“Sic a noise aboot a bit trifle!” said Jock.  “What’s aboot a bit chuckle an’ a heftin’ o’ cake?  Haivers!”

But very quickly Ralph prevailed upon him, and Jock took the guinea.  At his usual swift wolf’s lope he was out of sight over the long stretches of heather and turf so speedily that he arrived at the drying-ground on the hillside before Luckie MacMorrine, handicapped by her twenty stone avoirdupois, had perspired thither.

Jock met her at the gate.

“Noo, mistress,” exclaimed Jock, busily smoothing out the wrinkles and creases of a fine linen sheet, with “E.  M. M.” on the corner, “d’ye see this?  I juist gat here in time, and nae mair.  Ye see, thae randies o’ kye, wi’ their birses up, they wad sune hae seen the last o’ yer bonny sheets an’ blankets, gin I had letten them.”

Mistress MacMorrine did not waste a look on the herd of cows, but proceeded to go over her washing with great care.  Jock had just arrived in time to make hay of it, before the owner came puffing up the road.  Had she looked at the cows curiously it might have struck her that they were marvellously calm for such ferocious animals.  This seemed to strike Jock, for he went after them, throwing stones at them in the manner known as “henchin’” [jerking from the side], much practised in Galloway, and at which Jock was a remarkable adept.  Soon he had them excited enough for anything, and pursued them with many loud outcryings till they were scattered far over the moor.

When he came back he said:  “Mistress MacMorrine, I ken brawly that ye’ll be wushin’ to mak’ me some sma’ recompense for my trouble an’ haste.  Weel, I’ll juist open my errand to ye.  Ye see the way o’t was this:  There is twa gentlemen shooters on the moors, the Laird o’ Balbletherum an’ the Laird o’ Glower-ower-’em-twa respectit an’ graund gentlemen.  They war wantin’ some luncheon, but they were that busy shootin’ that they hadna time to come, so they says to me, ’Jock Gordon, do ye ken an honest woman in this neighbourhood that can supply something to eat at a reasonable chairge?’ ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘Mistress MacMorrine is sic a woman, an’ nae ither.’  ’Do ye think she could pit us up for ten days or a fortnight?’ says they.  ‘I doot na’, for she’s weel plenisht an’ providit,’ I says.  ’Noo, I didna ken but ye micht be a lang time detained wi’ the kye (as indeed ye wad hae been, gin I hadna come to help ye), an’ as the lairds couldna be keepit, I juist took up the bit luncheon that I saw on your kitchie table, an’ here it is, on its way to the wames o’ the gentlemen—­whilk is an honour till’t.’”

Mistress MacMorrine did not seem to be very well pleased at the unceremonious way in which Jock had dealt with the contents of her larder, but the inducement was too great to be gainsaid.

“Ye’ll mak’ it reasonable, nae doot,” said Jock, “sae as to gie the gentlemen a good impression.  There’s a’ thing in a first impression.”

“Tak’ it till them an’ welcome—­wi’ the compliments o’ Mrs. MacMorrine o’ the Blue Bell, mind an’ say till them.  Ye may consider it a recognition o’ yer ain trouble in the matter o’ the kye; but I will let the provost hear o’t on the deafest side o’ his heid when he ca’s for his toddy the nicht.”