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Although he seemed as thin as ever he looked bigger, taller and definitely much older.

From the change in him it could have been five or six years since that morning.

"Go on up and see the child."

"But ... he hesitated, his eyes widening.

"She wants you to ... she's waiting. Do you know your way?"

"No."

"Up the stairs, second door on the right."

As he went to pass her he stopped and smiled at her, and as she saw what the smile did in almost transfiguring his face she could understand in some part how this dour Scot had come to captivate her niece.

Grace had told her only this morning that he had never yet held the baby in his arms, and Aggie had already made up her mind to rectify this unnatural position by arranging for him to come to her house when Grace and the child would be there. But now there would be no need for her to be a partner in this form of deception. Yet for all that she said, "If you should be in Newcastle any time you can look me up if you like, I'm in most nights after five. The phone number is Temple 3567

it's easy to remember, 3567."

He looked at her, his face grave now as he savoured all that her brusque, off-hand invitation implied.

"Thank you."

He did not move away and she pushed him now with her voice, saying, "Go on then, get yourself up, and make it snappy."

Andrew had never been beyond the kitchen nor yet had he seen much of the interior of the house from the outside . he had always kept his eyes trained away from the windows when working in the garden . and so now the luxurious comfort of the hall, and drawing-room glimpsed through the open door, attacked his natural

pride and temporarily brought his native arrogance low. She was used to all this yet she had picked him, and she had loved him . did love him. After a moment's pausing, he bounded up the stairs. What were chairs and carpets, anyway? They hadn't brought her happiness, only he had been able to do that. Only he could go on doing that.

The second door on the right was open and Grace was standing in the middle of the room with the child in her arms. Slowly he walked forward, and when he stood in front other she held out the baby to him.

He looked down on it lying in its snowy-white drapery and hesitating, he motioned to his working overcoat.

Take him. "

He took him. This was his son . his son. As he held him and looked for some sign of himself in the laughing eyes and the gurgling, dribbling mouth, his thighs began to tremble, then his knees and finally his arms, and Grace, watching him, laughed gently before saying softly, "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

"He's like his mother.... Take him.... I - I'm Grace laughed again, and, taking the child from his | arms, placed him in his cot.

They stood side by side now looking down on the baby, until Grace, placing a woolly duck in his hands and touching his cheek, gently whispered, "Good night, darling, good night."

Andrew said nothing, the sight of the child in the cot dragged at his eyes, and when Grace, having lowered the light, said, "Andrew," he seemed to have difficulty in turning round to her.

They were facing each other in the dim light of the room. The door was closed. It was an opportunity to fall into each other's arms, but neither of them made a move in this direction. Although the desire to throw herself on him was almost overpowering, Grace could not bring herself to love Andrew within the walls of this house, anA strangely she sensed the same reluctance in him. She smiled tenderly at him, her heart in her eyes, and as she had touched the child's cheek so now her hand went out and touched his. In a moment it was caught and pressed across his mouth. She gave a sharp gasp of breath as if the kiss had been on her lips and had checked her breathing. Unable to rely on the strength of her good intentions for a moment longer, she turned about, pulling her hand from him, and made for the door. Slowly he followed her.

Aunt Aggie was not to be seen when they got downstairs and, in the kitchen once more. Grace said, "I'll make you some tea."

"No, no, don't bother; my mother will be waiting with it ready."

"How is she?"

"Oh, she's all right she's altering my kilt." He gave a wry smile now and drew his hand down the side of his face.

"Did you know I'm playing the pipes on New Year's Eve?"

"No. Oh, Andrew, where?"

"Here, at the do in the school."

"No ... I When was all this arranged?"

"Oh, the do's been talked about for weeks, but I only said I'd play the other day. I ... I thought perhaps it being for the Civil Defence and New Year's Eve ... you ... you might be there."

"I would love to go; oh, Andrew, I would ... and see you in your kilt."

She laughed.

"Will you play-in the New Year?"

"That seems to be the idea."

