ceased, chairs were pushed back, and a heavy step approached. David
opened the door himself.

"Eh! Maister Sutherlan'," said he, "I thocht it micht aiblins be
yersel. Ye're welcome, sir. Come butt the hoose. Our place is but
sma', but ye'll no min' sitttin' doon wi' our ain sels. Janet,
ooman, this is Maister Sutherlan'. Maggy, my doo, he's a frien' o'
yours, o' a day auld, already. Ye're kindly welcome, Maister
Sutherlan'. I'm sure it's verra kin' o' you to come an' see the
like o' huz."

As Hugh entered, he saw his own bright volume lying on the table,
evidently that from which David had just been reading.

Margaret had already placed for him a cushioned arm-chair, the only
comfortable one in the house; and presently, the table being drawn
back, they were all seated round the peat-fire on the hearth, the
best sort for keeping feet warm at least. On the crook, or hooked
iron-chain suspended within the chimney, hung a three-footed pot, in
which potatoes were boiling away merrily for supper. By the side of
the wide chimney, or more properly lum, hung an iron lamp, of an old
classical form common to the country, from the beak of which
projected, almost horizontally, the lighted wick--the pith of a
rush. The light perched upon it was small but clear, and by it
David had been reading. Margaret sat right under it, upon a
creepie, or small three-legged wooden stool. Sitting thus, with the
light falling on her from above, Hugh could not help thinking she
looked very pretty. Almost the only object in the distance from
which the feeble light was reflected, was the patch-work counterpane
of a little bed filling a recess in the wall, fitted with doors