change it."

"Take my name then. I will be proud indeed if you will."

"You are aye daffing, Ian; I am o'er busy for nonsense the now. Give
the Mac a hint that tartans are not necessary."

"But I cannot do that. I am going to wear the Macrae tartan."

"You can let that intent go by."

"No, I can not! A certain 'yes' may depend on my wearing the Macrae
tartan."

"Well, checked cloth is bonnier than black broadcloth to some people.
I don't think Thora Ragnor is among that silly crowd. There is not a
more quarrelsome dress than a tartan kilt--and I'm thinking the
Brodies were ill friends with the Macraes in the old days."

"The Brodies are not Highlanders."

"You are a shamefully ignorant man, Ian Macrae. The Brodies came from
Moray, and are the only true lineal descendants of Malcolm Thane of
Brodie in the reign of Alexander the Third, lawful King of Scotland.
What do you think of the Brodies now?"

"The Macrae doffs his bonnet to them; but----"

"If you say another word, the McLeod will be out of it--sure and
final."

So Ian laughingly left the room, and Mistress Brodie walked to the
window and watched him speeding towards the town. "He is a wonderful
lad!" she said to herself. "And I wish he was my lad! Oh why were all
my bairns lasses? They just married common bodies and left me! Oh for
a lad like Ian Macrae!" Then with a great sigh, she added: "It is all
right. I would doubtless have spoiled and mismanaged him!"

It is not to be supposed that Sunna Vedder kept away from all this
social stir and preparation. She was first and foremost in everything
during Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday she reserved herself
altogether for the evening. No one saw her until the noon hour; then
she came to the dinner table, for she had an entirely fresh request to
make, one which she was sure would require all her personal influence
to compass.

She prefaced it with the intelligence that Boris had arrived during
the night, and that Elga had met him in the street--"looking more
handsome than any man ought to look, except upon his wedding day."

"And on that day," said Adam, gloomily, "a man has generally good
cause to look ugly."

"But if he was going to marry me, Grandfather, how then?"

"He would doubtless look handsome. Men usually do when they are on the
road of destruction."

"Grandfather! I have made up my mind to marry Boris, and lead him the
way I want him to go. That will always be the way thou chooseth."