"Pray you, sir, how much ribbon, may a man buy for a remuneration?"—Comedy of Errors.  
The living-room at The Rigs was the stage of many plays. Its uses ranged from the tent of a ménagerie or the wigwam of an Indian brave to the Forest of Arden.
 
This December night it was a "wood near Athens," and to Mhor, if to no one else, it faithfully represented the original. That true Elizabethan needed no aids to his imagination. "This is a wood," said Mhor, and a wood it was. "Is all our company here?" and to him the wood was peopled by Quince and , by Bottom the , by Puck and Oberon. Titania and her court he reluctantly admitted were necessary to the play, but he did not try to visualise them, regarding them as . The love-scenes between Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius, were omitted, because Jock said they were "awful silly."
 
It was Friday evening, so Jock had put off learning his lessons till the next day, and, as Bottom, was calling over the names of his cast.
 
"Are we all met?"
 
"Pat, pat," said Mhor, who combined in his person all the other parts, "and here's a marvellous convenient place for our ; this green plot shall be our stage, this brake our tiring-house; and we will do it in action as we will do it before the duke."
 
Pamela Reston, in her usual place, the corner of the sofa beside the fire, threaded her needle with a bright silk thread, and watched the players amusedly.
 
"Did you ever think," she asked Jean, who sat on a footstool beside her—a glowing figure in a Chinese coat given her by Pamela, engaged rather incongruously in darning one of Jock's stockings—"did you ever think what it must have been like to see a Shakespeare play for the first time? Was the Globe filled, I wonder, with a quite unexpectant first night audience? And did they realise that the words they heard were deathless words? Imagine hearing for the first time:
 
    'When daisies pied and violets blue And lady-smocks all silver
    white….'
and then—'The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.' Did you ever try to write, Jean?"
 
"Pamela," said Jean, "if you drop from Shakespeare to me in that sudden way you'll be dizzy. I have thought of writing and trying to give a picture of Scottish life—a cross between Drumtochty and The House with the Green Shutters—but I'm sure I shall never do it. And if by any chance I did accomplish it, it would probably be reviewed as a 'feebly written story of life in a Scots town,' and then I would beat my pen into a hatpin and retire from the literary . I wonder how critics can bear to do it. I couldn't sleep at nights for thinking of my victims—"
 
"You little ! It wouldn't be honest to praise poor work."
 
Jean shook her head. "They could always be a little kind … Pamela, I love myself in this coat. You can't think what a delight colours are to me." She stopped, and then said shyly, "You have brought colour into all our lives. I can see now how drab they were before you came."
 
"Oh dear, no, Jean, your life was never drab. It could never be drab whatever your circumstances, you have so much happiness within yourself. I don't think anything in life could ever quite down you, and even death—what of death, Jean?"
 
Jean looked up from her stocking. "As Boswell said to Dr. Johnson, 'What of death, Sir?' and the great man was so angry that the little twittering genius should ask lightly of such a terrifying thing that he barked at him and frightened him out of the room! I suppose the ordinary thing is never to think about death at all, to keep the thought pushed away. But that makes people so afraid of it. It's such a to them. The Puritans went to the other extreme and dressed themselves in their grave-clothes every day. Wasn't it Samuel Rutherford who advised people to 'forefancy their latter end'? I think that's where Great-aunt Alison got the idea; she certainly made us 'forefancy' ours! But apart from what death may mean to each of us—life itself gets all its meaning from death. If we didn't know that we had all to die we could hardly go on living, could we?"
 
"Well," said Pamela, "it would certainly be difficult to bear with people if their presence and our own were not uncertain. And if we knew with surety when we rose in the morning that for another forty years we would go on getting up, and having a bath and , we would be apt to expire with . We rise with because we don't know if we shall ever put our clothes on again."
 
Jean gave a little jump of expectation. "It's frightfully interesting. You never do know when you get up in the morning what will happen before night."
 
"Most people find that a little wearing. It isn't always nice things that happen, Jean."
 
"Not always, of course, but far more nice things than nasty ones."
 
"Jean, I'm afraid you're a . You'll reduce me to the depths of depression if you insist on being so bright. Rather help me to rail against fate, and so cheer me."
 
"Do you realise that Davie will be home next week?" said Jean, as if that were reason enough for any amount of optimism. "I think, on the whole, he has enjoyed his first term, but he was pretty homesick at first. He never actually said so, but he told us in one letter that he the tea when he made it, for it was the one thing that reminded him of home. And another time he with dislike of the pollarded trees, because such things are unknown on Tweedside. I'm so glad he has made quite a lot of friends. I was afraid he might be so shy and unforthcoming that he would put people off, but he writes enthusiastically about the men he is with. It is good for him to be made to leave his work, and play games; he is keen about his footer and they think he will row well! The man who has rooms on the same staircase seems a very good sort. I forget who he is—it's quite a well-known family—but he has been kind to Davie. He wants him to go home with him next week, but of course Davie is keen to get back to Priorsford. Besides, you can't visit the stately homes of England on thirty shillings, and that's about Davie's limit, dear lamb! Jock and Mhor are looking forward with joy to hear him speak. They expect his accent to have suffered an change, and Jock doesn't think he will be able to remain in the room with him and not laugh."
 
"I expect Jock will be 'affronted,'" said Pamela. "But you aren't the only one who is expecting a brother, Jean, girl. Any moment I may hear that Biddy is in London. He wired from Port Said that he would come straight to Priorsford. I wonder whether I should take rooms for him in the Hydro, or in one of these nice old hotels in the Nethergate? I wish I could crush him into Hillview, but there isn't any room, !"
 
"I wish," said Jean, and stopped. She had wanted in her way to say that Pamela's brother must come to The Rigs, but she checked the impulse with a fear that it was an absurd proposal. She was immensely interested in this brother of Pamela's. All she had heard of him appealed to her imagination, for Jean, cumbered as she was with domestic cares, had an spirit, and thrilled to hear of the of the mountains, the behind the ranges for something hidden, all the daring escapades of an adventure-loving young man with time and money at his disposal. She had made a hero of Pamela's "Biddy," but now that she was to see him she shrank from the meeting. Suppose he were a sort of person who would be bored with the little town and the people in it. And the fact that he had a title complicated matters, Jean thought. She could not imagine herself talking naturally to Lord Bidborough. Besides, she thought, she didn't know in the least how to talk to men; she so seldom met any.
 
"I expect," she broke out after a silence, "your brother will take you away?"
 
"For Christmas, I think," said Pamela, "but I shall come back again. Do you realise that I've been here two months, Jean?"
 
"Does it seem so short to you?"
 
"In a way it does; the days have passed so pleasantly. And yet I seem to have been here all my life; I feel so much a part of Priorsford, so to the people in it. It must be the Border blood in my . My mother loved her own country dearly. I have heard my aunt say that she never felt at home at Bidborough or Mintern Abbas. I am sure she would have wanted us to know her Scots home, so Biddy and I are going to Champertoun for Christmas. My mother had no brothers, and everything went to a distant cousin. He and his wife seem friendly people and they urge us to visit them."
 
"That will mean a lovely Christmas for you," Jean said.
 
Here Mhor stopped being an Athenian to ask that the sofa might be pushed back. The scene was now the palace of Theseus, and Mhor, as the , was addressing an imaginary audience with—"Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show."
 
Pamela and Jean removed themselves to the window-seat and listened while
Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the
Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited in her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough."
 
A slim, dark young ma............