“No, my friend, I like Mackenzie’s very well indeed, but it is too far away. Now what say you to a dogcart drive up to the Loch of Skene, and dinner at the old-fashioned cosy inn of Straik?”
“Delightful!” said Sandie.
“Will you go?” said Willie, turning suddenly round to Elsie. “Mind,” he added, “we don’t mean to go without you.”
“In which case,” replied Elsie, laughing, “I shall be your humble servant.”
“No, Elsie, our sweet companion, the partner of our joys and sorrows, our bites and nibbles. So it is arranged.”
Monday was a delightful summer’s day, with just enough breeze to cool the air, and cause a ripple on the water.
How delicious it was to stop in the dark woods of Hazelhead, and hear that same breeze sigh and whisper through the lofty pine-trees, and to listen to the wild glad melody of the birds.
“Oh,” cried Sandie, who was ever romantic, “this is heavenly; does it not put you in mind of that grand old Scotch song, ‘The bonnie woods o’ Craigielee’?”
“Everything puts you in mind of a song,” said Willie, “but sing it, Sandie, sing it.”
“Help me, then.”