"Ay, they're grand. I've been watching them for a year now."
She wrestled her dainty little packet out of her pocket, and sat down on a rock looking out over the wonderful panorama in front. The boy sat down on another rock and hauled out a piece of newspaper in which were wrapped some broken pieces of thick oatcake and some rough fragments of cheese.
"Do you like oatcake and cheese?" she asked.
"Rather!"
"Won't you have some of my sandwiches?" she said politely, but not without anxiety.
He looked at the delicate provision, and said stoutly—
"No, thank you. I like this best."
And, as the little lady possessed the dainty but vigorous appetite of the fully-restored-to-health-and-got-to-make-up-for-lost-time, and as she was only thirteen, she was not rude enough to press him unduly.
"Now tell me the names of all those hills and lochs," she said, and he proceeded to tell her all she wanted to know.
"Yon's Dumbarton,"—between bites; "you can see Glasgow some days," and she regarded him doubtfully.