The herald., 1897-11-14

stepped in meditation, by the whisper
ing rushes of the water-side.
Yet what simpleton he was,-and
mayhap that was what made me love
him the more!
For about this time there began the
matter of little Jean Gemmell, soft
voiced, die-away lass that / would not
have troubled my head a moment about.
She had. truth to tell, set herself to
catch our foolish Quintin, whose heart
was fully given to another. And how
she did it, let himself tell.
But between my bother's ill-starred
wooing of the bonny lass of Earlstoun,
and Jean Gemmells meek-eyed court
ship of him, 1 also had been doing
somewhat on mine own account For
AleXander-Jonita was a quest worth
some enterprising to obtain.
l remember the first night that ever
spoke to her word beyond the common
greetings and salutations.
1t was clear night in early June. l
had been over at Ardarroch seeing my
my mother. and now having passed
high up the Black Water of Dee, was
making my way across the rugged fells
and dark heathery Businesses to the
manse of Balmag ghe.
Suddenly a gun went off, as it seemed
in my very ear. l sprang a foot into
the air, for who, on honorable business,
would discharge a musket in that wild
place at such a time?
! But ere had time to think above me
on the ridge figure stood black against
the sky-a girls shape it was, slim, TALL
erect. She carried something in one
hand which trailed on the heather and
musket was over her shoulder, muz-
zle down.
1 had not yet recovered my breath
when a voice came to me.
"Ah, Hob Mac Clellan, the ill dell
TAX your courting-jaunts this nicht!
For had ye hidden at hame I would
have gotten both the red foxes that
have been killing our weakly lambs. AS
it is, 1 gat but this
And she held up a great dog fox by
the brush before throwing the body in
to a convenient moss-hole.
1t was Alexander-Jonita, the lass
whom our college-bred Quintin had
once called the Diana of Balmaghie.
Are you going home, Jonta?" cried
I, for the direction in which she was
going led directly from the house of
Drumglass.
NO" she answered, carelessly, II am
biding all night in the upper buchts.
/ The foxes have been very troublesome
lately and l am thinning them with the
gun l have most of the lambs penned
up there"
but, lassie' I cried. "ye surely do
not sleep out on the hills like this,"
"And what for no?" she answered,
sharply. What sweeter bed than a
truss of heather? What safer than
with two rough tykes Of dogs and a
good gun at ones elbow, with the airs
blowing over and the sheep lying about
the folds?"
"Jonita" said I, "does your sister
never come hither with you?"
"Who-our Jean?" she cried, aston
ished, faith, no! Jean takes better
with the inside of a box-bed and the
warmth of the peat on the hearth. And
indeed the lass is not over strong. But
as for me, love the chunnering of the
wild fowl in their nests and the bleat
of the sheep. These are honey and
sweetness to me-"
AS | stood there on the rough stones
of the sheep-fold, and looked at the
slight figure sitting frankly and easily
beside me, thinking as ! knew no more
of the things of love than If had been
a neighbor lad of the hills, a kind Of
jealous anger came over me.
"Jonita,' said I, had ye never a
lad?"
"Bah." she replied, lads are like the
pebbles in the brook, run smooth with
many experiences courtng here and
fattering there. What care l whether
or no this one or that comes chapping
at my door? Besides, are there not the
hills and the winds and the clear stars
over all better than thousand sweet
hearts?"
But" I urged, "the day will come.
Jonita, when you may be glad Of the
friends voice, the kindly eye, the help
ing hand, the arm beneath the head"
II did not say that I desired to have
no friends she said, as it seemed in
the darkness, little shyly.