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der waist. Her soft brown hair is bound with a ribbon just a little darker than itself, and her eyes are cast down upon her work, so that you cannot perceive how dark their blue has grown, until, suddenly startled by a voice without, she lifts them to throw a hurried glance towards the door, where even now appears the little splendid Katie, with Philip Landale and his riding-whip close behind.

Over Isabell's lip there escapes a half-audible sigh. Little Katie, then, is first with Philip Landale too.

"And were ye at the marriage, bairn?" inquired Mrs Stewart; " and was't awfu' grand ?—and how did the prelatic minister do?

"And eh, Katie!" exclaimed Janet, pressing forward with her mealy hands, "what a' had Lady Betty on?"

"She had on a grand gown, a' trimmed wi' point-lace, and a white satin petticoat, and the grandest spangles and gum-flowers on her train; but oh, mother," said little Katie, "Lady Janet's run away!"

"Run away! What are ye meaning, ye monkey?" said Mrs Stewart. "The_night_before last, when it was dark, and a'body in their beds, I saw Lady Janet gang down through the gallery, out of her ain room; and she had on her riding-skirt, and was looking awfu' white, like as if her heart would break; and no lang after the haill house was up, and she was away."

"Keep me! - the night before her sister was married! Was she in her right mind, think ye?" said Mrs Stewart.

"Had she cast out with them? Where would she go, Katie?" said Isabell.

"Eh, wha did she rin away with?" asked the experienced Janet.

"It was with Sir Robert. She's married now, mother, as well as Lady Betty," said Katie; "but I dinna think she was glad."

Janet laughed, but no one else ventured to join her.

"Glad! it would ill set her, leaving her faither's house in such a like manner. Gae way to your baking, Janet, ye haverel," said Mrs Stewart. "My certy, Katie, lass, but you're a

grand lady, wi' your white ribbons and your new gown. I'll no have ye coming to my quiet house, to set Isabell and Janet daft about the fashions."

"But Isabell has as braw a cloak as me, mother," said Katie, complacently looking down upon her ruffled black silk mantle as she took it off.

"And cambric ruffles, nae less!dead-fine cambric! Weel, my woman, see ye guide them weel; for, except ye hae a man o' your ain to work for ye, ye'll no get mony cambric frills out of Kellie Mill."

"The beauties of the Milton have less need than most folk of ruffles or braws," modestly said the young laird.

"Eh, Kilbrachmont, haud your peace, and dinna pit havers in their heads. There's plenty pride in the nature o' them, without helping't out wi' flattery. Beauties o' the Milton, said he! I mind twa lassies anceay, just mysel and Maisdry, my sister, if ye will hae't, Katie-that were as weel-favoured as ever stood in your shoon; and didna want folk to tell us that, either, ony mair than our neighbours; but ne'er a body beautied

us."

"No for want o' will," insinuated the young yeoman; "and if they ca'ed ye not beauty, it might be because they had a bonnier word."

"Weel, I'll no say," said the little comely house-mother, with a slight elevation of her head. "Sit down to the wheel, Katie, and gie it a ca' the time I'm in the aumrie. What's to come of this lassie, I ken not; for ne'er a decent-like thing is she learned to do. Na, Lady Anne hersel is never held in such idleset; and what will ye do, ye monkey, if ye ever get a man and a house of your ain?"

"I'll gar him keep maids to me, and buy me bonnie things," retorted little Katie, taking her seat at the wheel.

"Keep maids to ye? Set ye up! If ye're e'en as weel off as your mother was before ye, I'll say it's mair than ye've ony right to expect; for I'll wad ye a pair of new ruffles, I was worth half-a-dizzen hired women the first day I steppit on my ain hearthstane, baith to my man and mysel; and ye'll ne'er be worthy o' the like o'

your faither, John Stewart, Katie, or else I'm sair mista'en."

Little Katie turned the wheel with petulant haste, and pouted. John Stewart !-yonder he stands, honest man, with his broad bonnet shading his ruddy face, newly returned from the market-spruce, and in his Sabbath dress. But Katie thinks of the Honourable Andrew Colville, and the grand English Sir Edward, who had been at Lady Betty's marriage the day before; and instinctively the little beauty draws herself up, and thinks of Peggie in the Gentle Shepherd, and many a heroine more; for Katie now knows, quite as well as Lady Anne, that the Erskines, though they are an earl's daughters, will never look a twentieth part so well as the three sisters of Kellie Mill.

