‘It’s a lee,’ said Kirsty. ‘I s’ tak my aith o’ that, whaever took the tellin o’ ’t. There never was mark o’ cooard upo’ Francie Gordon. He hed his fauts, but no ane o’ them luikit that gait. He was a kin’ o’ saft-like whiles, and unco easy come ower, but, haein little fear mysel, I ken a cooard whan I see him. Something may hae set up his pride--he has eneuch o’ that for twa deevils--but Francie was never nae cooard!’ ‘Dinna lay the lee at my door, I beg o’ ye, Miss Barclay. I was but tellin ye what fowk was saying.’ ‘Fowk’s aye sayin, and seldom sayin true. The warst o’ ’t is ’at honest fowk’s aye ready to believe leears! They dinna lee themsels, and sae it’s no easy to them to think anither wad. Thereby the fause word has free coorse and is glorifeed! They’re no a’ leears ’at spreads the lee; but for them ’at maks the lee, the Lord silence them!’ ‘Hoots, Kirsty,’ said her mother, ‘it disna become ye to curse naebody! It’s no richt o’ ye.’ ‘It’s a guid Bible-curse, mother! It’s but a w’y o’ sayin “His wull be dune!”’ ‘Ye needna be sae fell aboot the laird, Miss Barclay! He was nae partic’lar freen’ o’ yours gien a’ tales be true!’ remarked her admirer. ‘I’m tellin ye tales is maistly lees. I hae kenned the laird sin’ he was a wee laddie--and afore that; and I’m no gaein to hear him leed upo’ and haud my tongue! A lee’s a lee whether the leear be a leear or no!--I hae dune.’ She did not speak another word to him save to bid him good-night. In the beginning of the year, a rumour went about the country that the laird had been seen at the castle, but it died away. David pondered, but asked no questions, and Mrs. Bremner volunteered no information. Kirsty of course heard the rumour, but she never took much interest in the goings on at the castle. Mrs. Gordon’s doings were not such as the angels desire to look into; and Kirsty, not distantly related to them, and inheriting a good many of their peculiarities, minded her own business. CHAPTER XXXII IN THE WORKSHOP One night in the month of January, when the snow was falling thick, but the air, because of the cloud-blankets overhead, was not piercing, Kirsty went out to the workshop to tell her father that supper was ready. David was a Jack-of-all-trades--therein resembling a sailor rather than a soldier, and by the light of a single dip was busy with some bit of carpenter’s work. He did not raise his head when she entered, and heard her as if he did not hear. She wondered a little and waited. After a few moments of silence, he said quietly, without looking up-- ‘Are ye awaur o’ onything by ord’nar, Kirsty?’ ‘Na, naething, father,’ answered Kirsty, wondering still. ‘It’s been beirin ’tsel in upo’ me at my bench here, ’at Steenie’s aboot the place the nicht. I canna help imaiginin he’s been upo’ this verra flure ower and ower again sin’ I cam oot, as gien he wad fain say something, but cudna, and gaed awa again.’ ‘Think ye he’s here at this moment, father?’ ‘Na, he’s no.’