It didn’t take Rose and Ruth a great while to pick up, once they were allowed out of bed. All the same, Marmie thought it best for them not to be too energetic in their amusements for a bit.

So, though the January weather was bright and not very cold, the two girls could not go riding yet, and at the earliest hint of sundown Marmie would come to the door and call them in.

“Come along, girlies. I’ve got a big piece of chocolate cake and a glass of milk for each of you, right before the fire. You can play indoors as much as you like, but the hens and you must be out of the cold when the sun slips behind the hill....”

And she waited for them, smiling, as they came back from feeding the chickens, a pail hanging between the two, their knitted red caps drawn tightly down round their faces, that were looking round and rosy again.

“Oh, goody! chocolate cake,” shouted both, skipping joyously and swinging the pail. “You sweet Marmie! Do you know, the old red hen laid an egg to-day, and so did the pullet that crows, and that Dad said never would be anything but a feminist. I guess he’ll be surprised!”

“I guess he will, and we’ll give him that egg for his breakfast to-morrow. But hurry in—I’m freezing.”

My gracious, but that cake and milk were good! The girls pretended they were two grown-up ladies, and that Ruth was visiting Rose, and they conversed in the most perfect manner while they ate and drank, being careful not to lose so much as a crumb.

They giggled a lot, too, but if you asked why I’m sure I don’t know, and I don’t believe they did. After all, that is the pleasantest kind of giggling, that just comes, as Rose once said, rolling up from inside you without your having anything to do with it.

So when Ruth said that she had been obliged to leave her six children at home because they all had chickenpox, both girls went off into a perfect gale of laughter. It was only when they stopped for breath that they heard the fairy’s voice, and it was all mixed up with laughter too, saying:

“What in the world are you two young ones laughing at? And if you’re having such a good time of course you won’t want to go visiting with me.”

At that they laughed again, all three of them, especially when Rose tried to explain why they were laughing. So she gave it up finally, which was easy since after all she didn’t know.

“Oh, Fairy Honeysqueak, I do wish we hadn’t eaten up all the cake, so that we could have had some for you. Do you like cake?”

“No, I usually take a little pollen and dew when I’m hungry,” replied the fairy. “Cake is too solid for my constitution. So don’t worry. And now where shall we go?”

After some excited conversation on that topic, it was decided that they would visit Di Vernon, whom the girls had long known in “Rob Roy.”

“You know she hasn’t any girls to play with either,” Rose reminded Ruth. “Only that great pack of stupid boy cousins. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see us, and I just love her.”

Whiff!!

And there they were, side by side, beside a noisy, rushing stream that leaped down small precipices and swirled round tiny promontories in the liveliest manner imaginable, now shining in the sun, now dark under shadowy copses or bending trees. A most delectable stream.

Wading about in one of the larger pools was a dark, pretty girl dressed in a short kilted skirt, with a gay plaid wrapped about her shoulders. Her black hair hung down her back in curls, tumbling from under a fetching cap with a long scarlet feather in it. She was kicking the water about with her feet and laughing. On the shore, beside her shoes and stockings, lay a rod and creel. “I came here to meet you,” she called, “and got weary waiting, after catching as fine a string of trout as any one would wish to see. Come, come down the bank and play in this fresh water a wee bit before we start back to Osbaldistone Hall, where we are to have a try with the falcons, so my uncle said.”

Rose and Ruth found themselves looking just as Scotch as the lassie before them, in plaid and kilted frocks. Down the little bank they scrambled, and off came shoes and stockings in a jiffy. Di opened her creel for them to see the shining catch, and begged them to try a cast in the pools above. But the two preferred to wade, especially as they hadn’t a notion how to fish with the artificial flies Di had been using.

“We fish with worms at home,” said Rose, “though Dad says he’s going to teach us fly fishing next summer. You must be a dandy at it.”

“I cannot allow my cousins to beat me at any such sport,” answered Di, as the three clambered up on a rock lying in mid-stream and squatted down to watch the racing water. “They box and wrestle and tramp, and jeer at me for not being expert in such matters, as though I had been born a huge ungainly boy. So when it comes to fishing or riding or falconry, I’ll not let them pass me.”

There was just a fascinating touch of Scotch brogue to Di’s speech. Ruth thought she was the loveliest creature she had ever seen, with the clear colour shining in her cheeks, her clustering curls, her flaming sun-brown eyes and graceful, slender body.

“Is it far to your home from here?” she asked.

