Once when the house had been upset by illness, and trained nurses were
in occupation, Jean had rung the bell repeatedly, and, receiving no
answer, had gone to the kitchen. There she found the Mhor, then a very
small boy, seated on a chair playing a mouth-organ, while Mrs. M'Cosh,
her skirts held coquettishly aloft, danced a few steps to the music.
Jean--being Jean--had withdrawn unnoticed and slipped upstairs to the
sick-room much cheered by the sight of such detachment.

Mrs. M'Cosh had been eight years with the Jardines and was in many ways
such a treasure, and always such an amusement, that they would not have
parted from her for much red gold.

"Bella Bathgate's expectin' her lodger the morn." The tea-tray was ready
to be carried away, but Mrs. M'Cosh lingered.

"Oh, is she?" said Jean. "Who is it that's coming?"

"I canna mind the exact name, but she's ca'ed the Honourable an' she's
bringin' a leddy's maid."

"Gosh, Maggie!" ejaculated Jock.

"I asked you not to say that, Jock," Jean reminded him.

"Ay," Mrs. M'Cosh continued, "Bella Bathgate's kinna pit oot aboot it.
She disna ken how she's to cook for an Honourable--she niver saw yin."

"Have you seen one?" Jock asked.