The laird never thought of it in this light, but he did know that he was very uncomfortable.
"I canna even get my porridge made right," he said fretfully to the dominie.
"You should hae a proper person o'er them ne'er-do-weel servants o' yours, laird.

I ken one that will do you." "Wha is she ?" "A Mrs.Hope." "A widow ?" "No, not a widow, but she is not living with her husband." "Then she'll ne'er win into my house, dominie." "She has good and sufficient reasons.

I uphold her.

Do you think I would sanction aught wrong, laird ?" No more was said at that time, but a month afterwards Mrs.Hope had walked into the Keep and taken everything in her clever little hands.
Drunken, thieving, idle servants had been replaced by men and women thoroughly capable and efficient.

The laird's tastes were studied, his wants anticipated, his home became bright, restful, and quiet.