rkey at the farm. He met me in the yard, and took me
into the barn.

"I want to speak to you, Ranald," he said.

I remember so well how the barn looked that day. The upper half of one
of the doors had a hole in it, and a long pencil of sunlight streamed
in, and fell like a pool of glory upon a heap of yellow straw. So
golden grew the straw beneath it, that the spot looked as if it were
the source of the shine, and sent the slanting ray up and out of the
hole in the door. We sat down beside it, I wondering why Turkey looked
so serious and important, for it was not his wont.

"Ranald," said Turkey, "I can't bear that the master should have bad
people about him."

"What do you mean, Turkey?" I rejoined.

"I mean the Kelpie."

"She's a nasty thing, I know," I answered. "But my father considers
her a faithful servant."

"That's just where it is. She is not faithful. I've suspected her for
a long time. She's so rough and ill-tempered that she looks honest;
but I shall be able to show her up yet. You wouldn't call it honest to
cheat the poor, would you?"

"I should think not. But what do you mean?"

"There must have been something to put old Eppie in such an ill-temper
on Saturday, don't you think?"

"I suppose she had had a sting from the Kelpie's tongue."

"No, Ranald, that's not it. I had heard whispers going about; and last
Saturday, after we came home from John Adam's, and after I had told
Elsie about Jamie, I ran up the street to old Eppie. You would have
got nothing out of her, for she would not have liked to tell you; but
she told me all about it."

"What a creature you are, Turkey! Everybody tells you everything."

"No, Ranald; I don't think I am such a gossip as that. But when you
have a chance, you ought to set right whatever you can. Right's the
only thing, Ranald."

"But aren't you afraid they'll call you a meddler, Turkey? Not that
_I_ think so, for I'm sure if you do anything _against_ anybody, it's
_for_ some other body."

"That would be no justification if I wasn't in the right," said
Turkey. "But if I am, I'm willing to bear any blame that comes of
it. And I wouldn't meddle for anybody that could take care of
himself. But neither old Eppie nor your father can do that: the one's
too poor, and the other too good."

"I _was_ wondering what you meant by saying my father couldn't take
care of himself."

"He's too good; he's too good, Ranald. He believes in everybody. _I_
wouldn't have kept