“What for speak na ye, Ma’colm?” said Miss Horn, at length. “I was jist tryin’,” he answered, “to min’ upon a twa lines ’at I cam upo’ the ither day in a buik ’at Maister Graham gied me afore he gaed awa’--’cause I reckon he kent them a’ by hert. They say jist sic like ’s ye been sayin’, mem--gien I cud but min’ upo’ them. They’re aboot a man ’at aye does the richt gait--made by ane they ca’ Wordsworth.” “I ken naething aboot him,” said Miss Horn, with emphasized indifference. “An’ I ken but little: I s’ ken mair or lang though. This is hoo the piece begins:-- Who is the happy warrior? Who is he That every Man in arms should wish to be? --It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought. --There! that’s what ye wad hae o’ me, mem!” “Hear till him!” cried Miss Horn. “The man’s i’ the richt, though naebody never h’ard o’ ’im. Haud ye by that, Ma’colm, an’ dinna ye rist till ye ha’e biggit a harbour to the men an’ women o’ Scaurnose. Wha kens hoo mony may gang to the boddom afore it be dune, jist for the want o’ ’t?” “The fundation maun be laid in richteousness, though, mem, else-- what gien ’t war to save lives better lost?” “That belangs to the Michty,” said Miss Horn. “Ay, but the layin’ o’ the fundation belangs to me. An’ I’ll no du ’t till I can du ’t ohn ruint my sister.” “Weel, there’s ae thing clear: ye’ll never ken what to do sae lang ’s ye hing on aboot a stable, fu’ o’ fower-fittet animals wantin’ sense--an’ some twa fittet ’at has less.” “I doobt ye’re richt there, mem; and gien I cud but tak puir Kelpie awa’ wi’ me----” “Hoots! I’m affrontit wi ye. Kelpie--quo he! Preserve ’s a’! The laad ’ill lat his ain sister gang, an’ bide at hame wi’ a mere!” Malcolm held his peace. “Ay, I’m thinkin’ I maun gang,” he said at length. “Whaur till, than?” asked Miss Horn. “Ow! to Lon’on--whaur ither?” “And what’ll yer lordship du there?” “Dinna say _lordship_ to me, mem, or I’ll think ye’re jeerin’ at me. What wad the caterpillar say,” he added, with a laugh, “gien ye ca’d her _my leddie Psyche_?” Malcolm of course pronounced the Greek word in Scotch fashion. “I ken naething aboot yer Seechies or yer Sukies,” rejoined Miss Horn. “I ken ’at ye’re bun’ to be a lord and no a stableman, an’ I s’ no lat ye rist till ye up an’ say _what neist_?” “It’s what I ha’e been sayin’ for the last three month,” said Malcolm. “Ay, I daursay; but ye ha’e been sayin’ ’t upo’ the braid o’ yer back, and I wad ha’e ye up an’ sayin’ ’t.” “Gien I but kent what to du!” said Malcolm, for the thousandth time. “Ye can at least gang whaur ye ha’e a chance o’ learnin’,” returned his friend.--“Come an’ tak yer supper wi’ me the nicht--a rizzart haddie an’ an egg, an’ I’ll tell ye mair aboot yer mither.” But Malcolm avoided a promise, lest it should interfere with what he might find best to do. CHAPTER IV. KELPIE’S AIRING.