hick coat, Mhor. No, you can't
take Peter. He chased sheep last time and fought the other dogs and made
himself a nuisance."

Mhor was now pleading that he might sit in the front beside the
chauffeur and cry "Honk, honk," as they went round corners.

"Well," said Jean, "choose whether it will be going or coming back. Jock
must sit there one time."

Mhor, as he always did, grasped the pleasure of the moment, and
clambered into the seat beside the chauffeur, an old and valued friend,
whom he greeted familiarly as "Tam."

The road to Laverlaw ran through the woods behind Peel, dipped into the
Manor Valley and, emerging, made straight for the hills, which closed
down round it as though jealous of the secrets they guarded. It seemed
to a stranger as if the road led nowhere, for nothing was to be seen for
miles except bare hillsides and a brawling burn. Suddenly the road took
a turn, a white bridge spanned the noisy Laverlaw Water, and there at
the opening of a wide, green glen stood the house.

Lewis Elliot was waiting at the doorstep to greet them. He had been out
all morning, and with him were his two dogs, Rab and Wattie. Jock and
Mhor threw themselves on them with many-endearing names, before they
even looked at their host.

"Is luncheon ready?" was Mhor's greeting.

"Why? Are you hungry?"

"Oh yes, but it's not that. I wondered if there would be time to go to
the stables. Tam says there are some new puppies."

"I'd keep the puppies for later, if I were you," Lewis Elliot advised.
"You'd better have luncheon while your hands are fairly clean. Jean will
be sure to make you wash them if you go mucking about in the stables."

Mhor nodded. He was no Jew, and took small pleasure in the outward
cleansing of the cup and platter. Soap and water seemed to him almost
quite unnecessary, and he had greatly admired and envied the Laplanders
since Jock had told him that that hardy race rarely, if ever, washed.

"I hope you weren't cold in that open car," Lewis Elliot said as he
helped Pamela and Jean to remove their wraps. "D'you mind coming into my
den? It's warm, if untidy. The drawing-room is so little used that it's
about as cheerful as a tomb."

He led them through the panelled hall, down a long passage hung with
sporting prints, into what was evidently a much-liked and much-used
room.

Books were everywhere, lining the walls, lying in heaps on tables, some
even piled on the floor, but a determined effort had evid