“Just a bit climb and a run down into the glen. Let’s be off, for bonnie as this burn is it’s time we were thinking of dinner.”

What a tramp that was, under the spreading trees near the brook, up to a heathy hill where the air was sweet as honey and the butterflies rocked over the flowers that crowded every step of the way! Di pointed out the Cheviot hills, rising high, huge rounded domes, desolate and frowning but wonderfully picturesque.

From the hilltop the girls looked down on Osbaldistone Hall, a fine old building that seemed to be of huge size, peeping out here and there from behind the splendid grove of oaks that crowded close upon it. A narrow footpath led down the slope into the glen, and Di led the way along this at a dancing pace.

Diana took her two friends toward the Hall by way of an ancient garden guarded by high hedges of holly, between which ran narrow grassy paths, giving every now and then on open spaces where once there had been carefully tended flowerbeds. Now these were overrun with weeds, but the hardy perennials that yet struggled there managed to bring to bloom many a lovely flower. Larkspur and Canterbury-bells, marigold and late roses made the garden sweet and bright, and both the young Americans kept exclaiming with joy over the pretty sight.

“Do you love flowers?” Di wanted to know. “Are they not delightful, and the more so, I think, for this neglect? We will return here later if there be time, but now we must make our way to the dining-hall or uncle will begin to bluster.”

Passing through an arched stone passage, they came out into a square courtyard surrounded on all sides by the massive old Hall. Doorways and windows opened to this court, and servants were scurrying across it. Diana crossed it and led on through a maze of vaulted hallways until, passing through a great double door, they came out into a long room, also vaulted, paved with stone, with a mighty fireplace at one end, in which, for all it was warm summer outside, a fire crackled and flamed. Heavy oak tables were set for the meal, and just as the girls entered at one side, a crowd of men and boys tumbled in at the other, laughing and shouting and calling commands to a dozen dogs who poured in with them. When the boys saw Rose and Ruth, however, they immediately fell silent, staring half-sullenly, half-shyly in their direction, and shuffling forward awkwardly to their seats.

“These are my cousins, and you can see their manners are hardly polished,” said Di, somewhat scornfully. “But here comes my uncle; we will go and greet him if the dogs will let us be heard.”

Sir Hildebrand came in at that moment, a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man in a green cloth suit that would have been magnificent if it had not been shabby. He was shouting at two of his hounds, and flourishing a riding whip. It seemed to Rose and Ruth that never in this world had they heard so astounding a racket as echoed and roared under the vaulted stone roof. Di moved along unconcerned through it all, and they after her. As they reached the baronet he looked down at them with a quick, attractive smile:

“Well, Di, my girl, any one been bothering you—none shall cross my Di,” he cried in a big hearty voice.

“Nay, Uncle, every one treats me with the greatest respect. But here be two friends of mine I would have you welcome to Osbaldistone Hall.”

No sooner said than done, and the baronet made the two sisters welcome in a jovial way, telling them to eat their fill at his board and to consider his roof their own for as long as they chose.

“It shall ne’er be said that Di, the only female in Osbaldistone Hall, couldna’ ha’ her will here. All friends of hers are friends o’ mine and my sons’.”

The dinner, plentiful and confused, with servants bringing in and taking out dishes and filling glasses, all the while exchanging remarks with the herd of young men as well as with the laird himself, went on to a prodigious din. The dogs yelped, knives and forks rattled. As the brothers lost their early shyness of Rose and Ruth they addressed remarks across them to each other, all having to do with riding or hunting in some form. Di regarded these youths with a mingling of amusement and scorn, while they were evidently afraid of her quick tongue. The youngest boy, who seemed not more than a year or so older than she, she left alone, however. He was an odd, unattractive, squat figure of a boy, but there was an air of ease and self-possession about him that was very different from the rough, ungainly bearing of his older brothers.

Dinner was hurried over, so that the party might get away for the sport with the falcons.

Sir Hildebrand wanted to know whether the two girls were fond of hawking, and good at it. But they told him they didn’t even know what he meant.

“Know nought of hawking!” exclaimed the baronet, evidently vastly astonished. “Well, well! Ye should see Di at it—eh, but she’s a wonder.”

In the courtyard a number of horses waited, saddled and bridled, and a couple of fine pointers ran round, nosing and barking eagerly. Di ordered one of her cousins to help her two friends on their horses, while Sir Hildebrand did the same for her.

