"I've had more than I've eaten at one meal for nigh a month--more than
I've taken since that thing happened on the fell," answered Robbie,
rising from the table, strapping his long coat tightly about him with
his belt, and tying cords about the wide flanges of his big boots.

"Mattha will sett thee on the road, Robbie," said Mrs. Branthwaite.

"Nay, nay; I reckon, I'd be scarce welcome. Mayhap the lad has
welcomer company."

This was said in an insinuating tone, and with a knowing inclination
of the head towards Liza, whose back was turned while she stole away
to the door.

"Nay, now, but nobody shall sett me," said Robbie, "for I must fly
over the dikes like a racehorse."

"Ye've certainly got a lang stroke o' the grund, Robbie."

Robbie laughed, waved his hand to the old people, who still sat at
dinner, and made his way outside.

Liza was there, looking curiously abashed, as though she felt at the
moment prompted to an impulse of generosity of which she had cause to
be ashamed.

"Gi'e us a kiss, now, my lass," whispered Robbie, who came behind her
and put his arm about her waist.

There was a hearty smacking sound.