Piper, here ducked and blinded, got stray, and borne-off by the current Wounded his lily-white thighs, below, at the craggy corner. And it was told, the Piper resuming, corrected of Arthur, More by word than motion, change ominous, noted of Adam, How at the floating-bridge of Laggan, one morning at sunrise, Came, in default of the ferryman, out of her bed a brave lassie; And as Philip and she together were turning the handles, Winding the chain by which the boat works over the water Hands intermingled with hands, and at last, as they stepped from the boatie, Turning about, they saw lips also mingle with lips; but That was flatly denied and loudly exclaimed at by Arthur: How at the General’s hut, the Inn by the Foyers Fall, where Over the loch looks at you the summit of Méalfourvónie, How here too he was hunted at morning, and found in the kitchen Watching the porridge being made, pronouncing them smoked for certain, Watching the porridge being made, and asking the lassie that made them What was the Gaelic for _girl_, and what was the Gaelic for _pretty_; How in confusion he shouldered his knapsack, yet blushingly stammered, Waving a hand to the lassie, that blushingly bent o’er the porridge, Something outlandish—_Slan_-something, _Slan leat_, he believed, _Caleg Looach_— That was the Gaelic, it seemed, for ‘I bid you good-bye, bonnie lassie; Arthur admitted it true, not of Philip, but of the Piper. And it was told by the Piper, while Arthur looked out at the window, How in thunder and in rain—it is wetter far to the westward— Thunder and rain and wind, losing heart and road, they were welcomed, Welcomed, and three days detained at a farm by the lochside of Rannoch; How in the three days’ detention was Philip observed to be smitten, Smitten by golden-haired Katie, the youngest and comeliest daughter; Was he not seen, even Arthur observed it, from breakfast to bedtime, Following her motions with eyes ever brightening, softening ever? Did he not fume, fret, and fidget to find her stand waiting at table? Was he not one mere St. Vitus’ dance, when he saw her at nightfall Go through the rain to fetch peat, through beating rain to the peat-stack? How too a dance, as it happened, was given by Grant of Glenurchie, And with the farmer they went as the farmer’s guests to attend it; Philip stayed dancing till daylight,—and evermore with Katie; How the whole next afternoon he was with her away in the shearing,[9] And the next morning ensuing was found in the ingle beside her Kneeling, picking the peats from her apron,—blowing together, Both, between laughing, with lips distended, to kindle the embers; Lips were so near to lips, one living cheek to another,— Though, it was true, he was shy, very shy,—yet it wasn’t in nature, Wasn’t in nature, the Piper averred, there shouldn’t be kissing;