“Hollah, cadger!” cried the old sportsman, as soon as he was himself in the saddle. “Bring out the birds.”

An old fellow came from an archway with a wooden frame on which several beautiful hawks were sitting. They had a sort of hood on their heads, made of leather with a topknot of feathers, with an opening in front for the strong, hooked beak. Each bird was secured by a strap round one leg, and several wore bells.

The men and Di were all drawing heavy gauntlets on their left hands. The cadger went round, hobbling, from one to the other. Di chose a fine falcon, stretching out her wrist for it to hop upon.

“Since you do not understand the sport, you must be content to look on,” she said, smiling at Rose and Ruth. “Ride close by me, for this pretty lady I’ve chosen is the best flyer and footer among the lot. Ten years she has been at the work, and is still strong and fierce as though she were but three.”

“Isn’t she beautiful, and doesn’t she seem tame!” Rose remarked, as they put their horses to the canter, swept out under the arched entrance to the courtyard and through an inclosure and started for the open fields. “What is she going to hunt?”

“We’re after grouse,” returned Di. “Wait till you see her at work.”

On swept the group of riders, and what a splendid sight it was, the mettlesome horses, the dogs running free on either side, the birds balancing on the wrists of the hawkers. White, rolling clouds were drifting across a pale blue sky, and the smell of the wind was sweet with perfume. Rose and Ruth enjoyed the free, light gait of their horses; once they met a hedge, saw the rest go lightly over, and followed, though it was new to them, and their hearts did come up into their throats. But the horses went over like birds, scarcely jarring the girls at the landing.

Presently they reached a wide sweep of rolling country, overgrown here and there with thick clumps of gorse and bracken or dwarf trees, and green with grass or purple with heather, a lovely sight. Here the field spread out, and the two dogs began to quarter. Di’s eyes lighted with excitement.

“Follow close,” she called. “We’ll keep near Jock, who is as good a dog as master ever owned. Watch now.”

Checking their horses to a walk, the girls rode after one of the dogs, letting him keep well in the lead; they began to feel excited. Suddenly the dog stopped, rigid, quivering ever so slightly, with his head turned to a big clump of golden gorse.

Instantly Di unhooded and set free her hawk, that rose into the air with one mighty sweep, took a few wide circles, and hung on wings that seemed motionless. With a short, sharp bark the dog rushed in, and on the instant, with a great whirring of wings, up flew a small covey of grouse.

Like lightning the hawk dropped through the air, falling straight upon one of the terrified grouse and bearing it down to the ground.

“Perfect,” cried Di, riding forward and blowing a small whistle. At the sound the hawk rose and flew back to her, lighting calmly, though its eyes were flashing, on Di’s extended wrist.

“Get the game, Thornie,” the girl called to one of her cousins, who had also set his hawk at the covey. “See, your bird is stooping to... ah!”

The second hawk had missed striking, and was once more wheeling up into the air. In the meanwhile the rest of the grouse dropped to earth and disappeared in the undergrowth.

Thornie jumped off his horse and picked up the dead grouse, a fine big fellow.

“’Tis a braw beastie, that of yours, Cousin,” he remarked, as he stuffed the game into a bag. “’Twas my father trained her, as you ken....”

“Your own is not so bad, Thornie, if ever you could get started in time. But you wait till the game is up before you cast, and then have nothing for your pains.”

The boy turned sulkily away.

“I guess he doesn’t like to be teased,” Ruth remarked, looking after him. She thought Di a trifle severe.

Di laughed. “Who could help teasing the stupid lad?” she answered. “It’s good for him, too. ’Twill teach him a little humility, for it’s his private opinion that there’s no better hawker in the country than he. But isn’t she a beauty?”

“She’s wonderful,” exclaimed Rose. “How do you ever teach them? Wild as a hawk is what I’ve always heard, but I never knew anything so tame and well-trained. Why, this is lots more fun than chasing jackrabbits.”

For a couple of hours they raced about across the downs, flushing covey after covey. Sometimes four or five hawks were in the air at once and it was thrilling to see them swoop down in arrowlike flight. They often missed at the first swoop, but when the grouse were flushed a second time they usually got them.

Di proved a fearless rider, sending her horse over the rough ground, jumping ditches and swerving suddenly as she followed her hawk in the chase. Rose rode a close second, but Ruth dropped back a little, unused to the side-saddle.

Di saw that she was tiring, and rode up to her, pulling the hood back over her bird’s handsome head.

