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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
As Ralph Peden came along the dusty Cairn Edward road from thecoach 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 LongWood of Larbrax. Here, under boughs that arched the way, he tookfrom his shoulders his knapsack, filled with Hebrew and Greekbooks, and rested his head on the larger bag of roughly tannedWestland leather, in which were all his other belongings. Theywere not numerous. He might, indeed, have left both his bags forthe Dullarg carrier on Saturday, but to lack his beloved books forfour days was not to be thought of for a moment by Ralph Peden. Hewould rather have carried them up the eight long miles to themanse of the Dullarg one by one.
As he sat by the tipsy milestone, which had swayed sidelong andlay half buried amid the grass and dock leaves, a tall, dark girlcame by—half turning to look at the young man as he rested. Itwas Jess Kissock, from the Herd's House at Craig Ronald, on herway home from buying trimmings for a new hat. This happened justtwice 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 hischin. He was a handsome young man when he stood up straight.
Jess looked at him attentively. They did not speak in that way inher country,