The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lilac Sunbonnet, by S.R. Crockett (#2 in our series by S.R. Crockett)

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.

**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

Title: The Lilac Sunbonnet

Author: S.R. Crockett

Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4918] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on March 27, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LILAC SUNBONNET ***

This eBook was produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

THE LILAC SUNBONNET

A LOVE STORY

BY S. R. CROCKETT

AUTHOR OF THE STICKIT MINISTER, THE RAIDERS, ETC.

CONTENTS.

PROLOGUE.—BY THE WAYSIDE
       I.—THE BLANKET-WASHING
      II.—THE MOTHER OF KING LEMUEL
     III.—A TREASURE-TROVE
      IV.—A CAVALIER PURITAN
       V.—A LESSON IN BOTANY
      VI.—CURLED EYELASHES
     VII.—CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE
    VIII.—THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS FOR CONQUEST
      IX.—THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF
       X.—THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS
      XI.—ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL
     XII.—MIDSUMMER DAWN
    XIII.—A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET
     XIV.—CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX
      XV.—ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD
     XVI.—THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION
    XVII.—WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME
   XVIII.—A DAUGHTER OF THE PlCTS
     XIX.—AT THE BARN END
      XX.-"DARK-BROWED EGYPT"
     XXI.—THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISH
    XXII.—A SCARLET POPPY
   XXIII.—CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON
    XXIV.—LEGITIMATE SPORT
     XXV.—BARRIERS BREAKING
    XXVI.—SUCH SWEET PERIL
   XXVII.—THE OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT UPON BESOM-SHANKS
  XXVIII.—THAT GIPSY JESS
    XXIX.—THE DARK OF THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE
     XXX.—THE HILL GATE
    XXXI.—THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG
   XXXII.—OUTCAST AND ALIEN FROM THE COMMONWEALTH
  XXXIII.—JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND
   XXXIV.—THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH
    XXXV.—SUCH SWEET SORROW
   XXXVI.—OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY
  XXXVII.—UNDER THE RED HEATHER
 XXXVIII.—BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR
   XXXIX.—JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH
      XL.—A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION
     XLI.—THE MEETING OF THE SYNOD
    XLII.—PURGING AND RESTORATION
   XLIII.—THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER
    XLIV.—WINSOME'S LAST TRYST
     XLV.—THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET

PROLOGUE.

BY THE WAYSIDE

As Ralph Peden came along the dusty Cairn Edward road from the coach which had set him down there on its way to the Ferry town, he paused to rest in the evening light at the head of the Long Wood of Larbrax. Here, under boughs that arched the way, he took from his shoulders his knapsack, filled with Hebrew and Greek books, and rested his head on the larger bag of roughly tanned Westland leather, in which were all his other belongings. They were not numerous. He might, indeed, have left both his bags for the Dullarg carrier on Saturday, but to lack his beloved books for four days was not to be thought of for a moment by Ralph Peden. He would rather have carried them up the eight long miles to the manse of the Dullarg one by one.

As he sat by the tipsy milestone, which had swayed sidelong and lay half buried amid the grass and dock leaves, a tall, dark girl came by—half turning to look at the young man as he rested. It was Jess Kissock, from the Herd's House at Craig Ronald, on her way home from buying trimmings for a new hat. This happened just twice a year, and was a solemn occasion.

"Is this the way to the manse of Dullarg?" asked the young man, standing up with his hat in his hand, the brim just beneath his chin. He was a handsome young man when he stood up straight.

Jess looked at him attentively. They did not speak in that way in her country, nor did they take their hats in their hands when they had occasion to speak to young women.

"I am myself going past the Dullarg," she said, and paused with a hiatus like an invitation.

Ralph Peden was a simple young man, but he rose and shouldered his knapsack without a word. The slim, dark-haired girl with the bright, quick eyes like a bird, put out her hand to take a share of the burden of Ralph's bag.

"Thank you, but I am quite able to manage it myself," he said, "I could not think of letting you put your hand to it."

"I am not a fine lady," said the girl, with a little impatient movement of her brows, as if she had stamped her foot. "I am nothing but a cottar's lassie."

"But then, how comes it that you speak as you do?" asked Ralph.

"I have been long in England—as a lady's maid," she answered with a strange, disquieting look at him. She had taken one side of the bag of books in spite of his protest, and now walked by Ralph's side through the evening coolness.

"This is the first time you have been hereaway?" his companion asked.

Ralph nodded a quick affirmative and smiled.

"Then," said Jess Kissock, the rich blood mantling her dark cheeks, "I am the first from the Dullarg you have spoken to!"

"The very first!" said Ralph.

"Then I am glad," said Jess Kissock. But in the young man's heart there was no answering gladness, though in very sooth she was an exceeding handsome maid.

CHAPTER I.

THE BLANKET-WASHING.

Ralph Peden lay well content under a thorn bush above the Grannoch water. It was the second day of his sojourning in Galloway—the first of his breathing the heather scent on which the bees grew tipsy, and of listening to the grasshoppers CHIRRING in the long bent by the loch side. Yesterday his father's friend, Allan Welsh, minister of the Marrow kirk in the parish of Dullarg, had held high discourse with him as to his soul's health, and made many inquiries as to how it sped in the great city with the precarious handful of pious folk, who gathered to listen to the precious and savoury truths of the