'Oh yes, and now, if you please, we can ramble off to the hills with Wallace. But we could ride, Mr Blake, if you prefer it. There is one big, wild black horse that only I can manage; but I have taken Skeleton up behind me sometimes, and I'm sure I could manage with you.' Antony laughed. He didn't quite fancy this style of riding, being really a good cross-country man, and having taken part in many a steeplechase. 'I'm a little afraid,' he said modestly. 'Had we not better walk?' Lotty was dressed for the hill, and very charming she looked in her bright but light half-gipsy cloak, her kirtle of red, and silken bandana gracefully worn on the head, which did not hide her marvellous hair, however. She carried a long but pretty shepherd's crook; and, with the huge raven-black Newfoundland with the pink tongue and alabaster teeth bounding and flashing round her, Lotty was really a picture. Everybody, fisher-folks and farmer-folks, had a kind word and a smile for the child, and doubtless they meant what they said. Here are the remarks Antony could not help hearing from two fisher-wives: 'Oh my! does it no' do your heart good to look at the lammie?' [little lamb]. 'An' what a bonny callant yon is! He'll be fae [from] the sooth, I'se warrant ye.' There was one tall hill rising up behind the forest, and it was towards this they bent their steps. They were going to climb it, to look around them on the landscape and seascape. But they had not journeyed more than two miles, and were high up on a heather-clad brae, when Lotty stopped and called Wallace. At the same time she took a satchel from her shoulder and strapped it round the dog. 'Go to granny's,' she said. 'Good boy--away!' Wallace trotted off. But he stopped when at a little distance, and looked back. 'Yes, Wallace, we'll wait,' cried Lotty, and the noble fellow disappeared. 'Where has he gone, Lotty?' 'To the witch's cottage--my fairy godmother's.' Lotty threw herself on the sward, and Antony too sat down. She culled a bunch of bluebells growing near, and tying them deftly with a bit of grass, she pinned them to her kerchief. They were just the colour of the child's eyes. As she did so she sang: An' it's oh to be young! An' it's aye to be young, An' it's oh to be young! When wild-flowers are springing. Lotty was not an affected child; perhaps in culling the bouquet she hardly knew what she was doing; only beauty is ever attracted by beauty and to it.