“I am doing what I’m bid,” said John. “It’s no me. Do I ken when you should pit on your jaicket and when you should pit it off? But _she_ said you were to pit that on.” “And Bell is a very sensible woman,” said Rob. “It is cold this morning after the rain; and, John, I hope you will tell her that her provision is noble. I never saw such a ‘piece’ before.” John made no reply. He gave a glance of surly disdain at the interloper. What had Rob Glen to do here, beside “our young leddy?” “And me to wait upon him--set him up!” the old man grumbled to himself as he went back grimly to the house, having seen one, at least, of his orders fulfilled. There were points upon which John was proud to think he himself was “maister and mair;” but on ordinary domestic occasions he was content to accept the _rôle_ of executor, and see that his wife’s behests were carried out. Margaret, in her gray jacket (which was not unacceptable, after all), went away from Rob’s side and opened her sketch-book. She did not choose to be laughed at, which she felt to be possible, and it was time for her to try that gable again, which had eluded her so often. To jump at the outline of a rugged Scotch gable, after having proved your incapacity to draw a straight line, was, perhaps, a bold proceeding; and there was a perplexing little round of masonry penetrated by slits of little windows, and giving light, as Margaret knew, to the second little spiral staircase, the one at the east end of the house, which tried her ignorance dreadfully, but which she returned to notwithstanding, again and again. Margaret was gazing up against the sky, intently studying this, when her eyes were caught by a face at the high window looking down as intently upon the group in the sunshine. “Ah, Jeanie!” she said, with a nod and a smile; but Jeanie took no notice of the little salutation. “Did you speak, Miss Margaret?” said Rob Glen, busy over his drawing, and not looking up. “I was only nodding to Jeanie,” said the girl.