"Mistress Ogilvie said it wasn't any more good." "When Mistress Ogilvie made that remark," replied the Reverend Ronald, "she had no idea that it would ever touch the shoulders of the martyred Sir Patrick Spens.

Now, I happen to love--" Francesca hung out a scarlet flag in each cheek, and I was about to say, 'Don't mind me!' when he continued-- "As I was saying, I happen to love 'Sir Patrick Spens,'-- it is my favourite ballad; so, with your permission, I will take the gown, and you can find something less valuable for a sail!" I could never understand just why Francesca was so annoyed at being discovered in our innocent game.

Of course she was prone on Mother Earth and her tresses were much dishevelled, but she looked lovely after all, in comparison with me, the humble 'supe' and lightning-change artist; yet I kept my temper,--at least I kept it until the Reverend Ronald observed, after escorting us through the gap in the wall, "By the way, Miss Hamilton, there was a gentleman from Paris at your cottage, and he is walking down the road to meet you." Walking down the road to meet me, forsooth! Have ministers no brains?
The Reverend Mr.Macdonald had wasted five good minutes with his observations, introductions, explanations, felicitations, and adorations, and meantime, regardez-moi, messieurs et mesdames, s'il vous plait! I have been a Noroway dog, a shipbuilder, and a gallant sailorman; I have been a gurly sea and a towering gale; I have crawled from beneath broken anchors, topsails, and mizzenmasts to a strand where I have been a suffering lady plying a gowd kaim.

My skirt of blue drill has been twisted about my person until it trails in front; my collar is wilted, my cravat untied; I have lost a stud and a sleeve-link; my hair is in a tangled mass, my face is scarlet and dusty--and a gentleman from Paris is walking down the road to meet me!.