“Andra, I will not allow—­” Winsome began, who felt that on the ground of Craig Ronald a guest of her grandmother’s should be respected.

But before she had got further Andra was again under the water, and again the trout began to rain out, taking occasional local effect upon both of them.

Finally Andra looked up with an air of triumph.  “It tak’s ye a’ yer time to grup them on the dry land, I’m thinkin’,” said he with some fine scorn; “ye had better try the paddocks.  It’s safer.”  So, shaking himself like a water-dog, he climbed up on the grass, where he collected the fish into a large fishing basket which Winsome had brought.  He looked them over and said, as he handled one of them: 

“Oh, ye’re there, are ye?  I kenned I wad get ye some day, impidence.  Ye hae nae business i’ this pool ony way.  Ye belang half a mile faurer up, my lad; ye’ll bite aff nae mair o’ my heuks.  There maun be three o’ them i’ his guts the noo—­”

Here Winsome looked a meaning look at him, upon which Andra said: 

“I’m juist gaun.  Ye needna tell me that it’s kye-time.  See you an’ be hame to tak’ in yer grannie’s tea.  Ye’re mair likely to be ahint yer time than me!”

Haying sped this Parthian shaft, Andra betook himself over the moor with his backful of spoil.

CHAPTER XXV.

Barriers breaking.

“Andra is completely spoiled,” exclaimed Winsome; “he is a clever boy, and I fear we have given him too much of his own will.  Only Jess can manage him.”

Winsome felt the reference to be somewhat unfortunate.  It was, of course, no matter to her whether a servant lass put a flower in Ralph Peden’s coat; though, even as she said it, she owned to herself that Jess was different from other servant maids, both by nature and that quickness of tongue which she had learned when abroad.

Still, the piquant resentment Winsome felt, gave just that touch, of waywardness and caprice which was needed to make her altogether charming to Ralph, whose acquaintance with women had been chiefly with those of his father’s flock, who buzzed about him everywhere in a ferment of admiration.

“Your feet are wet,” said Winsome, with charming anxiety.

Andra was assuredly now far over the moor.  They had rounded the jutting point of rock which shut in the linn, and were now walking slowly along the burnside, with the misty sunlight shining upon them, with a glistering and suffused green of fresh leaf sap in its glow.  So down that glen many lovers had walked before.

Ralph’s heart beat at the tone of Winsome’s inquiry.  He hastened to assure her that, as a matter of personal liking, he rather preferred to go with his feet wet in the summer season.

“Do you know,” said Winsome, confidingly, “that if I dared I would run barefoot over the grass even yet.  I remember to this day the happiness of taking off my stockings when I came home from the Keswick school, and racing over the fresh grass to feel the daisies underfoot.  I could do it yet.”