"Yes," she answered with a baby-lisp, that made him feel very big and superior. "He's my uncle Walter; but my mamma was Scotch, an' my name's Isabel Douglas Herbert, an' Uncle Walter says I'm his Scotch lassie!"
"Oh!" Scotty looked at her with new interest. "An' you're Kirsty John's little girl, too, ain't you?"
"Yes," she cried delightedly. "Do you know Kirsty?"
"Yes."
"Oh, an' Gran'mamma MacDonald? An' Weaver Jimmie?"
"Oh, yes!"
"I love Jimmie; he tells lovely stories when I go to see Kirsty, 'bout fairies, an'—an' everything. Do you know any stories?"
A silken rustle in the doorway made Scotty draw back. "Come, Isabel," said the tall lady. She was a very pale lady, with a haughty, weary look in her eyes; and Scotty wondered how the little girl could catch hold of that silk dress so fearlessly.
"Goo-bye," she said, pausing a moment. "Goo-bye, little boy." She poked the fur-lined hood very close to his face, and Scotty drew back in alarm for fear she might be going to kiss him. The little girl looked disappointed, nevertheless she smiled radiantly.
"I like you," she whispered, "an' I'm comin' to visit you next time I go to Kirsty's; goo-bye!"