The big grey head and beard were shaken at her from the bed, even while its owner, waving his long arm, pointed out the chair on which she was to sit down. “No of Rosmore, if you’ll excuse me, my bonnie young leddy,” he said. “Ye may say Miss Rowland, Rosmore, and that will be right enough: but tenants never can take the name of the laird.” “My papa,” said Marion half angrily, “is going to buy the place. He is rich enough to buy it ten times over.” “He may be that,” said Rankin with polite doubt. Then he added, “You will maybe be wanting a doug.” “We would like to see them,” said Archie. “Oh, I’ll let you see them, though it’s no a thing I do in a general way. Them that visit at the House, they are a’ keen for a sight of my dougs; and I have one here and one there over all the country; a quantity in England. They’re wonderful little beasts, though I say it that maybe shouldna--here’s one of the last batch.” He put down his hand somewhere behind his back and produced a small, round, struggling puppy of a light fawn colour, with brown ears, newly arrived at the seeing stage of its babyhood, and sprawling with all its four feeble limbs, and the tail, which looked like a fifth, in his large hand. Put down upon the bed, it began to tumble helplessly over the heights and hollows of Rankin’s large, helpless figure. The sight of it moved Archie, and indeed Marion, in a lesser degree, to greater delight than anything had yet moved them at Rosmore. “Oh the bonnie little beast!” cried Archie; “oh the clever little creature! Look, May! look at its little nose, and the bits of paws, and the long hair.” He threw himself on his knees to get the puppy within reach, which paused in its tumbling on the mountainous ridge of one of the old keeper’s knees, to regard the simple young face brought so close to its own with that look of premature sagacity common to puppies. Marion put out her gloved hand to distract the attention bestowed on her brother. “It’s just like a little baby,” she said. “Baby! a baby’s a little brute: it’s ten times nicer than any baby that ever was born. Here, doggie! Man, keep your feet! Eh, look, May! it’s tummilt off the bed. The little beastie! I’ve got it; I’ve got it. Are ye hurt, my wee man?” “Poor little doggie!” said Marion, patting with a finger the puppy which Archie had placed on her knee. The two young creatures, bending over the animated toy of the little dog, made a group which was pretty enough. And Rankin and the groom looked on sympathisingly, flattered by their applause. To Rankin the puppy was like a child of his own.