"Good morning, Malcolm," said Mrs Courthope, when she turned and
saw whose shadow fell on the marble floor. "What have you brought
me?"

"A fine salmon troot, mem. But gien ye had hard boo Mistress
Catanach flytit (scolded) at me 'cause I wadna gie't to her! You
wad hae thocht, mem, she was something no canny--the w'y 'at she
first beggit, an' syne fleecht (flattered), an syne a' but banned
an' swore."

"She's a peculiar person, that, Malcolm. Those are nice whitings.
I don't care about the trout. Just take it to her as you go back."

"I doobt gien she'll take it, mem. She's an awfu' vengefu' cratur,
fowk says."

"You remind me, Malcolm," returned Mrs Courthope, "that I'm not at
ease about your grandfather. He is not in a Christian frame of mind
at all--and he is an old man too. If we don't forgive our enemies,
you know, the Bible plainly tells us we shall not be forgiven
ourselves."

"I'm thinkin' it was a greater nor the Bible said that, mem,"
returned Malcolm, who was an apt pupil of Mr Graham. "But ye'll be
meanin' Cawmill o' Glenlyon," he went on with a smile. "It canna
maitter muckle to him whether my gran'father forgie him or no,
seein' he's been deid this hunner year."

"It's not Campbell of Glenlyon, it's your grandfather I am anxious