"It would be good for ye, Miss Blanche," remarked Peter, "and maybe help to put some colour into yon white cheeks o' yours."
The cheeks were rosy red for a minute as Blanche repeated her refusal. She did not want to be rude, but, oh dear! could she ever bring herself to drink milk like that? She did not think she possibly could.
"Never mind; she shan't be bothered," said Mrs. Shaw, to Blanche's relief. "She shall come to the dairy and have some curds and cream—I've some nicely set—or a drink of the other milk, if she likes that better." And, still holding Blanche's hand, she led the way to the dairy, across the yard and along a shady path.
What a refreshingly cool place the dairy was, with its rows of shining white pans, and its tiled walls and floor! Everything looked so fresh and spotless, it was a pleasure to see it.
Blanche was glad to have a glass of the milk here. It was very different, ladled out of one of those beautiful white pans with a nice white ladle!
Mrs. Shaw showed them the churn and the pats of yellow butter. There were cheeses too, and pots of cream—one and all of the best and freshest.
The dairy was the last sight; and the girls, very much pleased with all they had seen, said good-bye to Mrs. Shaw, receiving a hearty invitation to come again soon—in fact, to come any time they liked.
Marjory walked with Blanche from the farm to a small gate which led into the Braeside park, Peter watching them, waiting for Marjory's return, and then walking home with her.
"She's a bonnie lassie yon," said Peter, as he walked stiffly up the hill beside Marjory. "I'm weel pleased wi' her."
"Yes, isn't she a darling, Peter? I do feel so happy now I've got a friend, and such a friend. Did you notice how Mrs. Shaw kept looking at her?"