ac's hands and pushing her back on
the pile of wool from which she had risen. "Christie, tell Shenac about
John Cameron, as you told us last night."

While Shenac listened to the account of a sad accident that had happened
to a young man from another part of the country, Shenac Dhu let down the
long, fair hair of her cousin, and, by the help of an old card that lay
near, smoothed it till it lay in waves and ripples of gold far below her
waist. Then, as Shenac Bhan still sat, growing pale and red by turns as
she listened, she with great care rolled the shining mass into thick
curls over neck and shoulders.

"Now stand up and show yourself," said she, as she finished. "Is she
not a picture? Christie, you should take her to the town with you and
put her up in your husband's shop-window. You would make her fortune
and your own too."

Shenac Bhan had this advantage over her cousin, and indeed over most
people--that the sun that made them as brown as a berry, after the first
few days' exposure left her as fair and unfreckled as ever; and she
really was a very pretty picture as she stood laughing and blushing
before her cousins. The door opened, and Hamish came in.

"My mother sent me to bid you all come in to tea;" but he stopped as his
eye fell on his sister.

"Tea!" cried Shenac Bhan. "I meant to do all that myself. Who would
have thought that we had been here so long?" And she made a movement,
as if to bind back her hair, that she might hasten away.

"Be quiet; stay till I bid you go," said Shenac Dhu, hastily letting the
curls fall again. "I wonder if all the puddles are dried up?--She ought
to see herself. Cut them off! The vain creature! Never fear, Hamish."

"Christie is to cut it," said Shenac Bhan, laughing, and holding the
wool-shears towards Mrs More. "I must do it, Hamish; it takes such a
time to keep it decently neat. My mother does not care, and why should
you?"

"Whisht, Hamish," said Shenac Dhu, "you're going to quote Saint Paul and
Saint Peter about a woman's hair being a covering and a glory. Don't
fash yourself. Why, she would deserve to be a Scots worthy more than
George Wishart, or than the woman who was drowned even, if she were to
do it!"

"You had your own cut," said Shenac Bhan, looking at her cousin with
some surprise. "Why should I not do the same?"

"You are not me. Everybody has not my strength of mind," said Shenac
Dhu, nodding gravely.

"Toch! you cut yours that