When we came to the farm on our way home, we looked in to see Kirsty, but found the key in the door, indicating that she had gone out. As we left the yard, we saw a strange-looking woman, to all appearance a beggar, approaching. She had a wallet over her shoulder, and walked stooping with her eyes on the ground, nor lifted them to greet us—behaviour which rarely showed itself in our parish. My father took no notice, but I could not help turning to look after the woman. To my surprise she stood looking after us, but the moment I turned, she turned also and walked on. When I looked again she had vanished. Of course she must have gone into the farm-yard. Not liking the look of her, and remembering that Kirsty was out, I asked my father whether I had not better see if any of the men were about the stable. He approved, and I ran back to the house. The door was still locked. I called Turkey, and heard his voice in reply from one of the farthest of the cow-houses. When I had reached it and told him my story, he asked if my father knew I had come back. When he heard that he did know, he threw down his pitchfork, and hastened with me. We searched every house about the place, but could find no sign whatever of the woman.

“Are you sure it wasn’t all a fancy of your own, Ranald?” said Turkey.

“Quite sure. Ask my father. She passed as near us as you are to me now.”

Turkey hurried away to search the hayloft once more, but without success; and at last I heard my father calling me.

I ran to him, and told him there was no woman to be seen.

“That’s odd,” he said. “She must have passed straight through the yard and got out at the other side before you went in. While you were looking for her, she was plodding away out of sight. Come along, and let us have our tea.”

I could not feel quite satisfied about it, but, as there was no other explanation, I persuaded myself that my father was right.

The next Saturday evening I was in the nursery with my brothers. It was growing dusk, when I heard a knocking. Mrs. Mitchell did not seem to hear it, so I went and opened the door. There was the same beggar woman. Rather frightened, I called aloud, and Mrs. Mitchell came. When she saw it was a beggar, she went back and reappeared with a wooden basin filled with meal, from which she took a handful as she came in apparent preparation for dropping it, in the customary way, into the woman’s bag. The woman never spoke, but closed the mouth of her wallet, and turned away. Curiosity gave me courage to follow her. She walked with long strides in the direction of the farm, and I kept at a little distance behind her. She made for the yard. She should not escape me this time. As soon as she entered it, I ran as fast as I could, and just caught sight of her back as she went into one of the cow-houses. I darted after her. She turned round upon me—fiercely, I thought, but judge my surprise when she held out the open mouth of the bag towards me, and said—

“Not one grain, Ranald! Put in your hand and feel.”

It was Turkey.

I stared in amazement, unable for a time to get rid of the apparition and see the reality. Turkey burst out laughing at my perplexed countenance.

“Why didn’t you tell me before, Turkey?” I asked, able at length to join in the laugh.

“Because then you would have had to tell your father, and I did not want him to be troubled about it, at least before we had got things clear. I always did wonder how he could keep such a creature about him.”

“He doesn’t know her as we do, Turkey.”

“No. She never gives him the chance. But now, Ranald, couldn’t you manage to find out whether she makes any store of the meal she pretends to give away?”

A thought struck me.

“I heard Davie the other day asking her why she had two meal-tubs: perhaps that has something to do with it.”

“You must find out. Don’t ask Davie.”

For the first time it occurred to me that the Kelpie had upon that night of terror been out on business of her own, and had not been looking for me at all.

“Then she was down at old Betty’s cottage,” said Turkey, when I communicated the suspicion, “and Wandering Willie was there too, and Andrew was right about the pipes. Willie hasn’t been once to the house ever since he took Davie, but she has gone to meet him at Betty’s. Depend on it, Ranald, he’s her brother, or nephew, or something, as I used to say. I do believe she gives him the meal to take home to her family somewhere. Did you ever hear anything about her friends?”

“I never heard her speak of any.”

“Then I don’t believe they’re respectable. I don’t, Ranald. But it will be a great trouble to the minister to have to turn her away. I wonder if we couldn’t contrive to make her go of herself. I wish we could scare her out of the country. It’s not nice either for a woman like that to have to do with such innocents as Allister and Davie.”

“She’s very fond of Davie.”

“So she is. That’s the only good thing I know of her. But hold your tongue, Ranald, till we find out more.”

Acting on the hint Davie had given me, I soon discovered the second meal-tub. It was small, and carefully stowed away. It was now nearly full, and every day I watched in the hope that when she emptied it, I should be able to find out what she did with the meal. But Turkey’s suggestion about frightening her away kept working in my brain.