“Oh, ay! she hasna wanted for lads,” Beenie said. “And what’ll be the reason, Beenie, since the auld gentleman’s no going to the wars, as Dougal and me thought--what’ll be the reason, are ye thinkin’, for the young leddy coming here? He said it was to be safe at hame while he was away.” “Maybe he would be right if that’s what he says.” “Oh, Beenie, woman,” cried Katrin, “you’re secret, secret! Do you think we are no just as keen as you to please our young leddy and make her comfortable? or as taken up to ken why she’s been sent away from a’ her parties and pleasurings to bide here?” “There’s no many parties nor pleasurings here for her,” said Dougal, joining the two women in the low but airy kitchen, where the big fire was pleasant to look upon, and the brick floor very red, and the hearthstone very white. The door, which stood always open, afforded a glimpse of the universal background, the everywhere-extending moor, and the air came in keen, though the day was a day in June. Dougal pushed his bonnet to one side to scratch his grizzled head. In these regions, as indeed in many others, it is not necessary to take off one’s headgear when one comes indoors. “There’s neither lad to run after her nor leddies to keep her company. If she’s light-headed, or the like of that, there canna be a better place than oor moor.” “Light-headed!” said Robina in high scorn. “It just shows how little you ken. And where would I be, a discreet person, if my young leddy was light-headed? She’s just as modest and as guid as ever set foot on the heather. My bonnie wee woman! And as innocent as the babe new-born.” Dougal pushed his cap to the other side of his head, as if that might afford enlightenment. “Then a’ I can say is that it’s very queer.” And he added after an interval: “I never pretend to understand Sir Robert; he’s an awfu’ funny man.” “He might play off his fun better than upon Miss Lily,” said his wife in anxious tones. “And that minds me that I’m just havering here when I should be carrying up the tray,” said Beenie. “Some of those cream scones--they’re the nicest; and that fine apple jelly is the best I’ve tasted for long. And now the wee bit teapot, and a good jug of your nice fresh milk that she will, maybe, like better than the tea.” “And my fine eggs--with a yolk like gold, and white that is just like curds and cream.” “Na,” said Beenie, waving them away, “that would just be too much; let me alone with the scones, and the milk and the tea.”