In his face began to appear indication of growing displeasure. Two or three times he turned half away with a movement instantly checked which seemed to say that in a moment more, if there came no change, he would mount and ride: was this all his welcome?

At last she appeared to think she must take mercy on him: he used to say thirty words to her one!

'That's a bonny powny ye hae,' she remarked, with a look at the creature as he fed.

'He's a' that,' he answered dryly.

'Whaur did ye get him?' she asked.

'My mither coft (_bought_) him agen my hame-comin,' he replied.

He prided himself on being able to speak the broadest of the dialect.

'She maun hae a straucht e'e for a guid beast!' returned Kirsty, with a second glance at the pony.

'He's a bonny cratur and a willin,' answered the youth. 'He'll gang skelp throuw onything--watter onygait;--I'm no sae sure aboot fire.'

A long silence followed, broken this time by the youth.

'Winna ye gie me luik nor word, and me ridden like mad to hae a sicht o' ye?' he said.

She glanced up at him.

'Weel ye hae that!' she answered, with a smile that showed her lovely white teeth: 'ye're a' dubs (_all bemired_)! What for sud ye be in sic a hurry? Ye saw me no three days gane!'

'Ay, I saw ye, it's true; but I didna get a word o' ye!'

'Ye was free to say what ye likit. There was nane by but my mither!'

'Wud ye hae me say a'thing afore yer mither jist as I wud til ye yer lane (_alone_)?' he asked.

Ay wud I,' she returned. 'Syne she wad ken, 'ithoot my haein to tell her sic a guse as ye was!'

Had he not seen the sunny smile that accompanied her words he might well have taken offence.

'I wuss ye war anither sic-like!' he answered simply.

'Syne there wud be twa o' 's!' she returned, leaving him to interpret.

Silence again fell.

'Weel, what wud ye hae, Francie?' said Kirsty at length.

'I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,' he answered; 'and that ye ken as well as I du mysel!'

'That's straucht oot ony gait!' rejoined Kirsty. 'But ye see, Francie,'

she went on, 'yer father, whan he left ye a kin' o' a legacy, as ye may ca' 't, to mine, hed no intention that _I_ was to be left oot; neither had _my_ father whan he acceppit o' 't!'

'I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (_one atom_)!' interrupted Gordon.

'Haud yer tongue and hearken,' returned Kirsty. 'What I'm meanin 's this: what lies to my father's han' lies to mine as weel; and I'll never hae 't kenned or said that, whan my father pu't (_pulled_) ae gait, I pu't anither!'

'Sakes, lassie! what _are_ ye haverin at? Wud it be pu'in agen yer father to merry me?'

'It wud be that.'

'I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic a freen'

o' my father's, he sud objeck to my father's son!'

'Eh, but laddies _ir_ gowks!' cried Kirsty. 'My father was your father's freen' for _his_ sake, no for his ain! He thinks o' what wud be guid for you, no for himsel!'

'Weel, but,' persisted Gordon, 'it wud be mair for my guid nor onything ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!'

Kirsty's nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a curve of scorn.

'A bonnie wife ye wud hae, Francie Gordon, wha, kennin her father duin ilk mortal thing for the love o' his auld maister and comrade, tuik the fine chance to mak her ain o' 't, and haud her grip o' the callan til hersel!--Think ye aither o' the auld men ever mintit at sic a thing as fatherin baith? That my father had a lass-bairn o' 's ain shawed mair nor onything the trust your father pat in 'im! Francie, the verra grave wud cast me oot for shame 'at I sud ance hae thoucht o' sic a thing!

Man, it wud maist drive yer leddy-mither dementit!'

'It's my business' Kirsty, wha I merry!'

'And I houp yer grace 'll alloo it's pairt _my_ business wha ye sail _not_ merry--and that's me, Francie!'

Gordon sprang to his feet with such a look of wrath and despair as for a moment frightened Kirsty who was not easily frightened. She thought of the terrible bog-holes on the way her lover had come, sprang also to her feet, and caught him by the arm where, his foot already in the stirrup, he stood in the act of mounting.

'Francie! Francie!' she cried, 'hearken to rizzon! There's no a body, man or wuman, I like better nor yersel to du ye ony guid or turn o'

guid--'cep' my father, of coorse, and my mither, and my ain Steenie!'

'And hoo mony mair, gien I had the wull to hear the lang bible-chapter o' them, and see mysel comin in at the tail o' them a', like the hin'most sheep, takin his bite as he cam? Na, na! it's time I was hame, and had my slip (_pinafore_) on, and was astride o' a stick! Gien ye had a score o' idiot-brithers, ye wud care mair for ilk are o' them nor for me! I canna bide to think o' 't.'

'It's true a' the same, whether ye can bide to think o' 't or no, Francie!' returned the girl, her face, which had been very pale, now rosy with indignation. 'My Steenie's mair to me nor a' the Gordons thegither, Bow-o'-meal or Jock-and-Tam as ye like!'

She drew back, sat down again to the stocking she was knitting for Steenie, and left her lover to mount and ride, which he did without another word.

'There's mair nor ae kin' o' idiot,' she said to herself, 'and Steenie's no the kin' that oucht to be ca'd ane. There's mair in Steenie nor in sax Francie Gordons!'

If ever Kirsty came to love a man, it would be just nothing to her to die for him; but then it never would have been anything to her to die for her father or her mother or Steenie!

Gordon galloped off at a wild pace, as if he would drive his pony straight athwart the terrible moss, taking hag and well-eye as it came.

But glancing behind and seeing that Kirsty was not looking after him, he turned the creature's head in a safer direction, and left the moss at his back.

CHAPTER IV

DOG-STEENIE

She sat for some time at the foot of the hill, motionless as itself, save for her hands. The sun shone on in silence, and the blue butterflies which haunted the little bush of bluebells, that is harebells, beside her, made no noise; only a stray bee, happy in the pale heat, made a little music to please itself--and perhaps the butterflies. Kirsty had an unusual power of sitting still, even with nothing for her hands to do. On the present occasion, however, her hands and fingers went faster than usual--not entirely from eagerness to finish her stocking, but partly from her displeasure with Francis.