"I think some ane has sent Kilbrachmont here on an errand, and the puir lad has lost mind o't on the road," said Janet, now coming forward with her dress smoothed down, and her hands no longer covered with meal. "Maister Philip Landale, let a-be that clue; and Isabell there, she never sees that she's lost it out of her lap."

Young Landale started from his reverie. "Troth, I saw nae clue, Janet ye've quicker e'en than me."

"There it is, and the guid yarn a' twisted in that lang whip o' yours. What gars ye bring such things into the house? Isabell, canna ye mind your ain wark, and no hae folk aye needing to look after ye? There, its broken! and ye'll need anither fastening in that heel."

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Weel, Janet, I'll fash_naebody," said Isabell, quietly gathering up into her lap the clue, with its long ravelled end.

"It ought to be me that got the trouble," said young Landale, shyly, looking at the elder sister; "for I hear mair folk than Janet say my whip's aye in the gait; but it's just a custom, ye see."

"When ye dinna ken what to say," suggested the malicious Janet.

"Weel, maybe ye're no far wrang," said young Kilbrachmont, again casting a sidelong glance at Isabell, whom he had not yet directly addressed. "I'm no that ill at speaking in most houses; but for a' the minister says,

ye'll no convince me that the fairy glamour is clean gane from this world, or ever will be; for ane can speak ready enough when ane doesna care twa straes what folk think o't; while in anither place we make fuils o' oursels beyond remeid, out of pure anxiousness to look weel in somebody's een. It just maun be, I would say, a witchcraft somegate in the air."

Isabell had never looked up; for this turning of the heel, be it known to the ignorant, is a crisis in the history of a stocking; but her usually pale forehead was crimson to the hair, and her eyelids drooped heavily as she bent over her work, which was particularly complicated just now, as several loops had dropt, and it was no easy job, with those nervous fingers of hers, to gather them up again.

"I see the guidman, Kilbrachmont," said Mrs Stewart, at last emerging from behind the carved door of the aumrie with a large square bottle in her hand. "It's weel he's come in time to countenance ye with your dram, amang a' us womenfolk; and it's real Hollandsgrand stuff, they tell me, though I'm nae judge mysel."

"No that ill-no that ill, guidwife," said the miller, as he entered. "I would take a guid stoup on your warranty, though ye are naething but a woman. Guid e'en to ye, Kilbrachmont; but is this a' ye're to gi'e us to our fourhours, Bell?"

"I'm gaun to make some tea for the bairns and me; but ye'll no heed about that," said the house-mother. "And, man, John, do ye no see Katie in a' her braws?

"How's a' wi' ye, lassie?" said the father kindly. "But I wadna ken ye to be a bairn of mine, if I didna see the bit face. And, Katie, if onybody says ye're owre braw to be the Miller of Kellie's daughter, aye do you tell them you're owre bonnie to be onybody's else."

"Hear to his vanity! As if onybody could see a feature of him in the bairn's haill face!" cried Mrs Stewart.

But little Katie sat in meditative silence, and turned her wheel. The wheel was a light one, and handsomely made—a chef-d'œuvre of the

country wright, who, among many more, was a candidate for the favour of Janet Stewart. This pretty wheel was the musical instrument of Kellie Mill. Enter the room when you would at early morning, or when the maker of it and his rivals stole in at night, to form a lingering group round the ruddy centre of the kitchen, made bright by the light from the fireplace you always heard the soft whirr of the wheel, brought to a climax now and then by the sharp slipping of the band, or lengthened hum with which it rebounded when all the yarn was spun. In silence now at the wheel sits little Katie, passing the thread dreamily through her fingers, and taking in all they say, only half-conscious that she does so, into her mind the while.

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"There's nae news, Janet-nae news particular I hear o' in Anster,' said the miller, in answer to several inquiries; "but I saw Beelye Oliphant doun-by; he was asking kindly for ye a', and special for Isabell."

There was no answer; the flush fled in a moment from Isabell's cheeks, and other loops were dropt in her stocking. Janet alone ventured to laugh, and again the long cord of young Kilbrachmont's whip began to curl uneasily about the floor.

"The like of that man for sense is no to be found, I'll take my aith o't, in the haill kingdom of Fife," said John Stewart with emphasis.

