When we came out, I saw Andrew, and hurried after him to hear how he had sped the night before. He told me he had found all perfectly quiet at the cottage, except the old woman’s cough, which was troublesome, and gave proof that she was alive, and probably as well as usual. He suggested now that the noise was all a fancy of mine--at which I was duly indignant, and desired to know if it was also Missy’s fancy that made her go off like a mad creature. He then returned to his former idea of the cock, and as this did not insult my dignity, I let it pass, leaning however myself to the notion of Wandering Willie’s pipes. [Illustration] On the following Wednesday we had a half holiday, and before dinner I went to find Turkey at the farm. He met me in the yard, and took me into the barn. “I want to speak to you, Ranald,” he said. I remember so well how the barn looked that day. The upper half of one of the doors had a hole in it, and a long pencil of sunlight streamed in, and fell like a pool of glory upon a heap of yellow straw. So golden grew the straw beneath it, that the spot looked as if it were the source of the shine, and sent the slanting ray up and out of the hole in the door. We sat down beside it, I wondering why Turkey looked so serious and important, for it was not his wont. “Ranald,” said Turkey, “I can’t bear that the master should have bad people about him.” “What do you mean, Turkey?” I rejoined. “I mean the Kelpie.” “She’s a nasty thing, I know,” I answered. “But my father considers her a faithful servant.” “That’s just where it is. She is not faithful. I’ve suspected her for a long time. She’s so rough and ill-tempered that she looks honest; but I shall be able to show her up yet. You wouldn’t call it honest to cheat the poor, would you?” “I should think not. But what do you mean?” “There must have been something to put old Eppie in such an ill-temper on Saturday, don’t you think?” “I suppose she had had a sting from the Kelpie’s tongue.” “No, Ranald, that’s not it. I had heard whispers going about; and last Saturday, after we came home from John Adam’s, and after I had told Elsie about Jamie, I ran up the street to old Eppie. You would have got nothing out of her, for she would not have liked to tell you; but she told me all about it.” “What a creature you are, Turkey! Everybody tells you everything.” “No, Ranald; I don’t think I am such a gossip as that. But when you have a chance, you ought to set right whatever you can. Right’s the only thing, Ranald.” “But aren’t you afraid they’ll call you a meddler, Turkey? Not that _I_ think so, for I’m sure if you do anything _against_ anybody, it’s _for_ some other body.” “That would be no justification if I wasn’t in the right,” said Turkey. “But if I am, I’m willing to bear any blame that comes of it. And I wouldn’t meddle for anybody that could take care of himself. But neither old Eppie nor your father can do that: the one’s too poor, and the other too good.”