“I am not so warlike, John. I shall be content with the rain when it comes. Are they all well at the Mount--Mrs Fendie and the young ladies?” “Middling, middling,” said John Brown; “we have our bits of touts noo and then, but we’re no to compleen o’; and the noo, we’ve nae time to think o’ being no weel, for Mr Alick’s coming hame.” “Indeed!” said Halbert; the news interested him. “When does Mrs Fendie expect him, John?” “I hear about the harvest--August or September,” said the factotum of Mount Fendie; “but we’re gaun to gar the haill countryside stand about, so we’ve begoud in time. But ye’ll mind he’s no a free-spoken, pleasant lad like yourself, Mr Graeme, begging your pardon for the freedom; he’s ane o’ your fleeaway sodger officers, and there’s mair o’ the same kind coming wi’ him.” Halbert enjoyed his popularity; but at the same time he became still more interested in Alick Fendie, who being less popular, promised to be more aristocratic than himself. “Has he been long in India, John?” asked Halbert. “Na, no that lang. I mind him mysel frae he was a kittlin o’ a laddie like that wee evil spirit o’ a brither o’ his. He’s been twa--three years out bye yonder,” and John jerked his ponderous thumb in the direction of the sea. “I wad just like to see him fechting--or the like o’ him--fusionless, shilpit laddies. I’m no Wallace Wight myself, but if I couldna tak twa o’ them in ilka hand!--and that minds me, Mr Graeme, that my auntie Eesabell up at Murrayshaugh bothers folk even on about your young lady. I’m no meaning the lady that is to be ye ken, but just Miss Maxwell. Our auld auntie’s ta’en a notion that she kens some o’ the auld family--the Murrays. Its a’ havers, ye ken, for Miss Lucy’s aulder, if she’s leeving, than Eesabell hersel; but the young lady hasna been at Murrayshaugh for lang, and the auld wife deaves a’body asking about her. I tell’t her it was said in the town that Miss Maxwell was no weel. She’s aye bee awfu’ delicate like; isna she no weel, Mr Graeme?” “She has been very ill,” said Halbert; “but she is recovering now, I hope. She lost a friend lately.” John Brown paused respectfully, rendering the instinctive homage which men pay to grief. “I saw Robbie Caryl the day,” said John, after an interval; “Robbie was in last week wi’ some grand salmon at Dumbraes market, and he saw a man there that has a son a sodger, somegate near where Mr Alick is; and there’s word--sure word, Robbie says--that Peter Delvie--ye wadna ken Peter? was killed yonder wi’ a wheen mair, fechting wi’ thae wild Indians--Affghans--what is’t they ca’ them? Onyway Peter’s dead; and what the auld man, Saunders, will say till’t, noo, is mair than I ken.” “He was harsh to him, I believe,” said Halbert.