He got down from his horse, shaking hands with us gravely. I noticed that he was watching Elsie, and she, knowing it, was reddening. "You are a good guesser, Colonel," I said, with feigned lightness, for I felt that he was taking it too seriously, "and pray tell me who would not like to be with so fine a lassie?" He looked at me quickly. "If you mean that, Jack," he said, in his blunt, unseeing English way, "here is my hand." Elsie broke into a little confused laugh. "The idea of pinning Mr. Jack down like that," she said, looking bravely into Goff’s eyes. "What else could he say? Now give me that box of candy. I see it sticking out of your pocket." Goff pulled out the box of candy, and catching her to him, kissed her on the cheek. "She is my own lassie, Jack," he said, holding her an instant in his arms. "I have loved her since she was so high." He paused. "Well, perhaps it was because I was an exile in your country, and she is the Scotch flower I found blooming here. Eh, lassie?" Elsie kissed his cheek. "You have been mighty good to me, Colonel Goff. But go your way. Tammas said he wanted to see you if you came by and—well—Mr. Jack and I want some candy!" For a moment he looked at us queerly, trying to smile. He glanced into my eyes, but I met his squarely and unflinchingly. He was not a man whose mental action was quick. He saw but one side of things at a time. I saw that he was embarrassed in his slow way. Very awkwardly he left us, going up to Tammas’s cottage. Elsie walked on with me. The wind blew her hair around her temples and the reflection of the blue hills of Scotland was in her eyes. "This is such an inconsistent world, Jack," she said after a while. "I can’t ever learn it, and I get so lonely up here with only Tammas and Marget, I often wish that they would tell me more of myself. I should so love to know who my father is." "Did it ever occur to you that it might not be at all pleasant for you to know? They love you and they want you to be happy." She paled. "I had never thought of that. I had never thought of that—oh, why didn’t I think of it!" "Elsie," I said, taking her hand in mine, and drawing her to me as I had when she was a child, and I her big brother, "you have no better friend than I. Tell me what it is that is troubling you?" "You would hate me, Jack," she said, looking up quickly into my face with great, earnest eyes. "Hate you? Nonsense," and I laughed, pinching her ear. "Tell me," I pleaded, smiling. "Nay, nay, bide a wee—bide a wee," she said abstractedly falling into her childhood’s dialect as she so often did when she forgot. "And first," she went on, "why, first I’d have to kind of explain it, Jack; but it is like this now: suppose one was not satisfied with one’s lot and had those feelings I have been telling you of." I nodded. "And suppose—now this is the worst of it—now suppose one really loved another—one found one’s soul dream," she paused, blushing.