states, I had her with me; but even then the lawing
between Pitcairn and herself did not cease, for packets passed between
them constantly, and soon after our return, Nancy's being eighteen at
the time, I found that she had wrought a change in him, as well as in
the rest of us.

"Jock Stair," he said to me one night, as though addressing a jury, "I
told you once that it was impossible to civilize a woman, that all
education just went over their heads and affected their natures none at
all; that it was beyond them to conceive an abstract right or wrong;
that I had never seen one who had a jot of public spirit. I feel a
sense of duty in telling you I've changed. I have seen one. It's your
daughter, Nancy Stair!"

Chapter VIII

THE DAFT DAYS

We came back to Scotland in July, 1786, and one day, late in the month,
Nancy came in to tell me that she intended having a birthday party that
same evening.

"Whose?" said I.

"Mine," she answered.

"It's all very well, but your birthday is not in July----"

"I never fancied March to be born in," she replied imperturbably, "and
I've changed it."

"And who are you going to bid to the feast of your adopted birthday?"

"You," she said, "and Sandy, and Jamie Henderlin, for he's back from
Germany, and I want to hear him play."[3]

[3] After Jamie Henderlin became famous for his violin playing it
was noised abroad that I alone was his patron. But the truth of
the matter is that Sandy shared with me the expense of his German
studies.

It is altogether hopeless to set in cold words the charm of her as she
stood before me that morning in her white frock, her hair in a bunch of
curls on top of her head and some posies in her hand. I have seen many
pretty women in my time, some few handsome ones, but Nancy Stair is the
only one I ever saw who deserved to be described as beautiful. The
fashion-prints of the day were full of her, and I have one account
before me, printed at the very time of which I write, 1786:

"Miss Stair," it reads, "is just back from London, where for two years
she has studied her voice with Trebillini.

"Her beauty is bewildering; her gowns the acme of elegance and feminine
grace; her wit, her eyes, her lips, the toast of the town. Her songs, a
second printing of which is being clamored for, are being read over the
Three Kingdoms, with a letter from his Royal Majesty, George III, on
the fly-leaf commending them. When it is k