"The fact is--I must tell you--I am----" The door burst open and Mhor appeared.

He had forgotten to remove his cap, or wipe his muddy boots, so eager was he to tell his news.
"Jean," he shouted, oblivious in his excitement of the presence of a stranger--"Jean, there are six red puddock-stools at the bottom of the garden--bright red puddock-stools." He noticed Mr.Reid and, going up to him and looking earnestly into his face, he repeated, "Six!" "Indeed," said Peter Reid.
He had no acquaintance with boys, and felt extremely ill at ease, but Mhor, after studying him for a minute, was seized with a violent fancy for this new friend.
"You're going to stay to tea, aren't you?
Would you mind coming with me just now to look at the puddock-stools?
It might be too dark after tea.
Here is your hat." "But I'm not staying to tea," cried the unhappy owner of The Rigs.

Why, he asked himself had he not told them at once that he was their landlord?
A connection! Fool that he was! He would say it now--"I only came--" "It was very nice of you to come," said Jean soothingly.

"But, Mhor, don't worry Mr.Reid.Everybody hasn't your passion for puddock-stools." "But you would like to see them," Mhor assured him.

"I'm going to fill a bowl with chucky-stones and moss and stick the puddock-stools among them and make a fairy garden for Jean.