beasts, it was likely enough better known to himself, who lived among them and loved them. And the thoughts of the gillie, and the shepherd, were rarely beyond his shrewd guess as he looked at them; they had but to say a word or two, and he knew the end of their story from the beginning. But these old gentlemen were as far beyond his understanding as Gillesbeg Aotram, the wanderer who came about the glens and was called daft by the people who did not know, as Gilian did, that he was wiser than themselves. The Paymaster took his rattan and knocked noisily on the table for the landlord. The Sergeant More stepped softly on his tiptoes six steps into the kitchen, then six steps noisily back again and put his head in. “What’s your will, Captain?” said he, polishing a tray with the corner of his brattie. “Give this boy some dinner, for me,” said the Paymaster. “There is nothing at our place to-day but herrings, and it’s the poorest of meals for melancholy. Miss Mary would make it all the more melancholy with her weeping over the goodwife of Ladyfield.” Gilian went out with the Sergeant More and made a feeble pretence at eating his second dinner that day. CHAPTER III--THE FUNERAL All the glen came to the funeral, and people of Lochowside on either side from Stronmealachan to Eredine, and many of the folk of Glen Shira and the town. A day of pleasant weather, with a warm wind from the west, full of wholesome dryness for the soil that was still clogged with the rains of spring. It filled the wood of Kincreggan with sounds, with the rasping and creaking of branches and the rustle of leaves, and the road by the river under the gean-trees was strewn with the broken blossom.