If I asked her some questions between the hill and Windyghoul you must not blame me, for this was my affair as well as theirs.  She did not answer me; I know now that she did not hear me.  But at the mud house she looked abruptly into my face, and said—­

“You love him, too!”

I trudged to the school-house with these words for company, and it was less her discovery than her confession that tortured me.  How much I slept that night you may guess.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Contains A birth, which is sufficient for one chapter.

“The kirk bell will soon be ringing,” Nanny said on the following morning, as she placed herself carefully on a stool, one hand holding her Bible and the other wandering complacently over her aged merino gown.  “Ay, lassie, though you’re only an Egyptian I would hae ta’en you wi’ me to hear Mr. Duthie, but it’s speiring ower muckle o’ a woman to expect her to gang to the kirk in her ilka day claethes.”

The Babbie of yesterday would have laughed at this, but the new Babbie sighed.

“I wonder you don’t go to Mr. Dishart’s church now.  Nanny,” she said, gently.  “I am sure you prefer him.”

“Babbie, Babbie,” exclaimed Nanny, with spirit, “may I never be so far left to mysel’ as to change my kirk just because I like another minister better!  It’s easy seen, lassie, that you ken little o’ religious questions.”

“Very little,” Babbie admitted, sadly.

“But dinna ba so waeful about it,” the old woman continued, kindly, “for that’s no nane like you.  Ay, and if you see muckle mair o’ Mr. Dishart he’ll soon cure your ignorance.”

“I shall not see much more of him,” Babbie answered, with averted head.

“The like o’ you couldna expect it,” Nanny said, simply, whereupon Babbie went to the window.  “I had better be stepping,” Nanny said, rising, “for I am aye late unless I’m on the hill by the time the bell begins.  Ay, Babbie, I’m doubting my merino’s no sair in the fashion?”

She looked down at her dress half despondently, and yet with some pride.

“It was fowerpence the yard, and no less,” she went on, fondling the worn merino, “when we bocht it at Sam’l Curr’s.  Ay, but it has been turned sax times since syne.”

She sighed, and Babbie came to her and put her arms round her, saying, “Nanny, you are a dear.”

“I’m a gey auld-farrant-looking dear, I doubt,” said Nanny, ruefully.

“Now, Nanny,” rejoined Babbie, “you are just wanting me to flatter you.  You know the merino looks very nice.”

“It’s a guid merino yet,” admitted the old woman, “but, oh, Babbie, what does the material matter if the cut isna fashionable?  It’s fine, isn’t it, to be in the fashion?”

She spoke so wistfully that, instead of smiling, Babbie kissed her.

“I am afraid to lay hand on the merino, Nanny, but give me off your bonnet and I’ll make it ten years younger in as many minutes.”