weakness of her sex) she seemed, if anything, to be a little gratified. One use it had: for when we were come to the other side, she laid her commands on him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a little further to the alehouse. This was her own thought, for she had been taken with my account of Alison Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. We found her once more alone—indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the fields—and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.
"Is this all the welcome I am to get?" said I, holding out my hand. "And have you no more memory of old friends?"
"Keep me! wha's this of it?" she cried, and then, "God's truth, it's the tautit[1] laddie!"
"The very same," says I.
"Mony's the time I've thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am I to see in your braws,"[2] she cried. "Though I kent ye were come to your ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that I thank ye for with a' my heart."
"There," said Miss Grant to me, "run out by with ye, like a guid bairn. I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; it's her and me that are to crack."
I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came forth I observed two things—that her eyes were reddened, and a silver brooch was gone out of her bosom. This very much affected me.
"I never saw you so well adorned," said I.
