"I come from Edinburgh to see Vara Kavannah," said Cleg. "Is she biding wi' you?" "She was, till yestreen," said Alick. "And where is she noo?" said Cleg, buckling up his trousers. "She is gane to serve at Loch Spellanderie by the Water o' Ae!" said Alick. "And how far micht that be?" asked Cleg, finishing his preparations. "Three mile and a bittock up that road!" said Muckle Alick, pointing with his finger to a well-made dusty road which went in the direction of the hills. "Guidnicht!" cried Cleg, shortly. And was off at racing pace. Muckle Alick watched him out of sight. "That cowes a'!" he said, "to think that I could yince rin like that to see a lass. But the deil's in the loon. He's surely braw an early begun!" Then Muckle Alick went round and told his wife. "It will be the laddie frae Enbra that got them the wark in the mill, and gied up his wood hut to the bairns to leeve in. What for did ye no bring him to see Hugh Boy and the bairn?" "I dinna ken that he gied me the chance," said Alick. "He was aff like a shot to Loch Spellanderie. I wad gie a shilling to hear what Mistress McWalter will say to him when he gets there. I houp that it'll no make her unkind to the lassie! If it does, I'll speak to her man. And at the warst she can aye come back to us. At a pinch we could be doing without her wage!" "Aweel," said his wife, "the loon will be near there by this time." And the loon was. Cleg was just turning up over the hill road towards Loch Spellanderie, when he heard that most heartsome sound to the ear of a country boy—the clatter of the pasture bars when the kye are coming home. It is a sound thrilling with reminiscences of dewy eves, or heartsome lowsing times, of forenichts with the lasses, and of all that to a country lad makes life worth living. But to Cleg the rattle of the bars meant none of these things. Two people were standing by the gate—a boy and a girl. Cleg thought he would ask them if this was the right road to Loch Spellanderie. But as he came nearer he saw that the girl was Vara herself. She was in close and, apparently, very friendly talk with a stranger—a tall lad with a face like one of the white statues in the museum, at which Cleg had often peeped wonderingly on free days when it was cold or raining outside. "Vara!" cried Cleg, leaping forward towards his friend. "Cleg! What are you doing here?" said Vara Kavannah, holding out her hand. But there was something in her manner that froze Cleg. He had come with a glowing heart. He had overcome difficulties. And now she did not seem much more glad to see him than she had been to talk with this young interloper at the gate of the field. "This is Kit Kennedy," said Vara, with a feeling that she must by her tactfulness carry off an awkward situation. "O it is, is it?" said Cleg, ungraciously.