'No; "hollow" is the English for howe,' replied Finella, laughing, as she recalled a quip of Boucicault's to the same purpose. 'You saw the great old castle we passed in our drive home?'
'Yes.'
'Well, I am called Finella from a lady who lived there.'
'After it fell into ruin?'
'No; before it.'
'Then she must have lived a precious long time ago.'
'She certainly did—some—nearly a thousand years ago.'
'What a little quiz you are! Now, Miss Melfort, what joke is this?'
'No joke at all,' said she, quite seriously; 'you can read about it in our family history—or I shall read it to you in the "Book of Fettercairn."'
She took from a table near a handsome volume, which her grandfather—to please whom she was named Finella—had in a spirit of family vanity prepared for private circulation, and as if to connect his title with antiquity, prefaced by a story well known in ancient Scottish history, though little known to the Scots of the present day.