"I must come. Aunt Aggie will stay a little longer if I ask her. And, Andrew--' She paused and her voice sank

to the merest whisper.

"I'll do my best to get up tomorrow night, I can't tonight."

His hand came out and gripped hers.

"I'll be there." His eyes dropped from her gaze for a moment and he turned her hand over in his and looked at it, and then, pressing it close between his two palms, he said, "Just in case you don't manage it and I don't get a chance to speak to you on New Year's Eve I'd better tell you ... I've got to register."

"Andrew!" She sounded aghast.

"But I thought, being a full-time farm-worker, you were deferred."

"Yes, so did I. But there it is. They're putting women on so I suppose that's the answer."

"Oh, Andrew ... Andrew." She could think of nothing else to say, for she was enveloped in anxiety. Anxiety for his safety, anxiety at the prospect of her loneliness when he would no longer be up on the fells, a mile away, but nevertheless near.

"Does your mother know?"

"No, I haven't told her yet."

"Do you want to go?"

"Want to go ... to the war?" He screwed up his face.

"No, I certainly don't. Want to stick bayonets into fellas and blow their brains out?

Want to go to the war? " His voice was vehement now and he shook his head.

"The pipes rouse no clan spirit in me. I'm no fighting Scot, although I'm proud of coming from across the border. But war...."

Again he shook his head.

"Oh, Andrew."

She realised from his outburst that he had strong opinions about this war. So far they had never been able to discuss anything other than themselves because their moments together were short and precious but she could see now that he must have done some thinking about the war because he, like all the other young men, would be called upon to fight it, not like Donald and Colonel Parley playing at soldiers in the village. Oh she shook her head at herself she supposed she wasn't fair to them, because if there was such a thing as an invasion they would certainly fight. But invasion was a long, long-off chance, and in the meantime she knew that they and most of the older men enjoyed this game of war. It was like an outsize toy with which they could safely play without being held up to ridicule.

"I must talk to you somehow." His voice was earnest.

"When will it be?

I mean when do you register? "

"The third of January, but I may not be called up for weeks."

Again she said, "Oh, Andrew," and the next moment she was in his arms and they were kissing a short, hard, intense, hungry kiss. It seemed to be over before it had actually begun and he had gone through the door pulling it after him quickly in case the light should show, and she leant against the back of it, her arm crooked and her face hiddenin it. What if he were killed and she were left alone? Without Andrew she would be alone. Even the child, somehow, wouldn't count without Andrew.

Aggie stayed and Grace went to the New Year's Eve party. The partitions between the three schoolrooms had been pushed back and every seat that lined the walls was occupied, even while the centre of the floor was taken up by those indulging in the Lancers, the barn dance or north-country reels. At one point in the evening when the laughter and dancing were at their height. Grace's conscience pricked her with the thought that Aggie would have enjoyed all this and it had really been a bit thick asking her to stay and look after the child, especially on New Year's Eve, but Aggie had assured her that all she wanted this particular night was

bed and a book and perhaps a glass of hot whisky and sugar.

Although Grace could see Donald laughing and chaffing with one and another she had the feeling that he wasn't enjoying himself; the affair was a little too rowdy for him. What was more, no church function, dance or social, had gathered anything like this number into the schoolrooms. It was the excitement of war, uniforms, and the uncertainty of seeing another Christmas perhaps that had brought the village out. She had not yet seen Andrew.

At five minutes to twelve the whole company joined hands and the building swelled to the thunder of "Auld Lang Sync'. Then on the stroke of twelve Mr. Blenkinsop raised his fiddle high in one hand and his bow in the other and cried " Quiet! Quiet, I say . I Listen!

Here he comes! " And there, as if from far away across the fells, came the sound of the pipes. Andrew was coming down the main street.

