She was a little cutter--and a lovely show to eyes capable of the harmonies of shape and motion. She came walking in, as the Partan, whom Malcolm found on the pierhead, remarked, “like a leddy closin’ her parasol as she cam.” Malcolm jumped on board, and the two men who had brought her round, gave up their charge. She was full-decked, with a dainty little cabin. Her planks were almost white--there was not a board in her off which one might not, as the Partan expanded the common phrase, “ait his parritch, an’ never fin’ a mote in ’s mou’.” Her cordage was all so clean, her standing rigging so taut, everything so shipshape, that Malcolm was in raptures. If the burn had only been navigable so that he might have towed the graceful creature home and laid her up under the very walls of the House! It would have perfected the place in his eyes. He made her snug for the night, and went to report her arrival. Great was Lady Florimel’s jubilation. She would have set out on a “coasting voyage,” as she called it, the very next day, but her father listened to Malcolm. “Ye see, my lord,” said Malcolm, “I maun ken a’ aboot her afore I daur tak ye oot in her. An’ I canna unnertak’ to manage her my lane. Ye maun jist gie me anither man wi’ me.” “Get one,” said the marquis. Early in the morning, therefore, Malcolm went to Scaurnose, and found Blue Peter amongst his nets. He could spare a day or two, and would join him. They returned together, got the cutter into the offing, and, with a westerly breeze, tried her every way. She answered her helm with readiness, rose as light as a bird, made a good board, and seemed every way a safe boat. “She’s the bonniest craft ever lainched!” said Malcolm, ending a description of her behaviour and qualities rather too circumstantial for his master to follow. They were to make their first trip the next morning--eastward, if the wind should hold, landing at a certain ancient ruin on the coast, two or three miles from Portlossie. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE TWO DOGS.