After an hour’s drive they arrived at the scene of the match--a sheet of water, on one side of which the open moor stretched away to the horizon, while on the other side there was a thin belt of fir-trees. The ice, two or three acres in extent, was covered with a sprinkling of snow, which had been carefully cleared from the ‘rinks.’ The rinks were sixty or seventy yards long by six or eight wide, and they showed like pools of black water beside the clear white snow. Already the surface of the little lake was dotted with boys on ‘skeitchers,’ as skates are called in that part of the country; and the margin was fringed with dog-carts from which the horses had been removed. The stones, circular blocks of granite, nearly a foot in diameter, and about five inches thick, fitted with brass handles, were lying in order on the bank on beds of straw. Quite a little crowd of farmers, farm-servants, and schoolboys were assembled beside the stones, waiting till the match should begin. Lord Bantock, the chief landowner in that part of Kyleshire, was there, his red, good-humoured face beaming on everybody, his hands thrust into the pockets of his knickerbockers, the regulation green broom under his arm. Next him stood a little spare man in a tall hat. This was Johnnie Fergus, draper, ironmonger, guardian of the poor, and Free Church deacon in the neighbouring village of Auchinbyres. Nothing was ever done at Auchinbyres without Johnnie Fergus having a hand in it. He was a man of importance, and he knew it. No man had ever seen Johnnie in a round hat. He always carried his chin very much in the air, and kept his lips well pursed up, and spoke in a peremptory tone of voice--especially when (as on the present occasion) he was in the company of his betters. Next to him stood Hamilton of the Holme, a great giant of a man, slow in his movements, slow in his speech, wearing the roughest of rough tweeds, and boots whose soles were at least an inch in thickness. At present, however, he was encased as to his lower man in enormous stockings, drawn over boots and trousers, to prevent him from slipping about on the ice; and many of the players were arrayed in a similar fashion. ‘Come awa’, Castle Fairm!’ cried one of the crowd as Mr. Lindsay drove up. ‘Aw’m glaid to see ye; ye play a hantle better nor yer son.’ ‘Na, na, Muirfuit,’ responded the laird; ‘my playin’-days are by.’ Meantime Lord Bantock strolled over to the dog-cart, his ostensible reason being to shake hands with Mr. Lindsay, whom he recognised in his fallen state as one of the small gentry of the county. ‘Are you going to honour us with your presence, Miss Lindsay?’ he asked, as he helped Margaret to alight. ‘Only for half an hour,’ she answered, as she sprang lightly to the ground. ‘You will be back by that time?’ she continued, addressing her father.