d, in that soft voice of hers
that all children loved.

"Yes," said the child.

"Kott bless me!" cried Hamish, "I did not know that!"--and therewith the
old man caught up Johnny Wickes as if he had been a bit of ribbon, and
flung him on to his shoulder, and marched off to Castle Dare.

Then the three Macleods continued on their way--through the
damp-smelling fir-wood; over the bridge that spanned the brawling brook;
again through the fir-wood; until they reached the open space
surrounding the big stone house. They stood for a minute there--high
over the great plain of the sea, that was beautiful with a thousand
tints of light. And there was the green island of Ulva, and there the
darker rocks of Colonsay, and farther out, amidst the windy vapor and
sunlight, Lunga, and Fladda, and the Dutchman's Cap, changing in their
hue every minute as the clouds came driving over the sea.

"Mother," said he, "I have not tasted fresh air since I left. I am not
sorry to get back to Dare."

"And I don't think we are sorry to see you back, Keith," his cousin
said, modestly.

And yet the manner of his welcome was not imposing; they are not very
good at grand ceremonies on the western shores of Mull. It is true that
Donald, relieved of the care of Johnny Wickes, had sped by a short-cut
through the fir-wood, and was now standing in the gravelled space
outside the house, playing the "Heights of Alma" with a spirit worthy of
all the MacCruimins that ever lived. But as for the ceremony of welcome,
this was all there was of it: When Keith Macleod went up to the hall
door, he found a small girl of five or six standing quite by herself at
the open entrance. This was Christina, the granddaughter of Hamish, a
pretty little girl with wide blue eyes and yellow hair.

"Halloo, Christina," said Macleod, "won't you let me into the house?"

"This is for you, Sir Keith," said she, in the Gaelic, and she presented
him with a beautiful bunch of white heather. Now white heather, in that
part of the country, is known to bring great good fortune to the
possessor of it.

"And it is a good omen," said he, lightly, as he took the child up and
kissed her. And that was the manner of his welcome to Castle Dare.

CHAPTER XIII.

AT HOME.

The two women-folk, with whom he was most nearly brought into contact,
were quite convinced that his stay in London had in nowise altered the
buoyant humor and brisk activity of Keith Macleod. Castle Dare awoke