Christina was wrapped up in her walking things, and very soon she was trotting along the road with the old lady. They did not go into the village with its square-towered church and thatched cottages, but turned up a lane with high banks on each side, and in at a white gate and up an untidy-looking drive.
"Ah," said Miss Bertha, shaking her head. "Here is work that would keep Dawn out of mischief; he could take up every one of these leaves, and sweep the paths."
"And I could help him," said Christina with shining eyes.
It was a queer irregular house they came to, partly built of wood, partly stone. The wooden porch and low roof was covered with a leafless vine with long untidy tendrils and branches. It had evidently not been pruned for years. The front door stood partly open. Inside was a square hall with an open wood fire. In a big armchair drawn up before it lounged Dawn's father smoking. He was on his feet in an instant when he saw his visitors, and welcomed them with a bright smile and slow measured voice.
"Now, I'm sure you didn't come to see me, but my Will-o'-the-wisp; and where he is, I haven't the faintest conception!"
"We are disturbing you," said Miss Bertha; "let us go through the garden; he will be out, not in, I expect."
"I would come with you, but I've got a painting fit on, and am back to my studio after this pipe has been smoked. Ah! Here he is!"
Dawn came flying in with rumpled curls and rosy cheeks, but his face and hands were as black as a chimney-sweep's.
"Oh, Tina, come on! Such a lovely bonfire I've made at the bottom of the garden! Dad gave me three old canvases and I'm getting all the rubbish I can find. It's Hallowe'en, and Aunt Rachael told me what the Scotch people do, and if we're sweethearts, we must jump through the fire together; as you're Scotch you must do it. Come on and try, and don't mind the smoke, it only makes you dirty!"
Christina was divided between fascination and horror, and Miss Bertha took hold of her hand encouragingly.