Kooran gave his tail a few farewell wags and galloped off, but as soon as he was in sight of the flock and out of sight of his master, he lay down and ate his dinner right up at once. He ate the cheese first, because it smelt so nice, and then he ate the cake. Away went Archie and Kenneth and Shot. It didn't take them long to gallop through the heather and furze. Of course the furze made their bare knees bleed, but they did not mind that. They reached the road in twenty minutes, and went straight away to the clachan to report themselves at the manse, or minister's house. It wasn't much of a manse, only an ordinary-looking, blue-slated house of two stories, but it had a nice lawn in front and gardens round it, where ash trees, limes, planes, and elms grew almost in too great abundance. The windows were large, and one was a French one, and opened under a verandah on to the lawn. This was the Rev David Grant's study. Before they came round the hedgerow, both boys stopped, dipped their handkerchiefs in the running brook, and polished their faces; then they warned Shot to be on his best behaviour, and looking as sedate and solemn as they could, they opened the gate, and made their way to the hall door. And Shot tried to look as old as he could, and followed behind with his nose pretty near the ground, and his tail almost between his heels. But Mr Grant himself saw them, opened the casement window, and cried,-- "Come this way, boys." Mr Grant was the clergyman of the village. The living was a poor one, and as he had seven grown-up daughters, he was obliged to turn sheep farmer. It was his sheep that Kenneth herded, and that his father had herded before him, after "the bad years" had ruined the poor man. "Miss Grant will soon be here," he said. "And how have you left the sheep, Kenneth?" "They are all nicely, thank you, sir," replied Kenneth. "All healthy and thriving, I hope?" "Oh, yes, sir, we won't have any more trouble, and Kooran is minding them. He will take capital care of them, sir. And Duncan McCrane, Archie's father, is going up himself to see them." "That's right," said Mr Grant. The Misses Grant were the mothers of the clachan. I haven't space to tell you half of the good they did, so I shall not attempt it, but they taught in school and Sunday-school, they knew all the deserving poor, and attended them when sick, and advised them, and prayed with them, and read to them, and never went empty-handed to see them. Why, they even begged for them. And they knew the undeserving poor, and did good to them also. Even Gillespie, the most dreaded poacher and wildest man in the clachan, was softened in tone and like a child when talking to the "good Miss Grants," as they were always called. Well, every one loved these homely sisterly lassies of the parson's. "By-the-bye, Kennie," said Mr Grant, "I hear the glen is going to be evicted." "Surely, sir, that isn't true?" replied Kenneth.