“Meg says Jock Forrest is perfectly good to her, and that she would not change her man for all Greatorix Castle.”

“Does Jock make a good grieve?” asked Ralph.

“The very best; he is a great comfort to me,” replied his wife.  “I get far more time to work at the children’s things—­and also to look after my Ursa Major!”

“What of Jess?” asked Ralph; “did Meg say?”

“Jess has taken the Lady Elizabeth to call on My Lord at Bowhill!  What do you think of that?  And she leads Agnew Greatorix about like a lamb, or rather like a sheep.  He gets just one glass of sherry at dinner,” said Winsome, who loved a spice of gossip—­as who does not?

“There is a letter from my father this morning,” said Ralph, half turning to pick it off his desk; “he is well, but he is in distress, he says, because he got his pocket picked of his handkerchief while standing gazing in at a shop window wherein books were displayed for sale, but John Bairdieson has sewed another in at the time of writing.  They had a repeating tune the other day, and the two new licentiates are godly lads, and turning out a credit to the kirk of the Marrow.”

“And that is more than ever you would have done, Ralph,” said his wife candidly.

“Kezia is to be married in October, and there is a young man coming to see little Keren-happuch, but Jemima thinks that the minds of both of her younger sisters are too much set on the frivolous things of this earth.  The professor has received a new kind of snuff from Holland which Kezia says is indistinguishable in its effects from pepper—­one of his old students brought it to him—­and that’s all the news,” said Ralph, closing up the letter and laying it on the table.

“Has Saunders Moudiewort cast his easy affections on any one this year yet?” Ralph asked, returning to the consideration of Winsome’s hair.

Saunders was harvesting at present at Craig Ronald.  The mistress of the farm laughed.

“I think not,” she said; “Saunders says that his mother is the most’ siccar’ housekeeper that he kens of, and that after a while ye get to mind her tongue nae mair nor the mill fanners.”

“That’s just the way with me when you scold me,” said Ralph.

“Very well, then, I must go to the summer seat and put you out of danger,” replied Winsome.  “Since you are so imposed upon, I shall see if the grannymother has done with her second volume.  She never gets dangerous, except when she is kept waiting for the third.”

But before they had time to move, the rollicking storm-cloud of younglings again came tumultuously up the stairs—­Winifred far in front, Allan toddling doggedly in the rear.

“See what granny has put on my head!” cried Mistress Winifred the youngest, whose normal manner of entering a room suggested a revolution.

“Oo” said Allan, pointing with his chubby finger, “yook, yook! mother’s sitting on favver’s knee-rock-a-by, favver, rock-a-by!”