“We’ve had enough,” she said. “Let’s ride back and leave these boys to work with their courtesy released from the necessity of waiting upon us.... A necessity that, as you see, weighs heavily on them,” and she gave an amused glance across the field, where her cousins were paying precious little attention to anything except the business in hand. “We’ll see if Maisy won’t give us a cup of tea and a few bannocks, which surely won’t come amiss after all this riding and slaughter.”

Taking a short cut, they soon brought up at the Hall again, and Di led them to a smaller, cosier room than the place where they had dined, where there were books and comfortable chairs and hangings on the walls.

A rosy-cheeked maid brought them the tea, which they took with a good appetite. Di amused them with tales of her rough cousins’ exploits, and she had just set them laughing by a description of how two of them had tried a race riding with their faces to the tails of their two horses, and how they were run away with, when a wild, shrill, multitudinous music suddenly burst in upon them.

“Great Jingoes, what’s that?” Rose exclaimed.

“It’s the bag-pipes—something’s afoot,” and Di sprang to her feet. “Come, we’ll see what’s to be seen.”

Running through a maze of passages the girls hastened toward that shrilling commotion, and once more found themselves in the great dining room. There a sight, crowded and picturesque, met them.

The room was full of Highlanders in all the glory of kilt and tartan, bonnet and plaid. Two pipers were marching back and forth at one end of the chamber with quick, short steps, blowing with all their skill. In the centre of a group stood a man of powerful appearance, with a shock of red hair showing under his bonnet. He looked toward the girls as they entered, and Rose saw that he had the glance of an eagle, so proud and wild it was.

“’Tis the MacGregors—and Rob Roy himself!” exclaimed Di, and her own eyes shone.

“Welcome, Chief,” she said, advancing toward the red-haired man with dignity. “My uncle is hawking, but will be hame on the instant, and glad to see you and any of your clan. I trust the business that brings you to our roof is fortunate.”

“Greeting, Miss Diana,” returned the Highland chief, in a deep, guttural voice that was singularly impressive. “Well I ken that it is always welcome I am at this house. We come on business that may well turn out a bluidy one, but not here and not now.”

At this moment the baronet entered, his dogs leaping about him. Instantly he walked straight to the chieftain, his hand extended.

“Well, MacGregor.” He beckoned to a servant. “Bring refreshments for our guests, and quick about it,” he said. “Sit ye,” he added, waving his hand at the wild company, which gathered about the tables with a deal of scraping and much talk in a strange tongue—Gaelic, thought Rose, with a thrill, and turning to Ruth she whispered:

“Ruth, they must be here to help ‘the king over the water.’”

Ruth nodded. With Diana they were seated close to the wild Highlander, who was eagerly talking to Sir Hildebrand. Wine was brought in in large cups and handed about. The pipers now marched round the table, the air full of the skirling of the pipes. Then they sat down.

Sir Hildebrand rose:

“To his Excellency!” he shouted, in a voice that rang through the room.

With a great crash every Highlander leaped to his feet, and raised his beaker high in air. Rob Roy flashed a glance about the hall, and set his cup to his lips. Each of his followers did the same, and put back their empty goblets with a bang on the board.

Diana clasped the girls’ hands in hers.

“Are they not a splendid sight?” she whispered. “Is not the Jacobite cause one to sacrifice life for? Oh, one day, when I am a woman, I too will serve it!”

Her uncle turned to her.

“Do ye propose a toast, Di, and then ye must e’en run away and leave us to our parley.”

Di sprang on her chair. With her black hair floating on her shoulders, her colour high with excitement, her lips parted, her slender arm stretched up as she clasped in her hand a small glass of red wine, she was an inspiring sight.

“To the Clan MacGregor,” she cried, “and its head, Rob Roy. May God fight with him!”

There was a roar, and every Highlander, springing to his feet, half drew the sword hanging at his side and sent it back with a crash into the scabbard. The pipes broke out into wilder music, and the level rays of the setting sun shone in on waving plume and brilliant tartan, lighting up the wild, dark faces that crowded round the girls. Suddenly they burst into song, to a tune lively and ringing, and these were the words that sounded in the ears of Rose and Ruth:

The music faded, the sun dropped, Di’s bright loveliness wavered—

And the girls opened their eyes to find that the fire in the living room had died down and the quiet of evening settled on the house.

Yet for an instant they seemed to hear a far-off echo of the shrilling of the bag-pipes.