"Oh yes," said Ann. "You will read it and 'riddle oot the biggest lees frae ilka page,' and then I'll send it to the typing lady Mark told me about; if she can make out Mark's handwriting she won't be so aghast at mine. One copy for each of ourselves and some for very great friends——"

Mrs. Douglas broke in. "If you begin with friends there will be no end to it."

"Then, perhaps, we had better have it privately printed and get about a hundred copies. Have we a hundred friends?"

"Liker twa hunner," Marget said gloomily. "To me it seems a queer like thing to print a body's life when she's still leevin'."

Ann quoted, "That horn is blowen for me," said Balin, "yet I am not dead," then, laughing at the expression on Marget's face, she said, "It's often done, Marget, only you call it 'reminiscences.' Mrs. Asquith wrote her reminiscences, and you can't accuse her of being dead."

Marget muttered something, and Ann continued, "Mother is very fortunate to have a daughter to write hers for her."

"Fortunate!" said Mrs. Douglas. "I'll tell you when I've read it."

"Weel," said Marget, "I hope she made it interestin', Mem, for I'm sure we hed a rale interestin' time baith in Kirkcaple and Glasgae—an' Priorsford's no bad aither, though, of course, we're no ministers' folk there an' that maks a big differ: we havna the same posseetion."

"Marget," said Ann, "I believe you think a minister and his wife are the very highest in the land, higher even than a Provost and his lady; infinitely higher than a mere earl."

Marget said "Earls!" and grunted, then she explained, "I yince kent an earl. When ma faither was leevin' an' we were at Kinloch we kept yin o' the lodges for the big hoose, and I used to see the young earl playin' cricket. He minded me o' Joseph wi' his coat o' many colours, but, hech! he was nae Joseph. I doot Potiphar's wife wad hae got nae rebuke frae him. I dinna hold wi' thae loose lords mysel' onyway." She turned her back on Ann and addressed her mistress. "It's a queer thing, Mem, that the folk we have to dae wi' now are no' near as interestin' as the folk we kent lang syne. I sit by the fire in the foresuppers—my eyes are no what they were, an' I get tired o' sewin' and readin'—an' I think awa' back to the auld days in Kirkcaple. Thae were the days! When the bairns were a' at hame. Eh, puir things, mony a skelp I hed at them when they cam' fleein' wi' their lang legs ower ma new-sanded kitchen! Thae simmer's afternunes when I went oot to the Den wi' Ellie Robbie and them a' and we made a fire and hed oor tea; an' winter nichts when we sat roond the nursery fire and telt stories. An' the neebors drappin' in: Mistress Peat as neat as if she hed come oot o' a band-box, and Mistress Goskirk tellin' us hoo to mak' jeely—we kent fine oorsels—an' hoo to cut oot breeks for the laddies—we were never guid at cuttin' oot, ye'll mind, Mem? An' Mistress Dewar sittin' on the lobby chair knittin' like mad when I got doon the stair to open the door for her, and Mr. Dewar sayin', 'Is it bakin' day, Marget?' An' in Glasgae there was Mistress Burnett comin' in, aye wi' a present, an aye wi' something kind to say. Some folk ye wad think tak' a fair delight in tellin' ye things that chaw ye, they juist canna help bein' nesty, puir sowls; ye mind Mrs. Lawrie was like that, she couldna gang awa wi'oot giving ye a bit sting—but Mistress Burnett cheered up the whole day wi' her veesit. An' Miss Barbara—she aye cam' at the maist daft-like time so that she wadna bother us for a meal, her that wad hae fed a' the earth! An' Mistress Lang—a braw wumman thon—she likit to come in efter tea an' hae a guid crack. An' Dr. Struthers—my! He pit us sair aboot when he cam' to stay, but I was rale pleased, it was like haein' yin o' thae auld prophets bidin' wi' us. An' the hoosefu's we had in the holidays when the bairns grew up, we whiles didna ken whaur to turn.... An' thae times are a' past, an' here we are sittin' an' a' the folk I've been speakin' aboot are deid, an' the Moncrieffs are comin' the morn——"