will hardly desert him in any emergency. Salemina thinks that the

scone should be bracketed with the bun (in description, of course,
never in the human stomach), and says that, as a matter of fact,

`th' unconquer'd Scot' of old was not only clad in a shirt of mail,
but well fortified within when he went forth to warfare after a meal

of oatmeal and scones. She insists that the spear which would
pierce the shirt of mail would be turned aside and blunted by the

ordinary scone of commerce; but what signifies the opinion of a
woman who eats sugar on her porridge?

Considering the air of liberalhospitality that hangs about the
castle tea-table, I wonder that our friends do not oftener avail

themselves of its privileges and allow us to do so; but on all dark,
foggy, or inclement days, or whenever they tire of the sands,

everybody persists in taking tea at Bide-a-Wee Cottage.
We buy our tea of the Pettybaw grocer, some of our cups are cracked,

the teapot is of earthenware, Miss Grieve disapproves of all social
tea-fuddles, and shows it plainly when she brings in the tray, and

the room is so small that some of us overflow into the hall or the
garden; it matters not; there is some fatal charm in our humble

hospitality. At four o'clock one of us is obliged to be, like
Sister Anne, on the housetop; and if company approaches, she must

descend and speed to the plumber's for six pennyworth extra of
cream. In most well-ordered British households Miss Grieve would be

requested to do this speeding, but both her mind and her body move
too slowly for such domestic crises; and then, too, her temper has

to be kept as unruffled as possible, so that she will cut the bread
and butter thin. This she generally does if she has not been `fair

doun-hadden wi' wark'; but the washing of her own spinster cup and
plate, together with the incident sighs and groans, occupies her

till so late an hour that she is not always dressed for callers.
Willie and I were reading The Lady of the Lake the other day, in the

back garden, surrounded by the verdant leafage of our own kale-yard.
It is a pretty spot when the sun shines, a trifledomestic in its

air, perhaps, but restful: Miss Grieve's dish-towels and aprons
drying on the currant bushes, the cat playing with a mutton-bone or

a fish-tail on the grass, and the little birds perching on the rims
of our wash-boiler and water-buckets. It can be reached only by way

of the kitchen, which somewhat lessens its value as a pleasure-
ground or a rusticretreat, but Willie and I retire there now and

then for a quiet chat.
On this particular occasion Willie was declaiming the exciting

verses where Fitz-James and Murdoch are crossing the stream
`That joins Loch Katrine to Achray,'

where the crazed Blanche of Devan first appears:-
`All in the Trosachs' glen was still,

Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high--

"Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"'
"It was indeed," said Francesca, appearing suddenly at an upper

window overhanging the garden. "Pardon this intrusion, but the
Castle people are here," she continued in what is known as a stage

whisper,--that is, one that can be easily heard by a thousand
persons,--"the Castle people and the ladies from Pettybaw House; and

Mr. Macdonald is coming down the loaning; but Calamity Jane is
making her toilet in the kitchen, and you cannot take Mr. Beresford

through into the sitting-room at present. She says this hoose has
so few conveniences that it's `fair sickenin'.'"

"How long will she be?" queried Mr. Beresford anxiously, putting The
Lady of the Lake in his pocket, and pacing up and down between the

rows of cabbages.
"She has just begun. Whatever you do, don't unsettle her temper,

for she will have to prepare for eight to-day. I will send Mr.
Macdonald and Miss Macrae to the bakery for gingerbread, to gain

time, and possibly I can think of a way to rescue you. If I can't,
are you tolerably comfortable? Perhaps Miss Grieve won't mind

Penelope, and she can come through the kitchen any time and join us;
but naturally you don't want to be separated, that's the worst of

being engaged. Of course I can lower your tea in a tin bucket, and
if it should rain I can throw out umbrellas. Would you like your

golf-caps, Pen? `Won'erful blest in weather ye are, mam!' The
situation is not so bad as it might be," she added consolingly,

"because in case Miss Grieve's toilet should last longer than usual,
your wedding need not be indefinitely postponed, for Mr. Macdonald

can marry you from this window."
Here she disappeared, and we had scarcely time to take in the full

humour of the affair before Robin Anstruther's laughing eyes
appeared over the top of the high brick wall that protects our

garden on three sides.
"Do not shoot," said he. "I am not come to steal the fruit, but to

succour humanity in distress. Miss Monroe insisted that I should
borrow the inn ladder. She thought a rescue would be much more

romantic than waiting for Miss Grieve. Everybody is coming out to
witness it, at least all your guests,--there are no strangers

present,--and Miss Monroe is already collecting sixpence a head for
the entertainment, to be given, she says, for your dear Friar's

sustenation fund."
He was now astride of the wall, and speedily lifted the ladder to

our side, where it leaned comfortably against the stout branches of
the draper's peach vine. Willie ran nimbly up the ladder and

bestrode the wall. I followed, first standing, and then decorously
sitting down on the top of it. Mr. Anstruther pulled up the ladder,

and replaced it on the side of liberty; then he descended, then
Willie, and I last of all, amidst the acclamations of the onlookers,

a select company of six or eight persons.
When Miss Grieve formally entered the sitting-room bearing the tea-

tray, she was buskit braw in black stuff gown, clean apron, and
fresh cap trimmed with purple ribbons, under which her white locks

were neatly dressed.
She deplored the coolness of the tea, but accounted for it to me in

an aside by the sickening quality of Mrs. Sinkler's coals and Mr.
Macbrose's kindling-wood, to say nothing of the insulting draft in

the draper's range. When she left the room, I suppose she was
unable to explain the peals of laughter that rang through our

circumscribed halls.
Lady Ardmore insists that the rescue was the most uniqueepisode she

ever witnessed, and says that she never understood America until she
made our acquaintance. I persuaded her that this was fallacious

reasoning; that while she might understand us by knowing America,
she could not possibly reverse this mental operation and be sure of

the result. The ladies of Pettybaw House said that the occurrence
was as Fifish as anything that ever happened in Fife. The kingdom

of Fife is noted, it seems, for its `doocots [dovecots] and its daft
lairds,' and to be eccentric and Fifish are one and the same thing.

Thereupon Francesca told Mr. Macdonald a story she heard in
Edinburgh, to the effect that when a certain committee or council

was quarrelling as to which of certain Fifeshire towns should be the
seat of a projected lunaticasylum, a new resident arose and

suggested that the building of a wall round the kingdom of Fife
would solve the difficulty, settle all disputes, and give sufficient

room for the lunatics to exercise properly.
This is the sort of tale that a native can tell with a genial

chuckle, but it comes with poor grace from an American lady
sojourning in Fife. Francesca does not mind this, however, as she

is at present avenging fresh insults to her own beloved country.
Chapter XXI. International bickering.

With mimic din of stroke and ward
The broadsword upon target jarr'd.

The Lady of the Lake.
Robin Anstruther was telling stories at the tea-table.

"I got acquainted with an American girl in rather a queer sort of
way," he said, between cups. "It was in London, on the Duke of