And here it was probable that old George Bethune, having warmed to his subject, and being as usual wildly enamoured of his latest scheme, would have gone on to give further instances of the value of collation and comparison, but that Mr. Carmichael was forced to interrupt. The proprietor of the _Edinburgh Chronicle_ was a busy man during his brief visits to town. "Very well, Mr. Bethune," said he. "I think your idea a very good one—an excellent one, in fact, for the weekly edition of a Scotch paper; and I will give you _carte blanche_ as to the number of articles. Who knows," he added, with a condescending smile, "but that they may grow to a book—to take the place of the one that was snatched out of your hands?" And again, as his visitors were leaving, he said in the same good-humoured way— "I presume it is not necessary for us to discuss the question of terms, especially before a young lady. If you have been satisfied with us so far—" "I am quite content to leave that with you: quite," interposed the old man, with some little dignity. "I was only going to say," Mr. Carmichael resumed, "that a series of articles such as you suggest may require a good deal of research and trouble: so that, when the reckoning comes, I will see you are put on the most favoured nation scale. And not a word more about the American book: we were disappointed—that is all." This latter admonition was wholly unnecessary. When George Bethune got out into the street again, with Maisrie as his sole companion and confidante, it was not of that lost opportunity he was talking, it was all of this new project that had seized his imagination. They had to make one or two calls, in the now gathering dusk; but ever, as they came out again into the crowded thoroughfares, he returned to the old ballads and the opportunities they presented for a series of discursive papers. And Maisrie was about as eager in anticipation as himself. "Oh, yes, grandfather," she said, "you could not have thought of a happier subject. And you will begin at once, grandfather, won’t you? Do you think I shall be able to help you in the very least way?—it would please me so much if I could search out things for you, or copy, or help you in the smallest way. And I know it will be a labour of love for you; it will be a constant delight; and all the more that the days are getting short now, and we shall have to be more indoors. And then you heard what Mr. Carmichael said, grandfather; and if he is going to pay you well for these articles, you will soon be able to give him back the money he advanced to you about that unfortunate book—"