"O Morag, dear, I'm so sorry! It's all my fault. I've just been thinking I shouldn't have brought Kirsty to speak to you when you didn't want to see her. Miss Prosser says I'm so thoughtless, and, you see, it's quite true. Do say you forgive me, and don't cry any more, or I shall begin directly." And Blanche's eyes filled with tears as she threw her arm round the little brown neck, and looked into Morag's sorrowful face.
"It's no that I didna want to see Kirsty, but father bid me no speak til her,—niver, and I couldna' anger him. I would hae liket weel to gang inby, though," she added, in a mournful tone. Then Morag went on to tell, with much unconscious pathos in the narrative, of the romance which had grown up round Kirsty Macpherson and her pretty dwelling, of how long she had watched her from afar, often passing by that way, in order to catch a glimpse of the old woman among her flowers, till her father's injunction had made it an act of disobedience; and since then she had tried very hard always to look the other way. Blanche could not help thinking, as she listened, how much more good and obedient this little untaught maiden had proved than she was likely to be in similar circumstances.
"But, Morag, I really can't think why your father should forbid you to talk to Kirsty. I'm sure she can't possibly be a bad old woman;" and Blanche gave a glowing description of her visit to the cottage, to which Morag listened with eager interest.
Shag was taking advantage of the pause to snap some delicious blades of grass on the roadside, as well as his mouthful of steel would permit, while Chance had drawn near to investigate the reason of this objectionable halt, and was captured by Blanche, who began to twine a wreath of deer-horn moss round his reluctant neck, as she talked.
"I'll tell you what you must do, Morag," she said presently, jumping to her feet with energy, as if inspired by a new idea. "Tell your father all about our stopping at Kirsty's cottage,—how I would go to ask for some water to drink, and how kind and nice she was to me; and wanted to speak to you so much, if you only might have spoken to her. And, by the by, she sent a message to your father—something about forgiving him, wasn't it? I couldn't understand her very well. Now, Morag, if you only tell your father the whole story, and coax him a little, you know, he will be sure to allow you to speak to her next time. I do want so much to go and see her another afternoon; but I shouldn't care to, if you didn't come with me."
Morag shook her head; she had not the same belief in her own coaxing powers as she had in the bonnie wee leddy's.
"I'll maybe try, but I'm thinkin' he'll no bear the soun' o' Kirsty's name," said Morag, in a desponding tone, as she rose to recapture the straying Shag. Then she reminded Blanche that they had still a long way to go, and pointed to the sun, which was fast westering; so the cavalcade moved on, and both the little hearts felt happier than they had before the halt.
Blanche felt certain that Morag's story would melt her father's prejudice, whatever it might arise from; and Morag, though less sanguine, began to be more hopeful, and listened with delighted smile to the castles in the air which her companion was building concerning a visit to the cottage; how they would tie Shag to a paling where he could find some nice grass, and deciding that Chance must really be left at home, being much too outrageous for a small room like Kirsty's. Besides, as Blanche thoughtfully suggested, she might very likely have a cat, in which case, Chance would be a most unwelcome guest, for his sentiments regarding cats were only too well known to his anxious mistress.
Morag was still very shy and timid, and it was only on rare occasions that even the little English maiden's pleasant prattle could put her at her ease. It was quite an effort for her still to make a remark or to ask a question; and now, as she nervously took hold of Shag's mane, Blanche felt sure that she wanted very much to say something which would come out presently. At last she asked, in quiet, eager tones, "Will ye be so kind as to tell me, leddy, what she would be sayin' about the good Lord? Is she weel acquaint wi' Him?"
"Oh! let me see. I forget exactly what she said. I think I said that I thought she must be very lonely, living there all by herself, and she said she would be if it were not for the Lord Jesus Christ—or something like that," replied Blanche, unable to give a sufficiently circumstantial account of that part of the interview to satisfy Morag, who remarked meditatively—