"Well, come straight back. Good-bye, Mr. Reid. I'm so glad you came to
see The Rigs, but I wish you could have stayed...."

"Is he an old friend?" Pamela asked, when the cavalcade had departed.

"I never saw him before to-day. He once lived in this house and he came
back to see it, and he looks ill and I think he is poor, so I asked him
to come and stay with us for a week."

"My dear child, do you invite every stranger to stay with you if you
think he is poor?"

"Of course not. But he looked so lonely and lost somehow, and he doesn't
seem to have anyone belonging to him, and I was sorry for him."

"And so you gave him that song-book you value so much?"

"Yes," said Jean, looking rather ashamed. "But," she brightened, "he
seemed pleased, don't you think? It's a pretty song, 'Strathairlie,' but
it's not a _pukka_ old one--it's early Victorian."

"Miss Jean, it's a marvel to me that you have anything left belonging to
you."

"Don't call me Miss Jean!"

"Jean, then; but you must call me Pamela."

"Oh, but wouldn't that be rather familiar? You see, you are so--so--"