of her daughter to Florence--"What can the
like o' you or my mother do?" And she concluded her description of her
genealogical tree by saying--"Talk noo the like o' yer mother, hizzy!"

"Aweel, mother," said Janet, mildly--"that may a' be; but there is
nae cause for you fleeing into a tift upon the matter, for nae harm was
meant. I only dinna wish Florence to be putting his life in jeopardy for
neither end nor purpose. I'm sure I wish that oor nobility would keep to
their bargain, and allow the queen, though she is but a lassie yet, to
be married to young king Edward, and then we might hae peace in the
land, and ither folk would be married as weel as them."

"We shall be married, Janet, my doo," said Florence, gazing on her
tenderly--"only ye bide a wee."

Now, it must not be thought that Janet loved her country less than
did her mother or her betrothed husband; but, while the land of blue
mountains was dear to her heart, Florence Wilson was yet more dear; and
it was only because they were associated with thoughts of him that they
became as a living thing, as a voice and as music in her bosom. For,
whence comes our fondness for the woods, the mountains, the rivers
of nativity, but from the fond remembrances which their associations
conjure up, and the visions which they recall to the memory of those who
were dear to us, but who are now far from us, or with the dead? We may
have seen more stupendous mountains, nobler rivers, and more stately
woods--but they were not _ours_! They were not the mountains, the
rivers, and the woods, by which we played in childhood, formed first
friendships, or breathed love's tender tale in the ear of her who was
beautiful as the young moon or the evening star, which hung over us
like smiles of heaven; nor were they the fountains, the woods, and the
rivers, near which our kindred, the flesh of our flesh, and the bone of
our bone, SLEEP! But I digress.

"Tell me, Florence," said Madge, "what mean ye by 'bide a wee?' Is
there a concerted project amongst ony o' ye, an' are ye waiting for an
opportunity to carry it into effect?"

"No," answered he, "I canna say as how we hae devised ony practicable
scheme o' owrecoming our oppressors as yet; but there are hundreds o' us
ready to draw our swords an' strike, on the slightest chance o' success
offering--and the chance may come."

"An' amongst the hundreds o' hands ye speak o'," returned Madge, "is
there no a single head that can plot an' devi