But, though he managed with a great effort to lift the black pot off its gypsy tripod, he would have let the boiling contents swing dangerously against his legs had not Winsome caught sharply at his other hand and leaned over, so balancing the weight of the boiling water.  So they walked down the path to where the tubs stood under the shade of the great ash-trees, with their sky-tossing, dry-rustling leaves.  There Ralph set his burden down.  Meg Kissock had been watching him keenly.  She saw that he had severely burned his hand, and also that he said nothing whatever about it.  He was a man.  This gained for the young man Meg’s hearty approval almost as much as his bashfulness and native good looks.  What Meg Kissock did not know was that Ralph was altogether unconscious of the wound in his hand.  It was a deeper wound which was at that time monopolising his thoughts.  But this little incident was more than a thousand certificates in the eyes of Meg Kissock, and Meg’s friendship was decidedly worth cultivating.  Even for its own sake she did not give it lightly.

Before Winsome Charteris could release her hand, Ralph turned and said: 

“Do you know you have not yet told me your name?”

Winsome did know it very well, but she only said, “My name is Winsome Charteris, and this is Meg Kissock.”

“Winsome Charteris, Winsome Charteris,” said Ralph’s heart over and over again, and he had not even the grace to say “Thank you”; but Meg stepped up to shake him by the hand.

“I’m braw an’ prood to ken ye, sir,” said Meg.  “That muckle sumph [stupid], Saunders Mowdiewort, telled me a’ aboot ye comin’ an’ the terrible store o’ lear [learning] ye hae.  He’s the minister’s man, ye ken, an’ howks the graves ower by at the parish kirk-yard, for the auld betheral there winna gang ablow three fit deep, and them that haes ill-tongued wives to haud doon disna want ony mistake—­”

“Meg,” said her mistress, “do not forget yourself.”

“Deil a fear,” said Meg; “it was auld Sim o’ Glower-ower-’em, the wizened auld hurcheon [hedgehog], that set a big thruch stane ower his first wife; and when he buried his second in the neist grave, he just turned the broad flat stone.  ‘Guid be thankit!’ he says, ’I had the forethocth to order a stane heavy eneuch to hand them baith doon!’”

“Get to the washing, Meg,” said Winsome.

“Fegs!” returned Meg, “ye waur in nae great hurry yersel’ doon aff the broomy knowe!  What’s a’ the steer sae sudden like?”

Winsome disdained an answer, but stood to her own tub, where some of the lighter articles—­pillow-slips, and fair sheets of “seventeen-hundred” linen were waiting her daintier hand.

As Winsome and Meg washed, Ralph Peden carried water, learning the wondrous science of carrying two cans over a wooden hoop; and in the frankest tutelage Winsome put her hand over his to teach him, and the relation of master and pupil asserted its ancient danger.