“I suppose he’s a Catholic,” was the remark to which my mental plans gave birth.

“Aye,” said Bell, in a reproachful tone, “the Gowans wes all strict Catholics.  The mon would nae turn agen his chapel oot there, I’m thinkin’.”

(In Ardmuirland, be it known, “chapel” means the Catholic Church, and “church”—­or more frequently “kirk”—­denotes exclusively a Protestant place of worship; thus do penal laws leave their trail behind them!)

“Not likely!” I exclaimed boldly.  For Bell began to look anxiously at me, as though the staunch Catholicism of this particular Gowan might be open to question.  “Our religion is as free out there as any other; that’s one good quality in republican America which our government lacks at present.”

Still, my own mind misgave me a little.  I knew of more than one of my countrymen who had been “strict Catholics” once, but who had lamentably fallen off through knocking about the world.  However, we were not justified in classing Gowan with such.

“And will this good man put up at Christian’s cottage?” I asked.

“Na, na, Mr. Edmund,” said Bell, astonished, “Christian’s nae ower weel provided wi’ sheets and siclike, ye ken.  Na! he’s to stay wi’ Mistress Dobie at Larrigie Inn.  They’ve redded up the best rooms, and kindled fires and a’, to be ready gin he comes soon.  The fowks say as Gowan ‘ll likely have ane o’ they motors, like the Squire’s at the toon, so as he can drive aboot the countryside and see a’ the changes that’s come sin’ he left.”

The world was “turning golden,” indeed!  My cogitations as I made my way home were touched by the sheen.

Val took it all very calmly (as he is wont, dear boy! whenever I rhapsodize).

“If he happens to be a millionaire, Ted,” he remarked—­and a twinkle shone through his glasses—­“you may give up all hope of getting anything out of him.  It is proverbial that such gentry haggle over a six-pence when it comes to gratuities!”

During the week that followed the whole countryside had no more interesting subject of conversation than the coming of the rich cousin to “make a lady” of Christian Logan.

Christian certainly deserved any good fortune that might fall to her.  She was the young widow of an under-gamekeeper at Taskerton, an estate in our neighborhood.  Donald Logan had met with an accident, by the discharge of a gun, and had died of lock-jaw, consequent on the wound.  He had not been very thrifty, poor fellow, for he was too fond of whiskey; the result was that very little means remained for the support of the family when the bread-winner had been taken.  The proprietor of Taskerton was generally an absentee, and the casual tenants of the place had little interest in those employed on the estate.  Consequently, Christian had to do her best to support herself and her three young children by her own efforts.  Tam and Kirsty, aged respectively twelve and eleven, had to continue at school for a year or two at least; the youngest, Jeemsie, who was only eight, had been deaf and dumb from his birth.