“Patience, patience, man!” said the old herd. “Ca’ cannier and be a wee thing quieter in your langwidge. There’s a wheen leddies comin’ up the burn.”
It was too late. Before Lewis understood the purport of the speech Lady Manorwater and her party were at the folds, and as he made one final effort with the refractory needle a voice in his ear said:
“Please let me do that, Mr. Haystoun. I’ve often done it before.”
He looked up and met Alice Wishart’s laughing eyes. She stood beside him and deftly finished the bandage till the ewe was turned off the stool. Then, very warm and red, he turned to find a cool figure laughing at his condition.
“I’ll have to go and wash my hands, Miss Wishart,” he said gravely. “You had better come too.” And the pair ran down to a deep brown pool in the burn an
