He'd be drinking tea wi' my mither.'

'That he was; and she smiling tae him over the dish of tea.'

'Ay, he looks fine and handsome, bowing to my mither in the best
parlour, Jeanie Trim. Did ye notice if he wore silk stockings?'

'Fine silk stockings he wore.'

'And his green coat?'

'As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish, it with a cloth.'

'Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to
make my father's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same
look.' The hands of the old dame would work nervously, as if eager to
get at the goffering-irons and try once more. 'An' he'd lay his hat on
the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I
was ailing? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his
eyes shine, Jeanie?'

'Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls.'

'Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim--ye've no'
obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and
whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're bonny! There's a colour and shine in
the curl that minds me of the lights I can see in the old copper kettle
when my mither has it scoured and hung up on the nail; but his hair is
plain brown.'

'He's a graun' figure of a man!' cried the blithe maid, ever
sympathetic.

'Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie! He's no' a great size at all; the
shortest of my brithers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee
man; it's the spirit that he has wi' it that I like.'

Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, the portrait of Kinnaird was
painted, and whatever misconceptions they might form of him were
corrected one by one. There was little incident depicted, yet the
figure of Kinnaird was never drawn passive, but always in action.

'Did my father no' offer to send him home in the spring-cart? It's sair
wet for him to be walking in the wind and the rain the day.' Or: 'He had
a fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll warrant, when he came in through this
morning's bluster of wind.' Or again: 'He'll be riding to the hunt with
my father to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?'

The relations between Kinnaird and the father and mother appeared to be
indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he
came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at
other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and
hospitable household. No special honour seemed to be paid hi