The turf sloped away to a little stream that went singing cheerily over sparkling pebbles, bubbling and foaming round the base of grey lichened rocks, that reared their heads above the water, as if in angry remonstrance at their daring to interfere with its progress.  On the opposite bank there stretched a bit of muirland pasture, studded with little knolls of heather, growing green, in preparation for its richer autumn tints.  The pale spring sunlight began to grow more mellow in its light at this afternoon hour; it glinted on the little gurgling stream, lighted up the feathery birch glade, and lay in golden patches on the opposite bank, where Grace noticed some cattle begin to gather on the heathery knolls, as if they had come to enjoy the last hour of bright sunshine.  Perhaps some little cottages may be sheltered behind those hillocks, Grace thought; and she began to examine how the grey rocks lay among the water, and whether she could possibly find dry footing across the stream.  Presently she came upon a smooth row of stones, that were evidently used as a thoroughfare.  She had already begun to cross them, keeping her eye cautiously fixed on the stepping-stones as she went along, when she was startled by a voice which sounded close beside her.  On glancing round she saw on the opposite bank a boy standing with a huge twisted cudgel in his hand, brandishing it in a warlike attitude.  He seemed to have suddenly appeared round one of the hillocks, and was now shouting excitedly, in his rough northern dialect, as he waved his stick: 

“Hold back, mem; hold back, I tell ye.  Blackie is in one o’ his ill moods the day, and he’s no safe.  Dinna come a foot farther.”

Grace stood bewildered, balancing herself on the stepping-stones; the apparition was so sudden that it almost took away her breath, and the commands were so peremptory that she did not dare to disregard them by going forward; but it seemed very hard to beat an ignominious retreat, for here seemed to be just what she was in search of—­a boy as neglected-looking as any that were to be seen in the courts and alleys of Edinburgh; of the very type which old Adam declared there was not one to be found in all the lands of Kirklands.  His head was bare, and his flaxen hair so bleached by the sun that it looked quite white against his bronzed face.  He looked at Grace with a grave interest in his large blue eyes, as if he would like to know a little more; but he still brandished his cudgel before her, and shouted resolutely: 

“Hold back, or Blackie will be at ye.”

“But who is Blackie?” asked Grace, with a gasp, looking furtively round in the direction of the birch wood, in case the said Blackie might be approaching from behind.

“Who’s Blackie!” said the boy, repeating the question, as if to hold up to ridicule the absurd ignorance which it implied.  “Do ye no ken that Blackie is Gowrie’s bull—­the ill-natertest bull in a’ the country-side?”