"I took the boat when nobody was looking. I've never rowed all the way across by myself before, but I thought I could, only the wind came down and spoilt it all. Do you know what my name is?" "Mysie." "No—Flora Macdonald." She put much importance into her tone. "Do you know about the great Flora Macdonald? We belong to her family—and I was called Mysie Flora, but I like my friends to call me Flora. I mean to do something like she did when I grow up. If a prince doesn't come along, I must find somebody else. I'm hoping a prince—a real prince—may be hiding for his life one day, and then I shall go and help him." Rowena did not laugh. Voice and face of the little speaker were so solemn. "I hope you will succeed in your efforts," she said. The little girl will chattered on. "I live at the farm over there," she said, pointing out of the window. "It's half-way up the mountain. You can't see us, but we see you. Dad's house is nearly always shut up, but it's to be opened soon. He's coming home. The war made him very ill, and now he's coming for a long rest, Nan says. I'm going to try to manage to live with him, if I can. I think I should like to know him." "You little old-fashioned piece of goods!" ejaculated Rowena. "Would you like to know me, I wonder?" Mysie nodded. "I mean to. You'll let me come over and talk to you sometimes." "Not if it means your rowing yourself across the loch." "Oh, I ride round on Dibbie. He's the pony Angus uses for odd jobs. Do you know Sir Robert Fraser? He had some ponies on the hills and he said if I could catch one I could have it. But I was too frightened to do it. I always thought I might get hold of the water kelpie by mistake. Do you know about him?" "I'm not sure that I do." "Loch Tarlie used to be one of his haunts. Long ago when a Baron lived here, his only little boy and some others were playing about the loch, and they suddenly saw a beautiful little pony jumping about with saddle and bridle, and they tried to catch him and get on him; and they caught hold of his bridle and their fingers were glued to it, and they screamed, and the pony dashed for the loch and dragged them in. But the Baron's little boy knew about the water kelpie and he drew out his dirk and cut off his own hand, and the other boys were drowned and his hand with them, but he was saved." Rowena made her eyes as big as Mysie's were whilst she narrated this horror. "And is the water kelpie alive now to this day?" she asked. "Well, I expect he is. When he's very well-known in one loch he goes to another—but I'm not going to let him catch me." "Tell me some more stories," begged Rowena. But Janet appeared with the tea, and the little girl turned her attention to the good things spread out before her. "I like to know a prisoner," she said, munching a piece of cake thoughtfully; "there was a prisoner on a lake in Switzerland. We've got a picture of him. I think his name was Byron. Mr. Ferguson told me about him."