The moment he turned the corner of her street, he saw Mrs Catanach standing on her threshold with her arms akimbo; although she was always tidy, and her house spotlessly trim, she yet seemed forever about the door, on the outlook at least, if not on the watch. “What hae ye in yer bit basket the day, Ma’colm?” she said, with a peculiar smile, which was not sweet enough to restore vanished confidence. “Naething guid for dogs,” answered Malcolm, and was walking past. But she made a step forward, and, with a laugh meant to indicate friendly amusement, said, “Let’s see what’s intill ’t, ony gait (_anyhow_).--The doggie’s awa on ’s traivels the day.” “’Deed, Mistress Catanach,” persisted Malcolm, “I canna say I like to hae my ain fish flung i’ my face, nor yet to see ill-faured tykes rin awa’ wi’ ’t afore my verra een.” After the warning given him by Miss Horn, and the strange influence her presence had had on his grandfather, Malcolm preferred keeping up a negative quarrel with the woman. “Dinna ca’ ill names,” she returned: “my dog wad tak it waur to be ca’d an ill-faured tyke, nor to hae fish flung in _his_ face. Lat’s see what’s i’ yer basket, I say.” As she spoke, she laid her hand on the basket, but Malcolm drew back, and turned away towards the gate. “Lord safe us!” she cried, with a yelling laugh; “ye’re no feared at an auld wife like me?” “I dinna ken; maybe ay an’ maybe no--I wadna say. But I dinna want to hae onything to du wi’ ye, mem.” “Ma’colm MacPhail,” said Mrs Catanach, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper, while every trace of laughter vanished from her countenance, “ye hae had mair to du wi’ me nor ye ken, an’ aiblins ye’ll hae mair yet nor ye can weel help. Sae caw canny, my man.” “Ye may hae the layin’ o’ me oot,” said Malcolm, “but it sanna be wi’ my wull; an’ gien I hae ony life left i’ me, I s’ gie ye a fleg (_fright_).” “Ye may get a war yersel’: I hae frichtit the deid afore noo. Sae gang yer wa’s to Mistress Coorthoup, wi’ a flech (_flea_) i’ yer lug (_ear_). I wuss ye luck--sic luck as I wad wuss ye!--” Her last words sounded so like a curse, that to overcome a _cauld creep_, Malcolm had to force a laugh. The cook at the House bought all his fish, for they had had none for the last few days, because of the storm; and he was turning to go home by the river side, when he heard a tap on a window, and saw Mrs Courthope beckoning him to another door. “His lordship desired me to send you to him, Malcolm, the next time you called,” she said. “Weel, mem, here I am,” answered the youth. “You’ll find him in the flower-garden,” she said. “He’s up early to-day for a wonder.” He left his basket at the top of the stairs that led down the rock to the level of the burn, and walked up the valley of the stream.