“They cannot be so nice,” said Archie, “because they do grow to be cats; and these will be dogues when they’re grown up.” Evelyn pondered a little over this dogmatic proposition before she answered: “You put it in an original way, but I think I agree with you, Archie. And what are these little things called--or have they got names--or shall we confer some on the spot?” “Rankin hasn’t much imagination: he calls them just Roy and Dhu--that means red and black in Gaelic. But you spell the last D-h-u.” “Roy and Dhu are very good names,” said Evelyn. “I would keep to them, I think: they sound well even if Rankin has not much imagination.” “He has a great deal of Gaelic,” said Archie: “he writes things in papers about poetry and stuff. He discourses to me sometimes, but I never mind.” “Then you don’t care for poetry and stuff?” “How should I, in Gaelic, which I don’t understand?” The conversation, however, was thus getting upon general topics, which Archie eschewed, and he suddenly awoke to the danger of being drawn into a tête-à-tête with his stepmother. “The dogues will be spoiling your dress, and a bother to you.” “I have never confessed to your father,” she said, “that I am very fond of dogs. I don’t think he likes them. Suppose you and I set up a little kennel of our own. You will want dogs for the shooting when the time comes, and I have not seen one about the place.” “No, there are none. Gilmour--that’s the gamekeeper--has two or three. He says there’s a good deal of shooting,” said Archie, led out of himself by the interest of this subject, about which he had gleaned a little further information. It excited and charmed the lad, for he was full of eagerness to do things like other young men of his age, but afraid to show his ignorance to begin with. “Your father has not said much about it. He is not a shooting man, you know. You will have to go out with the gamekeeper and bring us our first grouse.” “I’ll not bring in many grouse,” he said almost under his breath. “You are not a good shot? Never mind: you are young enough to mend that. The great thing is to keep cool and not get flurried, I believe.” “Oh, I don’t suppose lassies”--he corrected himself quickly with a violent blush--“ladies know much about it.” “Perhaps not,” said Evelyn, “but my father was one of the best shots in Northamptonshire. It is not a very great distinction,” she added with a smile. “I could quite forgive a man for not shooting at all.” “It’s no a crime,” said Archie, as if to himself, and with a tone of defiance. “Oh no, quite the reverse--neither one way nor another. I think,” she added with a little hesitation, “that your father, though he does not shoot himself, would be pleased if you showed a little enthusiasm about it. Forgive me for saying so. It is worth while taking a little trouble to please him, he cares so much--” “Not for me,” said Archie, setting his pale face within his high collar like a rock.