“I’ve a box of her scald ointment that will cure it in a minute.”

“If it don’t cure, it will kill,” said Mr. Douglas, with a smile.

“Brother,” said Miss Jacky, rising with dignity from her chair, and waving her hand as she spoke-"brother, I appeal to you to protect the character of this most amiable, respectable matron from the insults and calumny your son thinks proper to load it with.  Sir Sampson Maclaughlan is your friend, and it therefore becomes your duty to defend his wife.”

“Troth, but I’ll hae aneugh to do if I am to stand up for a’ my friends’ wives,” said the old gentleman.  “But, however, Archie, you are to blame:  Leddy Maclaughlan is a very decent woman—­at least, as far as I ken—­though she is a little free in the gab; and out of respect to my auld friend Sir Sampson, it is my desire that you should remain here to receive him, and that you trait baith him and his Lady discreetly.”

This was said in too serious a tone to be disputed, and his son was obliged to submit.

The ointment meanwhile having been applied to Psyche’s paw, peace was restored, and breakfast, recommenced.

“I declare our dear niece has not tasted a morsel,” observed Miss Nicky.

“Bless me, here’s charming barley meal scones,” cried one, thrusting a plateful of them before her.  “Here’s tempting pease bannocks,” interposed another, “and oat cakes.  I’m sure your Ladyship never saw such cakes.”

“I can’t eat any of those things,” said their delicate niece, with an air of disgust.  “I should like some muffin and chocolate.”

“You forget you are not in London, my love,” said her husband reproachfully.

“No indeed, I do not forget it.  Well then, give me some toast,” with an air of languid condescension.

“Unfortunately, we happen be quite out of loaf bread at present,” said Miss Nicky; “but we’ve sent to Drymsine for some.  They bake excellent bread at Drymsine.”

“Is there nothing within the bounds of possibility you would fancy, Julia?” asked Douglas.  “Do think, love.”

“I think I should like some grouse, or a beefsteak, if it was very nicely done,” returned her Ladyship in a languishing tone.

“Beef-steak!” repeated Miss Grizzy.

“Beef-steak!” responded Miss Jacky.

“Beef-steak!” reverberated Miss Nicky.

After much deliberation and consultation amongst the three spinsters, it was at length unanimously carried that the Lady’s whim should be indulged.

“Only think, sisters,” observed Miss Grizzy in an undertone, “what reflections we should have to make upon ourselves if the child was to resemble a moorfowl!”

“Or have a face like a raw beef-steak!” said Miss Nicky.

These arguments were unanswerable; and a smoking steak and plump moor-fowl were quickly produced, of which Lady Juliana partook in company with her four-footed favourites.