"They must be coming," cried the daughter, starting up. "There's one of
the stable-boys running over the lawn."
And, indeed, past the old trees a youth was to be seen skirting the
lawn, flying down terraces, making towards a burn which ran through the
grounds before joining a small tributary of Tweed. At best speed mother
and daughter followed the boy, who had halted excitedly by the burn
side. But what the cause of his agitation might be they could not for
the moment conjecture; certainly the burn had no apparent connection
with hunting, nor indeed was there sign of horse or hound. What they
found was something very different. A mile or so up the rivulet there
was a farm-steading, and in that steading was the usual water-driven
threshing-mill. It happened that this particular day had been selected
by the farmer as one on which he might advantageously thrash part of his
crop. Consequently, the water from his mill pond was now making a
temporary spate in the little stream, which, in the course of nature,
had caused many salmon to run their noses into the burn's unexplored
meanderings. When the two ladies reached the stream's bank, they found
the stable-lad up to his knees in the water, and a fish, not over
silvery, already floundering high and dry, far from its native element;
in shallow, broken water, two or three others vainly struggled to gain
higher latitudes.
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