"Weel, miller, weel," said young Landale hastily, "naebody says onything against it. No mony thanks to him; he's as auld as Kellie Law, and

what should ail him to be sensible? Its the special quality folk look for in auld men."

"They dinna aye get it, though," said the miller. "They're selling that tea-water, Isabell, for sixpence a cup in Sillerdyke, and muckle the fisher lads yonderawa' think o't for a treat, ye may suppose; but I didna think you would thole such wastry in this house."

"Mind you your mill, guidman— I'll mind the house," said his wife significantly, "and we'll see whilk ane of us has the maist maistry owre our dominions at the year's end. I got the tea in a present, and Katie comesna ilka day. Make your toddy, John Stewart, and haud your peace.'

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"Aweel, aweel-nocht's to be won at woman's hand," said the miller. "Draw in your chair, Kilbrachmont, and gi'e us your news. Hout, man, ye're in nae hurry?

"Weel," said Landale, with very indifferently assumed reluctance, "if ye will keep me, I can give Katie a convoy to Kellie gate."

Katie! A cloud fell again, dimly, sadly, over the face of Isabell. A moment before there had been a tremulous happiness upon it, not usual to see there. Now she cast a wistful affectionate look at the little pretty sister musing over the wheel, and drawing the thread slowly through her hand. There is no envy in the look, and Katie, suddenly glancing up, meets it with wondering eyes-sorrowful, inquiring-Whence have you this magic, little sister? How is it that they all love you?

CHAPTER VI.

"I think he's courting our Isabell," said Katie softly to herself, as the young laird of Kilbrachmont left her at Kellie gate. The night was frosty and the stars clear. Faint light and faint shadow fell across that homeward path of hers, for there was no moon to define the great trees on either side of the way; but a very little mysterious wind went whispering in and out among the boughs, with a faint echoing sigh, as though it said, "Poor me!" Katie was

used to those long, still, solitary roads; but a little thrill of natural timidity made her hurry through the dark avenue, and long to see the light from the uncurtained window of the west room; and the same feeling prompted her anxious endeavour to occupy her mind and thoughts with something definite, and so keep away from her memory the eerie stories which abounded then about all rural places even more than they do now.

"He's courting our Isabell," re

peated Katie, under her breath, labouring to fix upon this proposition those discursive thoughts which would bring back to her mind the popular ghost of one of the little coast towns in the neighbourhood. Only a month ago, Davie Steele, Bauby Rodger's sister's husband, had seen the Red Slippers in Pittenweem; and Katie's heart leaped to her lips as something rustled on the ground a little way before her, and she paused in terror lest these very Red Slippers should be taking their ghostly exercise by her side; but it was only a great, stiff, red oak leaf, which the new bud had thrust forth from the branch to which all the winter it had clung with the tenacious grasp of death; and, quickening her pace still a little, Katie hurried on.

But the fact that young Kilbrachmont had designs on Isabell was not of sufficient interest to keep her mind engaged, and Katie began to sing to herself softly as she went, half-running, over the solitary way. The song was about Strephon and Chloe, after the fashion of the time; but the air was a sweet Lowland one, and there were pretty lines in the verses, though they did come too distinctly from Arcadia. As she sang, her heart beat placidly, and usual fancies returned again to her mind-the grand English Sir Edward, the Honourable Andrew; but a grander Sir Edward -a more accomplished, handsomer, blither, loftier gentleman-was yet to come, attended by all imaginary splendours, to make a lady of little Katie Stewart.

There now is the light from the west room, cheering the young wayfarer; and now Bauby Rodger's very real and unsentimental voice calls from a little side-entrance to Mally, one of the maids in the kitchen pected at present to be keep behind the garden

nitary of the little town of Anstruther, on the coast-a man of substance and influence in his sphere; and John Stewart has been for some time coquetting with him about another Mill-town, very near Anstruther, of which the bailie is landlord, and which the miller thinks would be a better speculation than this mill at Kellie. Unfortunately, in the course of these transactions about the mill, the respectable bailie has seen Isabell Stewart, and the old man thinks she would make a "douce" dignified wife, worthy the lands and tenements with which he could endow her. So also thinks the miller; and Isabell has heard so much on the subject, that her heart is near the breaking sometimes, especially when Philip Landale steals in, in the evening, and hears it all, and plays with his whip, and speaks to no one.

