a saddle, nor yet a bridle. And faither said, "Bid Peter Adamson come or e'er he do himsel' a mischief," for he just stands and kicks even on.'

'Ay, that's the way wi' them, “Bid Peter Adamson come," where they're feared to gang theirsels. Your faither 'll no gang nearhand him, I'll warrant?'

'Na-faither's no feared,' said the boy, a little doubtfully. We tried him wi' corn, an' syne he lickit him, an' syne he stude an' roared at him. We tried a' thing.'

Peter angrily bade the boy begone, telling him it was plain his father was quite unfit to break in a horse; but that he, Peter, for his part, would stir on no such fool's errand as to lend him a hand.

The old man sat quite still for a while after the boy had gone, then he began to move about uneasily, and to mutter to himself. 'Chris,' he said, 'bring me-what way are ye no at the school, bairn?'

'Oh, Gran!'-the tears came into Chris's eyes-'I thought ye would come in wearied, and I keepit your brose het.'

'Ye're a gude bairn,' he said, 'but ye maun gang to the school, Chris, or e'er ye can read writin'. Now bring me my stick an' my bonnet, for I maun awa'. The child brought what he wanted in silence, for she knew he had made up his mind to go and help Mr. Morton with the colt. It was his way to refuse churlishly whatever was asked of him, but he loved a horse too well to bear that it should be ill-treated or mismanaged.

'I

'I canna bide to see a beast abused,' he muttered to himself. dinna ken if I can hirple that far. Dinna let the fire oot, Chris, an' keep a wee drap in the kettle, but dinna burn yersel', noo.'

Chris followed him when he went out, and kept by his side for a little way, but very soon he sent her home.

'You'll

'I hear the horn,' he called after her as she left him. maybe get a sight of the hounds, Chris—that'll keep you frae wearyin'.'

Chris did not go straight into the house; she stood looking after her grandfather until he was out of sight. She felt very sad without exactly knowing why. Perhaps it was that she had been very early awake that morning and was a little tired; it seemed to her as if the day ought to be over, though it was not very long past noon. The morning had been bright, but now there was no longer any sun; all was soft and grey and cloudy. She strained her eyes into the dim distance, over the grey green meadow land which lay all round her; she felt so lonely that by-and-by two big tears came into her eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks. She stood long watching and listening, but everything she heard sounded melancholy; the murmur of the wind, the rush of the dark wintry burn, even the distant crowing of the cocks from the farmyard came to her ears with a strangely mournful tone. She was preparing dejectedly to go in,

when a more cheerful sound reached her, and she brightened up. The hounds! surely she heard the hounds, and they were running. Chris forgot her sorrows in an instant. She ran with all her might to a steep bank which lay between her and the cottage, and scrambled up it eager to gain a view of the hunt. There were the hounds! Chris could see them looking almost like a flock of pigeons as they moved over the ground in the far distance, but coming nearer every moment; and there were the hunters, a goodly company, close behind; the red coats of the foremost riders were just visible.

6

'Oh,' thought Chris, in great excitement, they'll come richt past oor hoose! if only Gran were here to see them.' She clasped her hands as a sudden thought struck her. They'll frighten the catoh, me! I must go in-she'll not like all thae muckle dogs, and I left the door open.' She was going to dart into the cottage when something else caught her eye, a small red creature, muddy and draggled. Chris had seen a fox before; a vixen playing with her cubs on a summer evening, and a pretty sight it was. How different from this poor hunted beast, with his muddy coat and drooping brush. The fox was quite exhausted, he could run no more; and almost before Chris had time to wish that she could save him from those cruel hounds, he had slipped through the open door into the cottage, and underneath Chris's bed, where he lay motionless, but with heaving sides. She sprang in after him, shut the door and barred it, trembling all over with excitement, and scarcely able to believe in her own good fortune. Now she had a fox of her very own, which had come to her of its own accord, and which she was determined to protect and save. The cat, she observed with satisfaction, was from home; she had a young family in the henhouse to support, and the duties of a mother had no doubt called her away. It was fortunate for her nerves, for in another instant the hounds were yelping round the cottage. They had tracked the fox to the door, and were trying to get in; two or three black noses were thrust underneath, and the yelping and scratching made Chris tremble for her guest's safety. She dragged a chair to the door to barricade it better; then with a scream she sprang to the window, where a big head and a pair of glaring eyes were visible. She closed the shutters; the noise sounded even more terrible in the dark, and now there was only the fire to give a glimmer of light to the cottage. Chris was terrified, not for herselfthough she had no doubt that she would be torn in pieces if the hounds once got in--but the dear little fox which had come to her for protection! Poor foxie!' she said to him. Poor beastie ! Bide still; Chris 'll no let them get ye.' But now she heard men's voices outside; some one seemed to be calling off the hounds. Then there came loud raps at the door, but Chris knew better than to open it to the fox's enemies.

Open the door! be quick!' was shouted from outside, and Chris shouted back, ‘Na, I winna!' at the top of her voice.

A harder thump at the door followed, and the child began to fear it would give way; but the next moment she heard another voice outside, gentler, but having more command in it than the former

ones.

Open the door,' it said. 'Don't be frightened, there's nothing will do you any harm.'

