But the herd was a staunch Marrow man. He was not led away by any
human criticism, nor yet by the new theology.

"New Licht here, New Licht there," he said; "I canna' pairt wi' ma
deil. Na, na, that's ower muckle to expect o' a man o' my age!"

Having thus defined his theological position, without a word more
he threw his soft checked plaid of Galloway wool over his
shoulders, and fell into the herd's long swinging heather step,
mounting the steep brae up to his cot on the hillside as easily as
if he were walking along a level road.

There was a long silence; then a ringing sound, sudden and sharp,
and Ebie Farrish fell inexplicably from the axe-chipped hag-clog,
which he had rolled up to sit upon. Ebie had been wondering for
more than an hour what would happen if he put his arm round Jess
Kissock's waist. He knew now.

Then, after a little Saunders Mowdiewort, who was not unmindful of
his prearranged programme nor yet oblivious of the flight of time,
saw the stars come out, he knew that if he were to make any
progress, he must make haste; so he leaned over towards his
sweetheart and whispered, "Meg, my lass, ye're terrible bonny."

"D'ye think ye are the first man that has telled me that, cuif?"
said Meg, with point and emphasis.

Jock Forrest, the senior ploughman--a very quiet, sedate man with
a seldom stirred but pretty wit, laughed a short laugh, as though
he knew something about that. Again there was a silence, and as