After being satisfied on this point the manner of Jess was decidedly soothing.  That young woman had a theory which was not quite complimentary either to the sense or the incorruptibility of men.  It was by showing an interest in them and making them think that they (or at least the one being operated upon) are the greatest and most fascinating persons under the sun, almost anything can be done.  This theory has been acted upon with results good and bad, in other places besides the barn end of Craig Ronald.

“They’re a’ weel at the Manse?” said Jess, tentatively.

“On aye,” said Saunders, looking round the barn end to see if Meg could see him.  Satisfied that Meg was safe in bed, Saunders put his hand on Jess’s shoulder—­the sleek-haired, candle-greased deceiver that he was.

“Jess, ye’re bonny,” said he.

“Na, na,” said Jess, very demurely, “it’s no me that’s bonny—­its Meg!”

Jess was still looking at him, and interested in getting all the rough wool off the collar of his homespun coat.

The Samson of the graveyard felt his strength deserting him.

“Davert, Jess lass, but it’s a queer thing that it never cam across me that ye were bonny afore!”

Jess looked down.  The Cuif thought that it was because she was shy, and his easy heart went out to her; but had he seen the smile that was wasted on a hopping sparrow beneath, and especially the wicked look in the black eyes, he might have received some information as to the real sentiments of girls who put red poppies in their hair in order to meet their sisters’ sweethearts at the barn end.

“Is the young minister aye bidin’ at the Manse?” asked Jess.

“Aye, he is that!” said Saunders, “he’s a nice chiel’ yon.  Ye’ll see him whiles ower by here.  They say—­that is Manse Bell says—­ that he’s real fond o’ yer young mistress here.  Ken ye ocht aboot that, Jess?”

“Hoots, havers, our young mistress is no for penniless students, I wot weel.  There’ll be nocht in’t, an’ sae ye can tell Bell o’ the Manse, gin you an’ her is so chief [intimate].”

“Very likely ye’re richt.  There’ll be nocht in’t, I’m thinkin’—­at least on her side.  But what o’ the young man?  D’ye think he’s sair ta’en up aboot Mistress Winsome?  Meg was sayin’ so.”

“Meg thinks there’s naebody worth lookin’ at in the warl’ but hersel’ and Mistress Winifred Charteris, as she ca’s hersel’; but there’s ithers thinks different.”

“What hae ye against her, Jess?  I thocht that she’s a fell fine young leddy.”

“Oh she’s richt eneuch, but there’s bonny lasses as weel as her; an’ maybe, gin young Maister Peden comes ower by to Oraig Eonald to see a lass nnkenned o’ a’—­what faut wad there be in that?”

“Then it’s Meg he comes to see, and no’ the young mistress?” said the alarmed grave-digger.

“Maybes aye an’ maybes no—­there’s bonny lasses forby Meg Kissock for them that hae gotten een in their heads.”