“Ah, Jock, but then you must know that Mistress Charteris and I are lad and lass,” he continued, putting the case as he conceived in a form that would suit it to Jock’s understanding.

“Lad an’ lass!  What did ye think Jock took ye for?  This is nane o’ yer Castle tricks,” he said; “mind, Jock can bite yet!”

Ralph laughed.

“No, no, Jock, you need not be feared.  She and I are going to be married some day before very long”—­a statement made entirely without authority.

“Hoot, hoot!” said Jock, “wull nocht ser’ ye but that ava—­a sensible man like you?  In that case ye’ll hae seen the last o’ Jock Gordon.  I canna be doin’ wi’ a gilravage o’ bairns aboot a hoose—­”

“Jock,” said Ralph earnestly, “will you help me to see her before I go?”

“‘Deed that I wull,” said Jock, very practically.  “I’ll gaun an’ wauken her the noo!”

“You must not do that,” said Ralph, “but perhaps if you knew where Meg Kissock slept, you might tell her.”

“Certes, I can that,” said Jock; “I can pit my haund on her in a meenit.  But mind yer, when ye’re mairret, dinna expect Jock Gordon to come farther nor the back kitchen.”

So grumbling, “It couldna be expeckit—­I canna be doin’ wi’ bairns ava’—­“Jock took his way up the long loaning of Craig Ronald, followed through the elderbushes by Ralph Peden.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The dew of their youth.

Jock made his way without a moment’s hesitation to the little hen-house which stood at one end of the farm steading of Craig Ronald.  Up this he walked with his semi-prehensile bare feet as easily as though he were walking along the highway.  Up to the rigging of the house he went, then along it—­setting one foot on one side and the other on the other, turning in his great toes upon the coping for support.  Thus he came to the gable end at which Meg slept.  Jock leaned over the angle of the roof and with his hand tapped on the window.

“Wha’s there? “said Meg from her bed, no more surprised than if the knock had been upon the outer door at midday.

“It’s me, daft Jock Gordon,” said Jock candidly.

“Gae wa’ wi’ ye, Jock!  Can ye no let decent fowk sleep in their beds for yae nicht?”

“Ye maun get up, Meg,” said Jock.

“An’ what for should I get up?” queried Meg indignantly.  “I had ancuch o’ gettin’ up yestreen to last me a gye while.”

“There’s a young man here wantin’ to coort your mistress!” said Jock delicately.

“Haivers!” said Meg, “hae ye killed another puir man?”

“Na, na, he’s honest—­this yin.  It’s the young man frae the manse.  The auld carle o’ a minister has turned him oot o’ hoose an’ hame, and he’s gaun awa’ to Enbra’.  He says he maun see the young mistress afore he gangs—­but maybe ye ken better, Meg.”

“Gae wa’ frae the wunda, Jock, and I’ll get up,” said Meg, with a brevity which betokened the importance of the news.