She opened her ulster and from an inside pocket produced the formidable document that she had shown to Ronald's sister; and then she buttoned the long garment again, and contentedly sate herself down on the low stone parapet, the programme in her hand. And now all trace of embarrassment was fled from her; and when she spoke to him, or smiled, those clear frank eyes of hers looked straight into his, fearing nothing, but only expecting a welcome. She did not, as he did, continually remember that she was Miss Douglas, the doctor's daughter, and he merely a smart young deerstalker. To her he was simply Ronald—the Ronald that every one knew and liked; who had a kind of masterful way throughout this neighbourhood, and was arbiter in all matters of public concern; but who, nevertheless, was of such amazing good nature that there was no trouble he would not undertake to gratify her slightest wish. And as he was so friendly and obliging towards her, she made no doubt he was so to others; and that would account for his great popularity, she considered; and she thought it was very lucky for this remote little hamlet that it held within it one who was capable of producing so much good feeling, and keeping the social atmosphere sweet and sound.
As for him, he met this perfect friendship of hers with a studied respect. Always, if it was on the one side 'Ronald,' on the other it was 'Miss Douglas.' Why, her very costume was a bar to more familiar relations. At this moment, as she sate on the stone parapet of the bridge, looking down at the document before her, and as he stood at a little distance, timidly awaiting what she had to say, it occurred to him again, as it had occurred before, that no matter what dress it was, each one seemed to become her better than any other. What was there particular in a tight-fitting gray ulster and a deerstalker's cap? and yet there was grace there, and style, and a nameless charm. If one of the lasses at the inn, now, were sent on an errand on one of these wild and blustering mornings, and got her hair blown about, she came back looking untidy; but if Miss Douglas had her hair blown about, so that bits and curls of it got free from the cap or the velvet hat, and hung lightly about her forehead or her ears or her neck, it was a greater witchery than ever. Then everything seemed to fit her so well and so easily, and to be so simple; and always leaving her—however it was so managed—perfect freedom of movement, so that she could swing a child on to her shoulder, or run after a truant, or leap from bank to bank of a burn without disturbing in the least that constant symmetry and neatness. To Ronald it was all a wonder; and there was a still further wonder always seeming to accompany her and surround her. Why was it that the bleakest winter day, on these desolate Sutherland moors, suddenly grew filled with light when he chanced to see a well-known figure away along the road—the world changing into a joyful thing, as if the summer were already come, and the larks singing in the blue? And when she spoke to him, there was a kind of music in the air; and when she laughed—why, Clebrig and Ben Loyal and the whispering Mudal Water seemed all to be listening and all to be glad that she was happy and pleased. She was the only one, other than himself, that the faithful Harry would follow; and he would go with her wherever she went, so long as she gave him an occasional word of encouragement.
'Will I read you the programme, Ronald?' said she, with just a trace of mischief in the gray-blue eyes. 'I'm sure you ought to hear what has to be done, for you are to be in the chair, you know.'
'Me?' said he, in astonishment. 'I never tried such a thing in my life.'
'Oh yes,' she said cheerfully. 'They tell me you are always at the head of the merry-makings: and is not this a simple thing? And besides, I do not want any other grown people—I do not want Mr. Murray—he is a very nice man—but he would be making jokes for the grown-up people all the time. I want nobody but you and Maggie and myself besides the children, and we will manage it very well, I am sure.'
There was a touch of flattery in the proposal.
'Indeed, yes,' said he at once. 'We will manage well enough, if ye wish it that way.'
'Very well, then,' said she, turning with a practical air to the programme. 'We begin with singing Old Hundred, and then the children will have tea and cake—and the sixpence and the penny. And then there is to be an address by the Chairman—that's you, Ronald.'
'Bless me, lassie!' he was startled into saying; and then he stammered an apology, and sought safety in a vehement protest against the fancy that he could make a speech—about anything whatever.
'Well, that is strange,' said Meenie looking at him, and rather inclined to laugh at his perplexity. 'It is a strange thing if you cannot make a little speech to them; for I have to make one—at the end. See, there is my name.'