It was the “peat-casting” for the priest; every one had worked with a will—­young and old.  Dinner had been sent up to the moss at noon by the various housewives of the district.  It was a sumptuous repast, as usual on so great an occasion; chickens, oatcake, scones, cheese, and abundance of milk had been thoroughly enjoyed by the workers.  The children—­bearers of the dainties from their respective mothers—­though bashful in responding to the fatherly greetings of the old priest, were yet secretly proud of the honor of his special notice.  Shyly they stood about in groups, watching for a time the resumed labors of fathers and brothers, until afternoon was wearing away, and it was time to betake themselves home to make ready for the still more important event of the day.  Gaily they rushed down the hill, their joyous laughter and merry shouts—­relieved as they were from the restraint which good manners had imposed in the priest’s presence—­awaking the echoes of the glen.  For many of them would be allowed to take part in the evening’s festivity, and all might share in the preparations for it.  This event was the public supper in the priest’s barn, when women were welcomed with their husbands and brothers, and even the bigger children were admitted.  For the evening repast, as for that of noonday, each family contributed its share of provisions, which were always ample in quantity as well as excellent in quality.

Supper, on this particular occasion—­as was usual—­took some time, and it was a serious business, when little conversation was encouraged.  But after supper the real fun began.  None love dancing more than Scots; so dancing must needs form the climax of every gathering for social enjoyment.  The bashful roughness which characterized the commencement had worn off; lads and lasses were thoroughly enjoying the somewhat rare opportunity of taking part in so large an assembly; Archie Cattanach, the piper, was throwing his whole soul into the skirls and flourishes of his choice tunes; all was gaiety and innocent enjoyment.  The good priest sat looking on pleased because his people were happy; now and again he would move his position to another group of the older guests, so that he might chat with all in turn; his flock, though they held their Pastor in that reverence which none but a priest can inspire, were under no false restraint in his presence, but joined in laugh and jest with ease and simplicity.

Loudly rang out Archie’s pipes, merrily tripped the dancers, and joy reigned supreme, when suddenly there came an unexpected check.  The outer door flew open, and a girlie of about ten, wild-eyed, bare-headed, panting for breath, rushed into the midst of the gathering.  She was evidently laboring under the stress of some unwonted excitement.  There was no shyness now, in spite of the priest’s presence—­in spite of the eager faces that sought hers in anxious questioning.

“Mither, Mither!” she screamed shrilly, as she caught sight of the familiar face she sought, and rushed toward her mother’s open arms.  It was little Peggy, Bell’s younger sister.