But it is only for a few minutes that Katie can afford to think of, or be sorry for, the pale face of her elder sister; and now she has emerged from the avenue, and Bauby Rodger, springing out from the side-door and the darkness, pounces upon the little wanderer like a great lion upon a mouse.

"Is this you, Mally? Ye little cuttie! to have lads about the house at this hour at e'en, as soon as ever Lady Betty's away."

"It's me, Bauby," indignantly interrupted the little belle.

"It's you? Bless me, Miss Katie, wha was to ken in the dark? Come in-by, like a guid bairn. Lady Anne's been wearying sair, and so has Lordie-but that cutty Mally!" "She canna hear ye-never heed Bauby, is the Lady in the west

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"Ay, she asked me; but I didna behove to do it, for a' that, unless I had likit; and weel Lady Betty kent I didna like; but for the sake of Lady Anne and you"-And Bauby lifted her apron to her eyes-" Lady Janet away, and Lady Betty away, and no a body loot do their ain pleasure in a' the house. Here's me, stayed for nae ither reason but to mind her, and I'm no to be Lady Anne's maid after a'!"

"Eh, Bauby!"

"It's as sure as I'm living; and Lady Anne's that quiet a thing hersell, that ane never kens whether she wants ane or no; and she hasna the spunk to say right out that she'll hae naebody but me!"

"But she has, though," said Katie Stewart; "yes, she has-or if she hasna, I'll make her, Bauby."

"Weel, dinna get up wi' that bit passion of yours. Ye're a guid bairn -ye make folk do what you like, Miss Katie; but gang away up the stair now, and ye'll get milk sowens to your supper, and I'll serve ye in the west room mysel."

Eagerly Katie sprang up stairs, and went bounding along the dark gallery, full of her commission, and determined that Bauby Rodger, and none but she, let Lady Erskine struggle as she would, should be Lady Anne's maid.

Little Lord Erskine (whose name of Lordie had its origin in Bauby's exclamation, uttered when she carried him up the great staircase on his arrival at Kellie, that he was a wee wee Lordie, without doubt) sat again on the low chair in front of the fire in the west room. The seat was so large, that as the child leaned back on it, his small feet in their silverbuckled shoes were just on a level with the edge of the chair. By his side, in a corner, sat the quiet Lady Anne, vainly trying to reduce his tone, and preserve her hair and dress from his hands; but Lordie set himself firmly on his seat, and tugged at her lace ruffles, and threatened instant destruction to the hair, which the tall, full-grown girl already began to have combed up into a tower, as mature people wore it at the time. A faint remonstrance now and then was all that Lady Anne could utter:

the young gentleman kept up the conversation himself.

"What way is Katie Stewart staying so long? What way do you let her stay, Aunt Anne? Mamma wouldna let her; and I want Katie Stewart-I dinna like you-I want Katie Stewart!"

"And you've gotten Katie Stewart, Lordie," exclaimed Katie, out of breath, as she laid her hands on his shoulders, and shook him slightly; "but I couldna be so good to you as Lady Anne is; for if I was Lady Anne, I would lick you."

"Naebody daur lick me-for I'll be the Earl of Kellie," said Lordie. "You're only a little bairn," said Katie Stewart.

"Ay, but he will be the Earl of Kellie, Katie,” said Lady Anne, drawing herself up with a little family pride. "Lordie will be the sixth Earl, and the chief of the house."

"But if he's no a good bairn, he'll be an ill man," said Katie meditatively, leaning upon the back of the chair, and looking down upon the spoiled child; "and a' the grand gentlemen in books are grand in their manners, and aye speak low, and bow; and the Master of Colville did that when Lady Betty was married, and so did the English gentleman; but Lordie aye speaks as loud, and makes as muckle noise, as Robert Tosh's bairns in Arncreoch."

"You forget who you're speaking to, Katie Stewart," said Lady Anne.

Katie was flushed with her walk, and her hooded mantle hung half off her little handsome figure, as she bent her head over Lordie's chair, with her face bright, animated, and full of expression; but withdrawn in the corner sat the pale Lady Anne, her tall thin figure drawn up, and her homely features looking less amiable than ordinary, through the veil of this unusual pride. Brightly the firelight sparkled in Katie's sunny hair and shining eyes, but left in the shadow, cold and pale, the colourless face of her young patroness.

Katie looked up, as children do when they cannot understand that you mean to reprove them—with a half wondering smile; a check of any kind was so unusual to her. Lady

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