‘That’ll be ane o’ the secrets the bonny man’s gaein to tell his ain fowk whan he gets them hame wi’ him!’ ‘His ain fowk, Kirsty?’ ‘Ay, siclike’s you and me. Whan we gang hame, he’ll tell ’s a’ aboot a heap o’ things we wad fain ken.’ ‘His ain fowk! His ain fowk!’ Steenie went on for a while murmuring to himself at intervals. At last he said, ‘What maks them his ain fowk, Kirsty?’ ‘What maks me your fowk, Steenie?’ she rejoined. ‘That’s easy to tell! It’s ’cause we hae the same father and mither; I hae aye kenned that!’ answered Steenie with a laugh. She had been trying to puzzle him, he thought, but had failed! ‘Weel, the bonny man and you and me, we hae a’ the same father: that’s what maks us his ain fowk!--Ye see noo?’ ‘Ay, I see! I see!’ responded Steenie, and again was silent. Kirsty thought he had plenty now to meditate upon. ‘Are ye comin hame wi’ me,’ she asked, ‘or are ye gaein to bide, Steenie?’ ‘I’ll gang hame wi’ ye, gien ye like, but I wud raither bide the nicht,’ he answered. ‘I’ll hae jist this ae nicht mair oot upo’ the hill, and syne the morn I’ll come hame to the hoose, and see gien I can help my mither, or maybe my father. That’s what the bonny man wud like best, I’m sure.’ Kirsty went home with a glad heart: surely Steenie was now in a fair way of becoming, as he phrased it, ‘like ither fowk’! ‘But the Lord’s gowk’s better nor the warl’s prophet!’ she said to herself. CHAPTER XXII THE HORN The beginning of the winter had been open and warm, and very little snow had fallen. This was much in Phemy’s favour, and by the new year she was quite well. But, notwithstanding her heartlessness toward Steenie, she was no longer quite like her old self. She was quieter and less foolish; she had had a lesson in folly, and a long ministration of love, and knew now a trifle about both. It is true she wrote nearly as much silly poetry, but it was not so silly as before, partly because her imagination had now something of fact to go upon, and poorest fact is better than mere fancy. So free was her heart, however, that she went of herself to see her aunt at the castle, to whom, having beheld the love between David and his daughter, and begun to feel injured by the little notice her father took of her, she bewailed his indifference.