e beckoned wi' her
hand.

"The lad set his horse to the leap. One moment an' he was i' the air,
anither an' he was safe upo' the ither side. Then the voice said,
'Whither awa sae swiftly?' An' the boy replied, 'I'm gaun to revenge the
murder o' my feyther an' my brither. I'm seekin' a black horse an' its
rider. Can ye tell me which way he went?'

"'He is gane where thy vengeance canna follow him,' replied the voice;
an' then the figure raised its airm, pointin' to the heavens, an' the
voice went on, 'I am Fate, a messenger o' Justice, to whom vengeance
belongs. I ca'd yon coward to the leap as I ca'd thee. He leaped to his
death, an' thou hast leaped to safety, but no to revenge; that is for
wiser hands than thine. Gang where his body lies, an' pluck the oak an'
the scarlet ribbon frae him to show thy mither.' The lad did as he was
bid, an' then the woman cam close to him an' laid her hand upo' his
brow, sayin', 'Thou art a brave lad, an' I, Fate, do promise thee that
thou shalt gang fearless a' thy days, an' they shall be mony.' I' a
moment she was gane, an' there was naething to be seen o' her, nor o'
the body o' the wicked man, nor the wide gulf; an' Lord Malcolm found
himsel' upo' the road to the Abbey o' Glendown, but he still carried the
sprig o' oak an' the scarlet ribbon. An' upo' the very spot whaur the
gulf had been there grew a wonderfu' grove o' hawthorn trees, the finest
i' the countryside. Folks ca' it the 'Leddy's Grove,' an' it is there
till this day for a' to see, an' on the coat o' airms o' the Glendown
family ye'll see the sprig o' oak an' the scarlet ribbon. Young Malcolm
galloped hame an' telt his tale to his mither just as I hae telt it to
you, young misses."

With appropriate looks and gestures the old man had told his story, his
listeners sitting as if spellbound, motionless except for a whispered
word of explanation here and there from Marjory. Both gave sighs of
regret as his last words died away, and Marjory cried,--

"O Peter, that is one of the best you've ever told; it is simply
splendid!"

"Do you think it's really true?" questioned Blanche eagerly. "Did such
things as these really happen long ago?"

"I'm tellin' ye the story as my mither telt it to me. Her feyther telt
it to her, an' wha's to ken whether it's true or whether it's no true."
And, as if to dismiss the subject, Peter got up from his basket and
resumed his sawing.

CHAPTER X.

MARJORY'S BIRTHDAY.

"I wish