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close, and the sound of their feet on the paving-stones at the dog barking
again from whatever outhouse he sheltered in. Fergus I out land net than at
the doorway. He was a man of about thirty, with a brickrei complexion and
lank black hair that kept falling down into his eyes’. He wore a fine white
shirt, a tweed vest and riding breaches, and the porch in which he stood,
with its 3hot-horns and churn of corn hanging on the varnished walls, indicated
a genteel and prosperous farmer.
Ho greeted his visitors affably, but his uncle Andrew’s response was as
curt as decency would allow, and ho would have pushed post Pentland had the
other not retreated before him, which surprised Jarah, who thought him a very
well-set-up and pleasant young man. The noise of their arrival had been heard
by someone inside the house, for a high quavoring voice was heard calling on
Andrew's name. Hamilton and Frank beckoned Sarah to follow their father and
they entered a large red-flagged kitchen where an old woman sat knitting before
tho fire.
"Aye, its me, Mother Pentland” said Andrew, in answer to the old woman’s
question. "And who’s that wi’ ye?" asked the old woman peering beyond the men
to Sarah. "It’s Martha Gomartin’s daughter. They’re giving us a hand up at
Rathard now. Come forrit, Sarah, till Mrs Pentland sees ye."
While Mrs Pentland was shaking hands with Sarah, her grandson was settle
forward chairs for the visitors. A young servant appeared, her arms still
freckled with meal, and lifting the rings on tho range, set the kettle on the
fire. When she went to spread the cloth Fergus Pentland rose lazily from the
table-corner on which he had seated himself to lean against the firecheek, from
where, brown arms folded, he kept up a stream of - good-humoured banter with his
cousins, occasionaly glancing into Sarah’s face to see if he had her attention.
The girl, seated between Andrew and the old lady who had their heads together
