the fair, an' Katty O'Neil that was goin' about
with me all day, an' Mrs. McShane that I bought
the tea from. Och! I couldn't remember the
wan half o' them!"

"An what did you say to them, Ailsie dear?"
asked Mary the mother, insinuatingly.

"Why," said Ailsie, " I tould them first, that
all the rest o' the MacQuillans about were
ladies an' gentlemen, an' would be creditable to
Lady Betty when she made her choice, but that
mv father was a poor man that had nothin' to do
with the comin's an' goin's o' genthry. But
when that wouldn't do, I up an' told them that
he had too much feelin' for a lonely old woman
comin' home without a friend in her ould age,
to think of beginnin' to worry her about what
would be to divide afther her death, afore ever
she set foot in the counthry. ' It's an ill welcome
for all their fine talking,' said I, ' an' if they
hadn't put her an' pesthered her to it, she would
never be for doin' the quare thing she's goin' to
do on Wensday week night.' An' what do you
think she is goin' to do, father?" said Ailsie,
turning to Jamie, " but she's to have a big cake
made, an' a ring in it, an every MacQuillau at
the feast gets a piece o' the cake, an' whoever
finds the ring, as sure as he's there he's the
wan to share Lady Betty's fortune, an' come
afther her in Castle Craigle!"

Here Mary the mother began to groan and
rock herself, and complain of the obstinacy of
people who would not stretch out their hands
for a piece of that lucky cake, when it might be
theirs for the asking. Jamie was getting very
red in the face, and crumpling his paper very
fiercely, when Penny, who had been laughing
again, once more wiped her eyes, and taking her
stick from the corner, prepared to depart.

"It's getting far in the day," she said, " an' I
have a good bit further to go afore night, to see
my old friend Madgey Mucklehern, that lives
in the Windy Gap; good luck is hers she hasn't
been blown out o't house an' all afore this!
But I'll be back this way," she added; " don't
you think ye've seen the last o' Penny
McCambridge, cousin Jamie, for feth ye'll know more
o' me shortly, if the Lord spares me my breath
for a wheen more o' weeks."

And Penny McCambridge shook hands with
her kinsfolk, and trotted away down the lonan,
as she had come.

CHAPTER II.

IT was only a few evenings after this that
Ailsie was sitting on the end of the kitchen-
table, reading the newspaper to her father.

"N a—na," said Ailsie, stumbling at a word,
"v i—vi, g a—ga——Och, my blessin' to the
word, I can't make head or tail o't. Ye'll read
it betther yersel', father; an' it's time I was
goin' feedin' my hens, anyhow!"

"Ailsie," said Jamie, rubbing his spectacles,
"I'm feared you'r turnin' out a bad clark afther
all the throuble Misther Devnish has taken wi'
you. Ye'r gettin' a big woman, Ailsie, an' there's
not a thing ye'r bad at but the clarkin'. Go off
to school, now, this very evenin', an' give my
respects to Hughie Devuish, an' tell him to
tache you how to spell navigation afore you
come back."

Ailsie coloured, and her thick black lashes
rested on her russet cheeks while she tucked up
her gown and kneaded the wet meal for the
hens with her gipsy hands. But as she left the
house she looked back with a wicked little toss
of her head.

"Then you an' Hughie Devnish may put it
out o' yer heads that ye'll ever make a clark o'
Ailsie," she said; " for if ye were to make a
stew o' all the larnin'-books that ever cracked a
schoolmasther's skull, an' feed her on nothin'
but that for the next ten years, ye wouldn't
have her wan bit the larnder in the hinder end!"

So saying, she stepped out into the sun, and
was busy feeding her hens under the shelter of
the golden haycock, when she saw a servant in
a showy livery coming riding up the lonan.

"Can you tell me where Miss MacQuillan
lives about here, my good girl?" he asked, with
a supercilious glance at Ailsie's wooden dish.

"No," said Ailsie, looking at him with her
head thrown back. " That's Jamie MacQuillan's
house"—pointing to the gable—"an' I'm his
daughter Ailsie, but there's no Miss MacQuillan
here; none nearer by this road nor Bally
Scuffling."

"I beg your pardon, miss," said the man,
with an altered manner, " but I believe this
must be for you." And then he rode off, leaving
her standing staring at a dainty pink note which
she held by one corner between two mealy
fingers. "Miss Ailsie MacQuillan," said the
ink on the back of the narrow satin envelope.

"That's me!" said Ailsie with a gasp. "The
rest o' them's all Lizabeths, an' Isabellas, an'
Aramintys. An', as thrue as I'm a livin' girl,
it's the Castle Craigie liveries yon fine fellow
was dressed up so grand in, an' here's the
Castle Craigie crest on this purty little seal."

It was a note of invitation to Lady Betty's
ball, and, in spite of her bad " clarkin'," Ailsie
was able to read it, spelling it out word after word,
turning it back and forward and upside-down,
and feeling sure all the time that somebody had
played a trick on her by writing to Lady Betty
in her name. She sat on a stone and made her
reflections, with the sun all the while burning
her cheeks, and making them more and more
unfit to appear in a ball-room.

"An' she thinks I'm some fine young lady in
a low neck an' satin shoes, waitin' all ready to
step into her ball-room an' make her a curtsey.
Good luck to her! What 'd she say if she hard
Ailsie's brogues hammerin' away on yon fine
slippy floor o' hers?" And Ailsie, as she spoke,
extended one little roughshod foot and looked
at it critically. " Then thank you, Lady Betty,
but I'm not goin' to make mysel' a laughin'-
stock for the counthry yet!"

"Who came ridin' up the lonan a bit ago,
Ailsie?" said the mother, when she went in
with the note safely hidden in her pocket.

"Ridin' up the lonan is it?" said Ailsie.

"Ay, ay," said Mary, " I thought I hard a