Chapter 26 - Page 2

the Mill, stripping
her round pretty arms, and looking actively and good-humouredly round
for some duty that she could discharge, "but just--I thought ye might
like to ken if they were coming back, just to get the dinner forward."

"And saw ye ought of them then?" demanded Elspeth.

"Not the least tokening," said Mysie, "though I got to the head of a
knowe, and though the English knight's beautiful white feather could
have been seen over all the bushes in the Shaw."

"The knight's white feather!" said Dame Glendinning; "ye are a silly
hempie--my Halbert's high head will be seen farther than his feather,
let it be as white as it like, I trow."

Mysie made no answer, but began to knead dough for wastel-cake with
all despatch, observing that Sir Piercie had partaken of that dainty,
and commended it upon the preceding day. And presently, in order to
place on the fire the _girdle_, or iron plate on which these
cates were to be baked, she displaced a stew-pan in which one of
Tibb's delicacies were submitted to the action of the kitchen fire.
Tibb muttered betwixt her teeth--"And it is the broth for my sick
bairn, that maun make room for the dainty Southron's wastel-bread. It
was a blithe time in Wight Wallace's day, or good King Robert's, when
the pock-puddings gat naething here but hard straiks and bloody
crowns. But we will see how it will a' end."

Elspeth did not think it proper to notice these discontented
expressions of Tibbie, but they sunk into her mind; for she was apt to
consider her as a sort of authority in matters of war and policy, with
which her former experience as bower-woman at Avenel Castle made her
better acquainted than were the peaceful inhabitants of Halidome. She
only spoke, however, to express her surprise that the hunters did not
return.

"An they come not back the sooner," said Tibb, "they will fare the
waur, for the meat will be roasted to a cinder--and there is poor
Simmie that can turn the spit nae langer: the bairn is melting like an
icicle in warm water--Gang awa, bairn, and take a mouthful of the
caller air, and I will turn the broach till ye come back."

"Rin up to the bartizan at the tower-head, callant," said Dame
Glendinning, "the air will be callerer there than ony gate else, and
bring us word if our Halbert and the gentleman are coming down the
glen."

The boy lingered long enough to allow his substitute, Tibb Tacket,
heartily to tire of her own generosity, and of his cricket-stool by
the side of a huge fire. He at length returned with the news that he
had seen nobody. The matter was not so remarkable as far as Halbert