.

"Nobody wants you to saw wood; you can do that afterwards."

"Weel, weel, I suppose ye maun hae yer way."

The girls settled themselves on a wooden bench, Marjory with her arm
round Blanche; and Peter, turning a basket upside down, sat upon it,
laying the saw across his knees, and fingering its jagged edge as he
told his tale. His Scots was a little difficult to follow, and Marjory
whispered translations to Blanche every now and then.

Peter began: "This story is ca'd the 'Leddy's Grove,' an' it has twa
morals to it." Peter was always very careful to point out the morals to
his tales. "One is," he continued, "that revenge is no for us to meddle
wi'. 'Vengeance is mine,' says God Almichty. And the other is, that
though each day may be fu' o' unknown dangers, we maun go forward wi'
faith an' courage, an' a' will be weel wi' us. Noo I'll begin.

"Lang, lang syne, before ever there was Hunters at the Brae, so ye may
ken hoo lang it is, there was war atween England and Scotland. Lord
Ronald o' Glendown--which, as ye ken, Miss Marjory, lies no sae far frae
here--he an' his eldest son, the young Ronald, went awa to fecht,
leavin' his wife, the bonnie Leddy Flora, a