with me and look quietly on. And, indeed, the change will be doing
you good. I will just call for you, and speak to your father this
afternoon."

"Oh, I don't know, Mrs. Boyle. I hardly think I ought."

"Hoots, lassie! Come away, then, into the milk-house."

Back among the overhanging willows stood the little whitewashed log
milkhouse, built over a little brook that gurgled clear and cool over
the gravelly floor.

"What a lovely place," said Margaret, stepping along the foot stones.

"Ay, it's clean and sweet," said Mrs. Boyle. "And that is what you most
need with the milk and butter."

She took up an earthen jar from the gravelly bed and filled the girl's
pail with buttermilk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Boyle. And now for that recipe for the scones."

"Och, yes!" said Mrs. Boyle. "There's no recipe at all. It is just this
way--" And she elucidated the mysteries of sconemaking.

"But they will not taste a bit like yours, I'm sure," cried Margaret, in
despair.

"Never you fear, lassie. You hurry away home now and get your dinner
past, and we will call for you on our way."