As Joseph neared Auchlippie, therefore, he crossed a field or two and made a circuit, so as to approach it from the rear, with the farm-yard to shelter him while he reconnoitred, and to retreat into in case he was seen. He likewise carried under his arm his bag of tools, so that if, later, the lady should come upon him, his errand might appear manifest enough. There was always shelving to be put up or taken down, doors that would not close, locks that would not open, and Joseph was the man to see to it all. The work was well enough, indeed Joseph preferred 'orra jobs,' as he called them, to steady work. The variety amused him, and the sight of new faces, besides gossip, drams, and sometimes a share of the kitchen dinner were among the recommendations; but the pay at Auchlippie was not altogether satisfactory. Mrs. Sangster preferred paying in kind to disbursing her silver. Joseph would return home at night with an armful of old clothes, serviceable enough, perhaps, but with the drawback attending them, that he could never tell when his accounts were to be considered square. The next time he did an 'orra job' at Auchlippie, he would be reminded of the load of things he had carried away last time, and given to understand that the present 'job' was to be looked upon as in part working out the previous haul. For these reasons Joseph was not disposed to obtrude his services. He now went quietly into the stable yard, and fell into chat with the lad who was rubbing up the gig in which his master would shortly start for a neighbouring market. He kept his eyes well open, and it was not long before he descried a petticoat in the distance. It was certainly not Sophia. A second look showed it to be Jean Macaulay, the kitchen-maid, returning from the garden with a basketful of green stuff, and Jean, he bethought him, was a very particular friend of his own, and he might do a trifle of business for himself as well as fulfil his commission. He vaulted lightly over a gate, and with three or four skips intercepted Jean, just where the blind wall of the dairy intercepted all view from the house. Here with his gayest smile he caught with both his hands----not Jeanie, it was only her disengaged hand held out at arm's length; for she had seen him in time, and laughed merrily in his face, while she held her own well beyond his reach. Joseph had missed his chance of a salute, and had to content himself with a salutation. 'Haud awa! ye caperin' antic!' she cried, 'an' behave yersel' afore folk. Yonder's Jock Spiers e'y yaird! Lay, by! An' what brings _you_ about the town at this time o' day, my mannie?' 'What wad it be, Jean, but yer ain sonsie face? I'm aye thinkin' o' ye, whan I canna see ye! I canna lie quiet i' my lane bed, lassie, for the thocht o' ye! Sae here I am.'