er?"

"I am that," replied the old man, looking at Blanche for the first time;
and then, as if satisfied with what he saw, he repeated much more
enthusiastically, "'Deed an' I am that," with a nod and a smile at
Blanche.

Marjory felt great satisfaction in the assurance that her friend had
found favour in the eyes of the two very important personages in the
Brae household--Lisbeth and Peter.

The girls chatted gaily to the old man as they went down the hill on the
other side of the wood to Low Farm.

Marjory never liked to go to the farm without Peter or Lisbeth or her
uncle, for she was a little afraid of the woman who managed it. Mrs.
Shaw was very tall and strongly built, with black hair turning gray
about the temples, and dark, deep-set, piercing eyes, and eyebrows which
Marjory always thought looked long enough to comb. This gave Mrs. Shaw,
as she was called, a somewhat forbidding look, and, added to her quick,
decided, almost rough way of speaking, made her more feared than loved.
No one knew anything of her life before she came to Heathermuir; but the
story went that her husband had gone away to foreign parts and never
come back again, and that her temper was soured in consequence. Be that
as it might, she was an excellent manager; everything at the Low Farm
was in spick-and-span order, and fit for inspection at any time of the
day. Maids and men alike knew that they must do their work, or Alison
Shaw would demand the reason of any neglect or unpunctuality; and with
those black eyes fixed upon them it was impossible to prevaricate or
offer excuses.

The young ladies' visit must have been expected, for when they were
ushered by Mrs. Shaw into the little parlour, there was a tray on the
table with glasses on it, and a bottle of gooseberry wine and a cake of
shortbread.

Mrs. Shaw poured out some wine for each of the girls, eyeing them
critically as she did so. When at last she spoke it was not with the
broad accent usual amongst the people of Heathermuir--a fact which in
itself proclaimed her as not one of them, and added not a little to
their respect for her, and to the mystery which surrounded her.

"So you've come to see the farm, Miss Forester," she said in her deep
but musical voice. "What do you wish to see first?"

Blanche, conscious of the earnest scrutiny of those dark eyes, blushed
rosy red, and, bewildered by this sudden question, looked appealingly at
Marjory, who, unfortunately, had a mouthfu