continued Mistress Walter Skirving anxiously.

"Indeed, grandmother, I said nothing--" began Winsome.

"Haud yer tongue, Deil's i' the lassie, he'll be comin' here.
Maybes he's comin' up the loan this verra meenit. Get me my best
kep [cap], the French yin o' Flanders lawn trimmed wi' Valenceenes
lace that Captain Wildfeather, of his Majesty's--But na, I'll no
think o' thae times, I canna bear to think o' them wi' ony
complaisance ava. But bring me my kep--haste ye fast, lassie!"

Obediently Winsome went to her grandmother's bedroom and drew from
under the bed the "mutch" box lined with pale green paper,
patterned with faded pink roses. She did not smile when she drew
it out. She was accustomed to her grandmother's ways. She too
often felt the cavalier looking out from under her Puritan
teaching; for the wild strain of the Gordon blood held true to its
kind, and Winsome's grandmother had been a Gordon at Lochenkit,
whose father had ridden with Kenmure in the great rebellion.

When she brought the white goffered mutch with its plaits and
puckers, granny tried it on in various ways, Winsome meanwhile
holding a small mirror before her.

"As I was sayin', I renounced thinkin' aboot the vanities o' youth
langsyne. Aye, it'll be forty years sin'--for ye maun mind that I
was marriet whan but a lassie. Aye me, it's forty-five years since
Ailie Gordon, as I was then, wed wi' Walter Skirving o' Craig
Ronald (noo o' his ain chammer neuk, puir man, for he'll never
leave it mair)," added she with a brisk kind of acknowledgment