The big blue eyes regarded him innocently. "I did say fisel," she declared wonderingly.
"No, you didn't, you would jist be saying 'fisel.'"
She stared a moment, then laughed aloud, a clear little bubbling irresistible laugh, and this time Scotty laughed with her.
He seated himself cross-legged upon the grass and proceeded to catechise her.
"Your name will be Isabel, won't it?"
"Imph—n—n," the blue bonnet nodded emphatically, "Isabel Douglas Herbert, an' my mamma was Scotch, an' my Uncle Walter says I'm his Scotch lassie."
Scotty nodded approval. He could not quite understand, however, how she could be Scotch and live with the English gentry on the shores of Lake Oro instead of in the Oa.
"Where does your mother live?" he inquired dubiously.
"In heaven," said the little one simply, "an' my papa lives there too."
"Oh," said Scotty, "an' my father and mother will be living there too, whatever." He was not to be outdone by her in the matter of ancestry.