"You're going to stay to tea, aren't you? Would you mind coming with me
just now to look at the puddock-stools? It might be too dark after tea.
Here is your hat."

"But I'm not staying to tea," cried the unhappy owner of The Rigs. Why,
he asked himself had he not told them at once that he was their
landlord? A connection! Fool that he was! He would say it now--"I only
came--"

"It was very nice of you to come," said Jean soothingly. "But, Mhor,
don't worry Mr. Reid. Everybody hasn't your passion for puddock-stools."

"But you would like to see them," Mhor assured him. "I'm going to fill a
bowl with chucky-stones and moss and stick the puddock-stools among them
and make a fairy garden for Jean. And if I can find any more I'll make
one for the Honourable; she is very kind about giving me chocolates."

They were out of doors by this time, and Mhor was pointing out the
glories of the garden.

"You see, we have a burn in our garden with a little bridge over it;
almost no one else has a burn and a bridge of their very own. There are
minnows in it and all sorts of things--water-beetles, you know. _And
here are my puddock-stools._"

When Mr. Reid came back from the garden Mhor had firm hold of his hand
and was telling him a long story about a "mavis-bird" that the cat had
caught and eaten.

"Tea's ready," he said, as they entered the room; "you can't go away