Playing With Fire. Barr Amelia E.

same time; and men keep their reasonable judgment the while. There's luck in leisure, Lord Cramer. Take my advice and leisure awhile."

      Then Lord Cramer led Marion to the little summer house, and Mrs. Caird left them to give some orders concerning lunch, but when it was ready she saw Cramer riding away from the gate, and Marion, still in her habit, standing there watching him. Hearing her aunt's footsteps she turned, went to her side and, kissing her, said, "Dear Aunt, I am glad to be with you again."

      "Then we are both glad, and your father will be glad also. Run upstairs and take off your hat and that width of trailing broadcloth. Then come and get a good lunch."

      In a few minutes Marion appeared at the table in the simplest of her home dresses and, with a sigh of pleasure, said again, "Oh, but I am glad to be with you, Aunt!"

      "Yet you had a happy time at Cramer Hall?"

      "Richard was there. That was enough."

      "And many other pleasant people?"

      "Yes."

      "And Lady Cramer?"

      "I do not think she had a nice time. She was weary of company, and it was an effort for her to be quite polite during the last week."

      "You ought, then, to have come home."

      "I had no excuse for doing so."

      "And you had an excuse for staying, eh?"

      "Yes."

      "Lord Cramer?"

      "He begged me to stay. And, as I am going to marry him, I did what he desired, of course."

      "Of course. And, of course, you will do what your father desires?"

      "If Father is reasonable."

      "The Fifth Command says you are to obey your father, and it does not make any exceptions as to whether he is reasonable or unreasonable."

      "I intend to marry Richard, and no other man in all the wide world."

      "You do not require to be so pointed about it. There is no one here wishes to prevent you."

      "No one can prevent me, Aunt. I love Richard and he loves me. We fell in love with each other the moment we met."

      "That is the right way. I like men that go over head and ears at first sight. Most take little careful steps, hesitating, fearing, one at a time. Cowardly lovers! No woman wants such. She just looks scornfully at them, and then turns her eyes toward something pleasanter."

      All afternoon they talked on this and kindred subjects, and the time went so rapidly that the clock struck five before Mrs. Caird reflected that the Minister was two or three hours behind his usual time. What was keeping him? What was wrong? Then she began to worry about Donald; for, if anything usual becomes unusual, our first thought is not – what is right? or what is happy or profitable? but, always, what is wrong? And Mrs. Caird's anxieties drifted to the youth she loved so dearly.

      "I wonder! I wonder whatever is wrong, Marion? Your father is always home by three, or at most four o'clock. I am feared something is wrong with Donald." And, in spite of Marion's optimistic persuasions, she was constantly asking her heart this woeful question. From the door to the gate she went with tiresome frequency, but it was after eight o'clock ere she saw two men walking leisurely toward the house. The twilight was over the earth, and nothing was very clear, but she knew them. Hurrying into the house she called to Marion in a voice of great pleasure and excitement:

      "Your father is coming! And Donald is with him! And what can that mean?"

      "Something good, Aunt."

      But Mrs. Caird did not hear her. She was ordering this and that luxury, which she knew would be welcome to the belated travelers, and she had the natural wisdom and good-nature which never once asked, "What kept you so late?" She was satisfied with their presence, and with the fact that both were happy, and in the most affectionate mood with each other. She placed Donald's chair beside her own and, when he touched her hand, or smiled in her face, or whispered, "Dear, dear Aunt!" she had a full payment for all her anxious hours about him.

      It was not until Marion and Donald had gone to their rooms that the Minister felt inclined to explain his tardy return from the city. "I was afraid you would be anxious, Jessy," he said; and she answered, "Not about you, Ian. I knew you were all right, but I was feared about Donald. I thought something was wrong with him, and I could not fix on any particular danger. I thought of the trains and the sea, but someway they both assured my mind they were innocent of doing him any harm. The trouble was an unknown one. What was it, Ian?"

      "Not much, Jessy. Donald has not been behaving himself after the ways and manners approved of by the Reids."

      "I never yet heard any word of the Reids being set for our example. What way was Donald breaking their laws?"

      "It seems, Jessy, that last Wednesday night there was some kind of civic anniversary – the Provost's birthday, or the birthday of some great man or other. I have totally forgotten the name or event. And serenading came into the thoughts of Donald and four others, and they lifted their violins and went together to the Provost's house. As it happened, he was eating a late supper after his speech in the City Hall, and the lads played and sang the songs in every Scotsman's heart. And there were three or four of his cronies with the Provost and, when the lads had sang twice over, they brought in the singers and made them sit and drink a glass of toddy at their table, and the Provost thanked them heartily and gave them a five-pound note to share between them."

      'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'

      "That was fine! The Provost is a gentleman. And he knew how to win the hearts of the Scotch laddies growing up to be good Scotchmen. Who were the five lads, Ian?"

      "Donald was the leader, and there were with him Matthew Ballantyne, David Kerr, John Montrose, and Allan Reid, all of them members of my Wednesday night Bible class."

      "Then I cannot believe they did anything much out of the way, unless the Reids' way is narrower than the Bible way."

      "After they left the Provost's, Donald suddenly bethought himself that it was also his Uncle Hector's birthday, and they all went to his big house in Blytheswood Square. There was a light in his parlor; for, you know, he always reads until the new day is born, and this night he was reading 'Nicholas Nickleby,' and laughing with himself over that insane Mark Tapley's pretenses to be jolly. Suddenly the violins asked sweetly and passionately, 'Wha Wadna Fecht for Charlie'? The old man took no notice. Then they all together began to merrily tell him,

      ''Twas up the craggy mountain,

      And down the wooded glen,

      They durst na go a-milking,

      For Charlie and his men.'

      And by the time they had finished this delightful complaint, and Donald had lifted his voice to assert that,

      'Geordie sits in Charlie's chair,'

      and exhorted all true Hieland men,

      'Keep up your hearts, for Charlie's fight,

      Come what will, you've done what's right,'

      a crowd had gathered. For, you know, Jessy, how Donald can sing men out of themselves, and the crowd began to sing with him, so that this passionate little rant filled the square. Windows were lifted, and doors flung open, and men and women at them joined heartily in the song."

      "And wherever were the constables?"