this kitchen without some man body coming in half drowned to mess
up my clean floor! However did you go and drop yourself in the
burn, Alan McRae? 'Deed and I wonder that your mother lets you go
out alone, you're that careless with yourself. And you not long
out of a sick bed, too."

"He was guddling for trout," shouted Jock and Sandy in one
breath; "and the hole was deep. There was no one sitting on him,
and syne over he went!"

Jean seized Alan by the shoulder and drew him into the kitchen,
and set him to drip on the hearth while she gave her orders.

"Jock, do you fill the basin with warm water, and you, Sandy, put
more peat on the fire. He must have a rinse with hot water and
something hot to drink."

"What'll he do for clothes?" cried Jock.

"Dinna fash yourself about clothes," said Jean, rummaging
furiously in the "kist." "I'm laying out Father's old kilts he
had when he was a boy. He can put them on till his own things are
dry. Here's a towel for you," she added, tossing one to Alan.
"Rub yourself down well, and when you've dressed, just give a
chap at the door, and I'll come in and get you a sup of tea."

Then she disappeared. You can imagine what the kitchen looked
like when she came back again. Alan's wet clothes were spread out
on her father's chair by the fire, and Alan, gorgeous in his
plaid kiltie, was strutting back and forth giving an imitation of