Mrs. Gordon quickened her pace, and passed without turning her head or looking at her, but so close, and with so sudden a rush that Kirsty’s horse half wheeled, and bounded over the dyke by the roadside. Her rudeness annoyed her son, and he jumped his horse into the field and joined Kirsty, letting his mother ride on, and contenting himself with keeping her in sight. After a few moments’ talk, however, he proposed that they should overtake her, and cutting off a great loop of the road, they passed her at speed, and turned and met her. She had by this time got a little over her temper, and was prepared to behave with propriety, which meant--the dignity becoming her. ‘What a lovely horse you have, Miss Barclay!’ she said, without other greeting. ‘How much do you want for him?’ ‘He is but half-broken,’ answered Kirsty, ‘or I would offer to change with you. I almost wonder you look at him from the back of your own!’ ‘He is a beauty--is he not? This is my first trial of him. The laird gave me him only this morning. He is as quiet as a lamb.’ ‘There, Donal,’ said Kirsty to her horse, ‘tak example by yer betters! Jist luik hoo he stan’s!--The laird has a true eye for a horse, ma’am,’ she went on, ‘but he always says you gave it him.’ ‘Always! hm!’ said Mrs. Gordon to herself, but she looked kindly at her son. ‘How did you learn to ride so well, Kirsty?’ she asked. ‘I suppose I got it from my father, ma’am! I began with the cows.’ ‘Ah, how is old David?’ returned Mrs. Gordon. ‘I have seen him once or twice about the castle of late, but have not spoken to him.’ ‘He is very well, thank you.--Will you not come up to the Knowe and rest a moment? My mother will be very glad to see you.’ ‘Not to-day, Kirsty. I haven’t been on horseback for years, and am already tired. We shall turn here. Good-morning!’ ‘Good-morning, ma’am! Good-bye, Mr. Gordon!’ said Kirsty cheerfully, as she wheeled her horse to set him straight at a steep grassy brae. CHAPTER XLII THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER The laird and his mother sat and looked at Kirsty as her horse tore up the brae. ‘She can ride--can’t she, mother?’ said Francis. ‘Well enough for a hoiden,’ answered Mrs. Gordon. ‘She rides to please her horse now, but she’ll have him as quiet as yours before long,’ rejoined her son, both a little angry and a little amused at her being called a hoiden who was to him like an angel grown young with æonian life. ‘Yes,’ resumed his mother, as if she _would_ be fair, ‘she does ride well! If only she were a lady, that I might ask her to ride with me! After all it’s none of my business what she is--so long as _you_ don’t want to marry her!’ she concluded, with an attempt at a laugh. ‘But I do want to marry her, mother!’ rejoined Francis.