“I’m afraid I shall get cold without my sacque,” began Rose, who wanted to stay, but felt rather out of her element.

“No, you won’t! We’ll fix you,” cried the lads, as one clapped his cap on her head, another tied a rough jacket round her neck by the sleeves, a third neatly smothered her in a carriage blanket, and a fourth threw open the door of the old barouche that stood there, saying with a flourish—

“Step in, ma’am, and make yourself comfortable while we show you some fun.”

So Rose sat in state enjoying herself very much, for the lads proceeded to dance a Highland Fling with a spirit and skill that made her clap her hands and laugh as she had not done for weeks.

“How is that, my lassie?” asked the Prince, coming up all flushed and breathless when the ballet was over.

“It was splendid! I never went to the theatre but once, and the dancing was not half so pretty as this. What clever boys you must be!” said Rose, smiling upon her kinsmen like a little queen upon her subjects.

“Ah, we’re a fine lot, and that is only the beginning of our larks. We haven’t got the pipes here or we’d

answered Charlie, looking much elated at her praise.

“I did not know we were Scotch; papa never said anything about it, or seemed to care about Scotland, except to have me sing the old ballads,” said Rose, beginning to feel as if she had left America behind her somewhere.

“Neither did we till lately. We’ve been reading Scott’s novels, and all of a sudden we remembered that our grandfather was a Scotchman. So we hunted up the old stories, got a bagpipe, put on our plaids, and went in, heart and soul, for the glory of the Clan. We’ve been at it some time now, and it’s great fun. Our people like it, and I think we are a pretty canny set.”

Archie said this from the other coach-step, where he had perched, while the rest climbed up before and behind to join in the chat as they rested.

“I’m Fitzjames and he’s Roderick Dhu, and we’ll give you the broadsword combat some day. It’s a great thing, you’d better believe,” added the Prince.

“Yes, and you should hear Steve play the pipes. He makes ’em skirl like a good one,” cried Will from the box, eager to air the accomplishments of his race.

“Mac’s the fellow to hunt up the old stories and tell us how to dress right, and pick out rousing bits for us to speak and sing,” put in Geordie, saying a good word for the absent Worm.

“And what do you and Will do?” asked Rose of Jamie, who sat beside her as if bound to keep her in sight till the promised gift had been handed over.

“Oh, I’m the little foot-page, and do errands, and Will and Geordie are the troops when we march, and the stags when we hunt, and the traitors when we want to cut any heads off.”

“They are very obliging, I’m sure,” said Rose, whereat the “utility men” beamed with modest pride and resolved to enact Wallace and Montrose as soon as possible for their cousin’s special benefit.

“Let’s have a game of tag,” cried the Prince, swinging himself up to a beam with a sounding slap on Stevie’s shoulder.