“I have been down at Robert Melder’s mill, and there’s a bairn there—a little girl—Bessie, ye never saw the like of it!”
“Is’t a’ dressed in green, and riding on a white powny?” said Mrs. Catherine’s youthful servingman, returning to the charge.
“Ye’re a fuil,” retorted Jacky, flushing indignantly, “how do the like of you ken what’s true and what’s a fable? There was a lady once, that led a lion in her hand—you dinna ken what that means—and if there were gentle spirits lang syne in the air, what do you ken about them? Bessie, come with me the morn, and see the little bairn. I like to hear her speak; she says words like what you hear in dreams.”
Jacky’s companions indulged in a smothered laugh.
“Has she wings?” asked the lad.
“I will throw ye into the Oran, Johnnie Halflin,” cried Jacky, in wrath; “if ye do not hold your peace in a minute. Miss Anne saved her life, and she speaks a strange language that naebody kens; and she’s from a strange country; and she’s like—”
“Oh, I saw her mysel,” interrupted Johnnie, “a bit wee smout, wi’ her frock burning—saved her life! how grand we’re speaking! I could have done’t mysel, a’ that Miss Anne did, and made nae work about it—only I had Merkland’s horse to haud.”
“I have seen a face like it,” said Jacky, thoughtfully, “a’ but the eyes.”
“Eh, and isna Mr. Ross a fine young gentleman?” said little Bessie. Bessie was glad to seize upon the first tangible point.
“How would ye like to bide constant in Strathoran, Bessie,” said Johnnie Halflin, “down bye at Merkland? Eh, disna Mr. Lewis gie weary looks up at the easter tower?”