at the gowff, an' I could eat twa guid jints o' beef gin I had

them!"
"Losh girl," said I, "gie ower makin' sic a mickle din. Ye ken

verra weel ye'll get nae parritch the nicht. I'll rin and fetch ye
a `piece' to stap awee the soun'."

"Blethers an' havers!" cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the
while, an' when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an'

stappit her mooth wi' a bit o' oaten cake. We aye keep that i' the
hoose, for th' auld servant-body is geyan bad at the cookin', an'

she's sae dour an' dowie that to speak but till her we daur hardly
mint.

In sic divairsions pass the lang simmer days in braid Scotland, but
I canna write mair the nicht, for `tis the wee sma' hours ayont the

twal'.
Like th' auld wife's parrot, `we dinna speak muckle, but we're

deevils to think,' an' we're aye thinkin' aboot ye. An' noo I maun
leave ye to mak' what ye can oot o' this, for I jalouse it'll pass

ye to untaukle the whole hypothec.
Fair fa' ye a'! Lang may yer lum reek, an' may prosperity attend

oor clan!
Aye your gude frien',

Penelope Hamilton.
"It may be very fine," remarked Salemina judicially, "though I

cannot understand more than half of it."
"That would also be true of Browning," I replied. "Don't you love

to see great ideas looming through a mist of words?"
"The words are misty enough in this case," she said, "and I do wish

you would not tell the world that I paddle in the burn, or `twine my
bree wi' tasselled broom.' I'm too old to be made ridiculous."

"Nobody will believe it," said Francesca, appearing in the doorway.
"They will know it is only Penelope's havering," and with this

undeserved scoff, she took her mashie and went golfing--not on the
links, on this occasion, but in our microscopic sitting-room. It is

twelve feet square, and holds a tiny piano, desk, centre-table,
sofa, and chairs, but the spot between the fire-place and the table

is Francesca's favourite `putting-green.' She wishes to become more
deadly in the matter of approaches, and thinks her tee-shots weak;

so these two deficiencies she is trying to make good by home
practice in inclement weather. She turns a tumbler on its side on

the floor, and `putts' the ball into it, or at it, as the case may
be, from the opposite side of the room. It is excellent discipline,

and as the tumblers are inexpensive the breakage really does not
matter. Whenever Miss Grieve hears the shivering of glass, she

murmurs, not without reason, `It is not for the knowing what they
will be doing next.'

"Penelope, has it ever occurred to you that Elizabeth Ardmore is
seriously interested in Mr. Macdonald?"

Salemina propounded this question to me with the same innocence that
a babe would display in placing a lighted fuse beside a dynamite

bomb.
Francesca naturally heard the remark,--although it was addressed to

me,--pricked up her ears, and missed the tumbler by several feet.
It was a simple inquiry, but as I look back upon it from the safe

ground of subsequent knowledge I perceive that it had a certain
amount of influence upon Francesca's history. The suggestion would

have carried no weight with me for two reasons. In the first place,
Salemina is far-sighted. If objects are located at some distance

from her, she sees them clearly; but if they are under her very nose
she overlooks them altogether, unless they are sufficiently fragrant

or audible to address other senses. This physicalpeculiarity she
carries over into her mental processes. Her impression of the

Disruption movement, for example, would be lively and distinct, but
her perception of a contemporary lover's quarrel (particularly if it

were fought at her own apron-strings) would be singularly vague. If
she suggested, therefore, that Elizabeth Ardmore was interested in

Mr. Beresford, who is the rightfulcaptive of my bow and spear, I
should be perfectly calm.

My second reason for comfortable indifference is that frequently in
novels, and always in plays, the heroine is instigated to violent

jealousy by insinuations of this sort, usually conveyed by the
villain of the piece, male or female. I have seen this happen so

often in the modern drama that it has long since ceased to be
convincing; but though Francesca has witnessed scores of plays and

read hundreds of novels, it did not apparently strike her as a
theatrical or literarysuggestion that Lady Ardmore's daughter

should be in love with Mr. Macdonald. The effect of the new point
of view was most salutary, on the whole. She had come to think

herself the only prominent figure in the Reverend Ronald's
landscape, and anything more impertinent than her tone with him

(unless it is his with her) I certainly never heard. This
criticism, however, relates only to their public performances, and I

have long suspected that their private conversations are of a
kindlier character. When it occurred to her that he might simply be

sharpening his mental sword on her steel, but that his heart had at
last wandered into a more genialclimate than she had ever provided

for it, she softened unconsciously; the Scotsman and the American
receded into a truer perspective, and the man and the woman

approached each other with dangerous nearness.
"What shall we do if Francesca and Mr. Macdonald really fall in love

with each other?" asked Salemina, when Francesca had gone into the
hall to try long drives. (There is a good deal of excitement in

this, as Miss Grieve has to cross the passage on her way from the
kitchen to the china-closet, and thus often serves as a reluctant

`hazard' or `bunker.')
"Do you mean what should we have done?" I queried.

"Nonsense, don't be captious! It can't be too late yet. They have
known each other only a little over two months; when would you have

had me interfere, pray?"
"It depends upon what you expect to accomplish. If you wish to stop

the marriage, interfere in a fortnight or so; if you wish to prevent
an engagement, speak--well, say to-morrow; if, however, you didn't

wish them to fall in love with each other, you should have kept one
of them away from Lady Baird's dinner."

"I could have waited a trifle longer than that," argued Salemina,
"for you remember how badly they got on at first."

"I remember you thought so," I responded dryly; "but I believe Mr.
Macdonald has been interested in Francesca from the outset, partly

because her beauty and vivacity attracted him, partly because he
could keep her in order only by putting his whole mind upon her. On

his side, he has succeeded in piquing her into thinking of him
continually, though solely, as she fancies, for the purpose of

crossing swords with him. If they ever drop their weapons for an
instant, and allow the din of warfare to subside so that they can

listen to their own heart-beats, they will discover that they love
each other to distraction."

"Ye ken mair than's in the catecheesm," remarked Salemina, yawning a
little as she put away her darning-ball. "It is pathetic to see you

waste your time painting mediocre pictures, when as a lecturer upon
love you could instruct your thousands."

"The thousands would never satisfy me," I retorted, "so long as you
remained uninstructed, for in your single person you would so swell

the sum of human ignorance on that subject that my teaching would be
for ever in vain."

"Very clever indeed! Well, what will Mr. Monroe say to me when I
return to New York without his daughter, or with his son-in-law?"

"He has never denied Francesca anything in her life; why should he
draw the line at a Scotsman? I am much more concerned about Mr.

Macdonald's congregation."
"I am not anxious about that," said Salemina loyally. "Francesca

would be the life of an Inchcaldy parish."
"I dare say," I observed, "but she might be the death of the

pastor."
"I am ashamed of you, Penelope; or I should be if you meant what you

say. She can make the people love her if she tries; when did she
ever fail at that? But with Mr. Macdonald's talent, to say nothing