"’Fegs," says I, ’Rab Grier, that’s no’ a very ceevil way to address an auld frien’. Woman indeed! I am Mistress Paterson that was Jean Kilpatrick, that has played wi’ ye mony a day in yer mither’s hoose at Dunscore.’ ’Guid sakes,’ he cried, vaultin’ oot o’ his saddle, ’Jean Kilpatrick! This beats a’.’ And he pu’d aff his ridin’ gloves and held oot his hand to me. Then he shouted for ane o’ his troopers to come and tak’ his horse, and in he walks to the kitchen. Weel, we cracked and cracked, and I minded him o’ mony o’ the ploys we had when we were weans thegither. "Syne, Mary cam’ in wi’ a face as white as a sheet. She had seen the troopers, and was awfu’ feart: but I saw her comin’ and I said: ’Mary lass, tak’ a bowl and fetch my auld frien’ Sir Robert Grier a drink o’ buttermilk.’ And that gie’d the lassie courage, for she took the bowl and went oot-bye to the kirn, and in a minute she cam’ back wi’ the buttermilk; so I set cakes and butter afore him and fed him weel, and as he ate he said: ’Ay, Jean, ye’re as guid a baker as your mither. D’ye mind how you and me used to watch her at the bakin’ in the old kitchen at Dunscore, and how she used to gie us the wee bits she cut off when she was trimming the cake, and let us put them on the girdle ourselves?’ And as he talked he got quite saft-like and the scowl went aff his face a’ thegither. "Then he began to tak’ notice o’ Mary. ’So this is your dochter,’ he said. He looked her up and doon: ’I see she favours her mither, but I’m thinkin’ she’s better lookin’ than you were, Jean. Come here, my pretty doo!’ he says, and as Mary went towards him I could see she was a’ o’ a tremble. He rose frae his chair an’ put his arm roon’ her shoulder and made as though to kiss her. Wed, I could see Mary shrinkin’ frae his touch, and the next minute she had gie’d him a lood skelp on the side o’ his face wi’ her haun, and wi’ her chin in the air, walked oot o’ the door. I looked at Lag. There was anger on his broo, but he pu’d himsel’ thegither and dropped back in his chair, sayin’: ’Jean, ye’ve brocht her up badly. That’s puir hospitality to a guest.’ ’Weel, Rob,’ says I, ’the lassie’s no’ to blame. It maun rin in her blood, for mony a guid skelpin’ my mither has gi’en ye,--I ha’e skelped ye masel’, and noo ye’ve been skelped by the third generation.’ Whereat he let a roar o’ laughter oot o’ his heid that shook the hams hangin’ frae the baulks. And that set his memory going, and he said, ’D’ye mind the day I set my dog on your kitten, and you pu’d a handfu’ o’ hair oot o’ my heid?’ and he took his hat off, saying, ’I am thinkin’ that is the first place on my pow that is going bald.’ ’Ay,’ says I, ’weel I mind it, and the lickin’ I got.’ ’Yes,’ says he, laughin’, ’but ye paid me back double.’ And he roared wi’ laughter again.