durst not reply, but her mother bustled up to her support.—"I gied them to an acquaintance of mine, Gibbie Girder; and what about it now?"
Her excess of assurance struck Girder mute for an instant.—"And ye gied the wild-fowl, the best end of our christening dinner, to a friend of yours, ye auld rudas! And what was his name, I pray ye?"
"Worthy Mr Caleb Balderstone, frae Wolf's Crag," answered Marion, quite prepared for battle.
Girder's wrath foamed over all restraint. If there was a circumstance which could have added to the resentment he felt, it was that this extravagant donation had been made in favour of our friend Caleb, towards whom, for reasons to which the reader is no stranger, he nourished a decided resentment. He raised his riding wand against the elder matron, but she stood firm, collected in herself, and undauntedly brandished the iron ladle with which she had just
