The Lilac Sunbonnet

AUTHOR OF THE STICKIT MINISTER, THE RAIDERS, ETC.

CONTENTS.

PROLOGUE.—BY THE WAYSIDE
I.—THE BLANKET-WASHING
II.—THE MOTHER OF KING LEMUEL
III.—A TREASURE-TROVE
IV.—A CAVALIER PURITAN
V.—A LESSON IN BOTANY
VI.—CURLED EYELASHES
VII.—CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE
VIII.—THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS FOR CONQUEST
IX.—THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF
X.—THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS
XI.—ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL
XII.—MIDSUMMER DAWN
XIII.—A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET
XIV.—CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX
XV.—ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD
XVI.—THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION
XVII.—WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME
XVIII.—A DAUGHTER OF THE PlCTS
XIX.—AT THE BARN END
XX.-"DARK-BROWED EGYPT"
XXI.—THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISH
XXII.—A SCARLET POPPY
XXIII.—CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON
XXIV.—LEGITIMATE SPORT
XXV.—BARRIERS BREAKING
XXVI.—SUCH SWEET PERIL
XXVII.—THE OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT UPON BESOM-SHANKS
XXVIII.—THAT GIPSY JESS
XXIX.—THE DARK OF THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE
XXX.—THE HILL GATE
XXXI.—THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG
XXXII.—OUTCAST AND ALIEN FROM THE COMMONWEALTH
XXXIII.—JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND
XXXIV.—THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH
XXXV.—SUCH SWEET SORROW
XXXVI.—OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY
XXXVII.—UNDER THE RED HEATHER
XXXVIII.—BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR
XXXIX.—JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH
XL.—A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION
XLI.—THE MEETING OF THE SYNOD
XLII.—PURGING AND RESTORATION
XLIII.—THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER
XLIV.—WINSOME'S LAST TRYST
XLV.—THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET

PROLOGUE.

BY THE WAYSIDE

As Ralph Peden came along the dusty Cairn Edward road from the coach which had set him down there on its way to the Ferry town, he paused to rest in the evening light at the head of the Long Wood of Larbrax. Here, under boughs that arched the way, he took from his shoulders his knapsack, filled with Hebrew and Greek books, and rested his head on the larger bag of roughly tanned Westland leather, in which were all his other belongings. They were not numerous. He might, indeed, have left both his bags for the Dullarg carrier on Saturday, but to lack his beloved books for four days was not to be thought of for a moment by Ralph Peden. He would rather have carried them up the eight long miles to the manse of the Dullarg one by one.

As he sat by the tipsy milestone, which had swayed sidelong and lay half buried amid the grass and dock leaves, a tall, dark girl came by—half turning to look at the young man as he rested. It was Jess Kissock, from the Herd's House at Craig Ronald, on her way home from buying trimmings for a new hat. This happened just twice a year, and was a solemn occasion.

"Is this the way to the manse of Dullarg?" asked the young man, standing up with his hat in his hand, the brim just beneath his chin. He was a handsome young man when he stood up straight.

Jess looked at him attentively. They did not speak in that way in her country, nor did they take their hats in their hands when they had occasion to speak to young women.

"I am myself going past the Dullarg," she said, and paused with a hiatus like an invitation.

Ralph Peden was a simple young man, but he rose and shouldered his knapsack without a word. The slim, dark-haired girl with the bright, quick eyes like a bird, put out her hand to take a share of the burden of Ralph's bag.

"Thank you, but I am quite able to manage it myself," he said, "I could not think of letting you put your hand to it."

"I am not a fine lady," said the girl, with a little impatient movement of her brows, as if she had stamped her foot. "I am nothing but a cottar's lassie."

"But then, how comes it that you speak as you do?" asked Ralph.

"I have been long in England—as a lady's maid," she answered with a strange, disquieting look at him. She had taken one side of the bag of books in spite of his protest, and now walked by Ralph's side through the evening coolness.

"This is the first time you have been hereaway?" his companion asked.