I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer.  “No,” she would say, when I persisted, “I am going to keep the big feet out of the platter.”  This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware she saw my little friend many times in the week, and carried her my news whenever (as she said) I “had behaved myself.”  At last she treated me to what she called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a banter.  She was certainly a strong, almost a violent friend, to all she liked; chief among whom was a certain frail old gentlewoman, very blind, and very witty, who dwelt in the top of a tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and thronged all day with visitors.  Miss Grant was very fond to carry me there and put me to entertain her friend with the narrative of my misfortunes; and Miss Tibbie Ramsay (that was her name) was particular kind, and told me a great deal that was worth knowledge of old folks and past affairs in Scotland.  I should say that from her chamber window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness of that close, it was possible to look into a barred loophole lighting the stairway of the opposite house.

Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss Ramsay.  I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one preoccupied.  I was besides yery uncomfortable, for the window, contrary to custom, was left open and the day was cold.  All at once the voice of Miss Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.

“Here, Shaws!” she cried, “keek out of the window and see what I have broughten you.”

I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld; the well of the close was all in clear shadow where a man could see distinctly, the walls very black and dingy; and there from the barred loophole I saw two faces smiling across at me—­Miss Grant’s and Catriona’s.

“There!” says Miss Grant, “I wanted her to see you in your braws like the lass of Limekilns.  I wanted her to see what I could make of you, when I buckled to the job in earnest!”

It came in my mind she had been more than common particular that day upon my dress:  and I think that some of the same care had been bestowed upon Catriona.  For so merry and sensible a lady, Miss Grant was certainly wonderful taken up with duds.

“Catriona!” was all I could get out.

As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before the loophole.

The vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock.  She had passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad.  It was impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above ground.  All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for their reappearance from the stair.  It was little to see, being no more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions.  Nor did Catriona so much as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards) by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage than from above downward.