"Is Kirsty Macpherson your grandmother?" said Morag in a surprised tone, raising her downcast eyes, and looking at Kenneth. "She never telt me about ye," she added, musingly.
They had now reached the spring, and Kenneth having quickly filled his pitcher, and looking gratefully at Morag, turned to retrace his steps in the direction of the tent.
The little girl ran on eagerly, more anxious than ever to fulfil her mission. Emerging from the forest at last, she crossed a small hillock, and came down at the back of Kirsty's cottage. She found the old woman seated at the door, knitting busily, as she watched the sunset. The amber clouds were beginning to gather round the dying sun, and Kirsty sat watching the cloudland scene with a far-away look in her tranquil gray eyes.
"Na! but is this you, my dawtie? I'm richt glad to see ye. I some thocht ye might be the nicht; but how cam' ye roun' by the back o' the hoose?" asked Kirsty, smiling as she welcomed her little friend, when she appeared round the gable of the cottage.
Instead of answering her question, Morag asked, hurriedly, "Kirsty, will ye be fit for a good bit o' a walk the nicht, think ye?"
"Weel, bairn, I wouldna min' a bittie, in this bonnie gloamin'; but I'll no say I'll gang sae fast or sae far as I ance could hae done," replied the old woman, smiling at Morag's breathless eagerness.
"D'ye think ye could gang as far as the other end o' the fir-wood, Kirsty?"
"Na, bairn; but I'm thinkin' ye're makin' a fule o' me the nicht. Ye ken brawly I hinna gaen that length this mony a day," said Kirsty, looking up with a shade of irritation in her calm face at the thoughtlessness of her usually considerate little friend.
"Weel, Kirsty, I'm thinkin' ye'll need to try it the nicht. There's somebody lyin' there that's terrible anxious to see ye." Morag's voice trembled, as she continued, "I've a message for ye, Kirsty. Your ain lost Kenneth's wife is lyin' i' the firwood, and wants to see ye afore she dees!"
For a moment Kirsty looked bewildered; but there was no mistaking the slowly spoken words of the message. Presently she held out her hand to Morag to help her from her low seat, with a sigh; and, leaning against the door, she stood thinking. Her usually calm eyes looked hungrily at the little messenger, and her voice sounded faint and hollow as she asked, "Is he there himsel?" And then she added, shaking her head, mournfully, "Na, it couldna be; he would hae come til his mither surely."