The Daur and its tributary the Lorrie were about to merge their last difference on the floor of Jean's parlour.

Worst of all, a rapid current had set in across the farther end of the stable, which no one had as yet observed.
Jean bustled about her work as usual, nor, although it was so much augmented, would accept help from any of her guests until it came to preparing dinner, when she allowed Janet and the foreman's wife to lend her a hand.

"The tramp-wife" she would not permit to touch plate or spoon, knife or potato.

The woman rose in anger at her exclusion, and leaving the house waded to the barn.

There she went up the ladder to the loft where she had slept, and threw herself on her straw-bed.
As there was no doing any work, Donal was out with two of the men, wading here and there where the water was not too deep, enjoying the wonder of the strange looks and curious conjunctions of things.
None of them felt much of dismay at the havoc around them: beyond their chests with their Sunday clothes and at most two clean shirts, neither of the men had anything to lose worth mentioning; and for Donal, he would gladly have given even his books for such a ploy.
"There's ae thing, mither," he said, entering the kitchen, covered with mud, a rabbit in one hand and a large salmon in the other, "we're no like to sterve, wi' sawmon i' the hedges, an' mappies i' the trees!" His master questioned him with no little incredulity.