No! no!' she cried again vehemently. I'll no open the door.'

Who is in the house?' cried the voice impatiently.

'It's just me,' returned Chris.

'Who's me?'

'Christian Adamson.'

There was a pause, quite a long pause this time. 'Let me see you.'

Chris did not feel inclined to resist this authoritative tone, and besides she rather wanted to see who spoke; so she went to the window, and cautiously undid the shutter. She had to climb upon the broad window-sill to do this; and looking out she saw quite a crowd of gentlemen riders, some of whom were laughing, others looked angry.

Oh, get away!' cried one of the latter roughly, when the little face appeared at the window. Go and tell your mammy to come out and speak to us.'

'No, no, Wedderburn,' cried another, the owner of the voice Chris had heard before. 'This is evidently the mistress of the house, you

She did not speak very politely, it is true, but then she was only a little child, and had not been accustomed to converse with gentlemen.

'And where have you hidden the fox, eh?'

'He's in aneath the bed, and-and-oh, gang awa'--gang awa'and tak' awa' the dowgs!' and Chris burst into tears, and sobbed bitterly. Then she jumped off the window-sill, and shut the shutter again with a bang.

There was consultation outside, some laughter, and a little strong language, then came a trampling of horses' feet, a few notes of the horn, and the whole pack of hounds and hunters moved away disappointed in the direction of the nearest cover.

Chris breathed freely once more. She dried her tears, and proceeded to make preparations for entertaining her new guest. She undid the shutters, and opened the window wide in order to let in all the daylight she could. Then she turned to the cupboard, considering whether it was likely that a hungry fox would condescend to eat a bannock, or whether she had better try to cut a piece of salt pork for him. Another knock at the door interrupted these reflections, and she hastily took down her barricades.

'There's no fear for him now, whoever it is,' thought she, but she started back in terror as she recognised the red coat and dark chestnut horse of the gentleman who had spoken to her at the window.

He was a very handsome man, still young, with bright keen dark eyes, and he looked at Chris kindly, with an amused smile on his face.

'You're not afraid of me now, are you? I've got no hounds with me. Well, and is the fox safe?'

'Ay,' returned Chris, looking at him doubtfully.

She withdrew half behind the door, which she held cautiously in her hand, ready to shut it in a moment if necessary. The stranger seemed a little embarrassed by her inhospitable behaviour, but still he was determined to question her.

'You don't live here all alone, surely?' he said. Who lives with you?'

Gran,' answered Chris. She opened the door a very little wider and put her head out that she might see whether Gran was coming up the road, but there was no sign of him.

is

'The stranger looked at her earnestly. Tell me,' he said, 'what your name?'

'I tell't ye afore,' said Chris, turning red, and retreating again intɔ the shadow of the doorway. She particularly disliked being asked what her name was, for she had a lurking fear that she had no right to it, and that what Sandy Mucklehose had said might be true.

'Well, but tell me again-do tell me,' said the stranger pleadingly, but with laughter in his voice.

Chris,' the word came in a very low tone.

'What besides Chris? Well-but never mind. What are your father's and mother's names?'

No answer.

'What is Gran's name?'

'Peter Adamson.'

'An odd coincidence, I suppose,' muttered the stranger. No doubt it's a common name. Look here, Chris, won't you let me come in? I promise you I'll do no harm.'

'But the fox?' said Chris, half crying. 'Bide-just bide till he gets his supper.' She said this very earnestly, and put out her little hand to push back the intruder from the door.

'The fox!' cried he. You don't mean to say you've got him shut up here still? Just let me see,' and as he spoke he hastily slipped his horse's rein through his arm, and stepped past the child into the house. No, no, he's gone. See, Chris, he has got out there,' and he pointed to the open window, on the ledge of which was a wet smudge, and a little round mark of a muddy foot.

Chris threw herself on the floor with an anxious face, peered under

the bed, and hunted in every hole and corner of the cottage. But it was too true; her ungrateful guest had really gone without bidding her good-bye. Then she flung herself on the floor, and cried inconsolably.

The stranger felt really sorry for her, and said all he could to comfort her; but he could not reach her where she lay on the floor without letting go his horse's rein, which made his position an

awkward one.

'Christian,' he said at last authoritatively, 'I am going. Get up and say good-bye.'

Chris was so surprised that she obeyed at once. She got up slowly and stood before him, rubbing her wet eyes with her sleeve. 'That's right!' he said. There! let me see your face. Dry up those tears.' He dried them with his own large pocket-handkerchief, and once more looked at the child earnestly.

Tell me, Chris,' he said, 'did your grandfather even speak to you of Glenfinnary? Did you ever hear him mention such a place?' Chris nodded, and repeated the name as if she was familiar with it, but she was so small a child that he found it difficult to talk to her, and could not feel sure that she really understood what he said. 'She may be only repeating it like a parrot,' he thought.

6

Well, little one,' he said, preparing to mount his horse, 'I'll come back some day soon and see you, and I want to see your grandfather. At what time of the day shall I find him in?'

Chris told him at mid-day,' and then he bade her good-bye and rode quickly away into the dusk, leaving in her hand a coin, the like of which Chris had never seen before, for it was a golden sovereign.

(To be continued.)