Grace's heart began to leap with a strange excitement. Nearer and nearer came the drone. The faces about her were gleaming expectantly, waiting for the moment to burst into cheering when the piper came round the black-out curtain. They were all looking towards the doorway at the end of the hall. Her heart was pounding. It was a moment filled with sentimentalism, patriotism, custom and tradition, even if of another country; but for tier was added the knowledge that the piper was hers, and that he was playing for her alone, bringing in the New Year for her alone. There came a great burst of cheering as a hand jerked the curtain aside and Andrew Maclntyre, his kilt swaying, the pipes held high, marched into the room.

Her heart swelled with possessive pride; he looked so gallant, taller than ever in the kilt, handsome, fierce, even war-like. But he wasn't war-like, he didn't want to go to the war, he hated war.

The piper did a round of the room, then came to a stop in the centre of the floor and dead opposite to her. But this was not noticeable, for she was one of dozens standing in front of him.

As he finished on a long wail he was blotted from her sight. Everybody was milling together, "Happy New Year! Happy New Year! Many of them, damnation to Hitler! Oh, we'll Hang out the Washing on the Siegfried Line."

It was some ten minutes before she saw Andrew again. He had made his way casually towards her. She saw that he was laughing and his eyes were bright, and she wondered if he had had a drink or two. Funny, but she didn't know whether he took anything.

"Have you really got a clan, Andrew?" This was from young Barker, the publican's son.

"A clan! I should say so." Andrew threw out his chest.

"The Clan Maclntyre."

Those around laughed. Andrew Maclntyre was a fine player and he was in fine form tonight. Nobody could remember seeing him like this before.

"Have you a war-cry?" the boy now asked.

"We have that ... Cruachan! Cruachan!"

"What does it mean?"

"Aw, it's taken from the name of a mountain."

"An' do you ever shout it?"

"Oh, aye, whenever I see a Campbell."

"A Campbell. Why for?"

"Och! Because they pinched our land from us, the thieving rogues."

Andrew was now talking the thick Scots accent and everyone about was laughing.

"We made the mistake of giving them money instead of a snowball and a white calf."

"Away! He's pulling your leg, boy." They pushed at young Barker.

"I'm not, I'm not. It's the truth I'm telling you. Once a year the Maclntyres paid for their land with a white calf and a snowball and it's not so very long ago either. But once they started paying in money the rent went up."

"Oh, he can tell a tale. By, he can! And what a player, eh? Never would have believed it."

Pride rose in Grace. He was not just a farm-worker, he was Andrew Maclntyre with a clan. He had behind him something that the ordinary man didn't have tradition, clannish tradition. But what was a clan?

All Scots had clans, in fact they were one big clan. She laughed at herself now. With or without the prestige of a clan she loved Andrew Maclntyre. At half past twelve, as the vicar's wife was handing out refreshments, Andrew Maclntyre approached her and asked her for the pleasure of the Lancers. There was nothing wrong in this parson or peasant, publican and lawyer were equal on this New Year's morning. So Grace danced with Andrew for the first time. They were both light on their feet, their steps fitted, and as they got into the dance they became dangerously near forgetting where they were, for after changing partners and coming together again their glances would become entwined.

Their faces full of youth and love, they could see no-one else. Yet no-one seemed to notice them this was New Year's Day perhaps with one exception, Dr. Cooper. He had slipped in for a few minutes to see the fun and his attention had been caught by Grace Rouse and young Andrew Maclntyre, arrayed in his kilt, dancing together. They were both young and somehow they matched.

The danger must have made itself apparent to Andrew, for, the dance ended, he left the hall, after saying to a number of people including Grace, "I'll have to be making my way over the fells; my mother'll be waiting up for her first foot."

Almost at the same time as Andrew went out Bertrand Parley came in. He was accompanied by two other officers, and if there had been a doubt in Grace's mind as to whether Andrew had had a drink, there was no such doubt on looking at Bertrand Parley, for he was very merry.

That the entry of the three officers put a slight dampener on the company and took away some of the spontaneous informality, bringing in its place a stiffness to the men and a false decorum to the women, was not all Grace's imagination. But this could not last, this was New Year's Day, and soon two of the three officers were dancing.