's a peety, mem," replied Donal. "I wad hae ye no tell onybody
that; for them 'at likes 't no a hair better themsel's, 'ill tak ye
for waur nor a haithen for sayin' 't. Jist gang ye up to my mither,
an' tell her a' aboot it. She's aye fair to a' body, an' never
thinks ill o' onybody 'at says the trowth--whan it's no for
contrariness. She says 'at a heap o' ill comes o' fowk no speykin'
oot what they ken, or what they're thinkin', but aye guissin' at
what they dinna ken, an' what ither fowk's thinkin'."

"Ay!" said Nicie, "it wad be a gey cheenged warl' gien fowk gaed to
my mither, an' did as she wad hae them. She says fowk sud never
tell but the ill they ken o' themsel's, an' the guid they ken o'
ither fowk; an' that's jist the contrar', ye ken, missie, to what
fowk maistly dis dee."

A pause naturally followed, which Ginny broke.

"I don't think you told me the name of the book you were reading,
Donal," she said.

"Gien ye wad sit doon a meenute, mem," returned Donal, "--here's a
bonnie gowany spot--I wad read a bit till ye, an' see gien ye likit
it, afore I tellt ye the name o' 't."

She dropped at once on the little gowany bed, gathered her frock
about her ankles, and said,

"Sit down, Nicie. It's so kind of Donal to read something to us! I
wonder what it's going to be."

She uttered everything in a deliberate, old-fashioned way, with
precise articulation, and a certain manner that an English mother
would have called priggish, but which was only the outcome of Scotch
stiffness, her father's rebukes, and her own sense of propriety.

Donal read the ballad of Kemp Owen.

"I think--I think--I don't think I understand it," said Ginevra. "It
is very dreadful, and--and--I don't know what to think. Tell me
about it, Donal.--Do you know what it means, Nicie?"

"No ae glimp, missie," answered Nicie.

Donal proceeded at once to an exposition. He told them that the
serpent was a lady, enchanted by a wicked witch, who, after she had
changed her, twisted her three times round the tree, so that she
could not undo herself, and laid the spell upon her that she should
never have the shape of a woman, until a knight kissed her as often
as she was twisted round the tree. Then, when the knight did come,
at every kiss a coil of her body unwound itself, until, at the last
kiss, she stood before him the beautiful lady she really was.

"What a good, kind, brave knight!" said Ginevra.

"But it's no true, ye ken,