THEY had climbed up the slope of a hill, and they came to a broad old ditch, beneath the shade of a wood of pine trees.  Below them was a wide marsh, all yellow with marsh flowers, and above them was a steep slope made of stones.  Now the dry ditch, where they sat down on the grass, looking towards the Tweed, with their backs to the hill, was called the Catrail.  It ran all through that country, and must have been made by men very long ago.  Nobody knows who made it, nor why.  They did not know in Randal’s time, and they do not know now.  They do not even know what the name Catrail means, but that is what it has always been called.  The steep slope of stone above them was named the Camp of Rink; it is a round place, like a ring, and no doubt it was built by the old Britons, when they fought against the Romans, many hundreds of years ago.  The stones of which it is built are so large that we cannot tell how men moved them.  But it is a very pleasant, happy place on a warm summer day, like the day when Randal and Jean sat there, with the daisies at their feet, and the wild doves cooing above their heads, and the rabbits running in and out among the ferns.

Jean and Randal talked about this and that, chiefly of how some money could be got to buy corn and cattle for the people.  Randal was in favour of crossing the Border at night, and driving away cattle from the English side, according to the usual custom.

“Every day I expect to see a pair of spurs in a dish for all our dinner,” said Randal.

That was the sign the lady of the house in the Forest used to give her men, when all the beef was done, and more had to be got by fighting.

But Jeanie would not hear of Randal taking spear and jack, and putting himself in danger by fighting the English.  They were her own people after all, though she could not remember them and the days before she was carried out of England by Simon Grieve.

“Then,” said Randal, “am I to go back to Fairyland, and fetch more gold like this ugly thing?” and he felt in his pocket for the fairy bottle.

But it was not in his pocket.

“What have I done with my fairy treasure?” cried Randal, jumping up.  Then he stood still quite suddenly, as if he saw something strange.

He touched Jean on the shoulder, making a sign to her not to speak.

Jean rose quietly, and looked where Randal pointed, and this was what she saw.

She looked over a corner of the old grassy ditch, just where the marsh and the yellow flowers came nearest to it.

Here there stood three tall grey stones, each about as high as a man.  Between them, with her back to the single stone, and between the two others facing Randal and Jean, the old nurse was kneeling.

If she had looked up, she could hardly have seen Randal and Jean, for they were within the ditch, and only their eyes were on the level of the rampart.

Besides, she did not look up; she was groping in the breast of her dress for something, and her eyes were on the ground.

“What can the old woman be doing?” whispered Randal.  “Why, she has got my fairy bottle in her hand!”

Then he remembered how he had shown her the bottle, and how she had gone out without giving it back to him.

Jean and he watched, and kept very quiet.

They saw the old nurse, still kneeling, take the stopper out of the black strange bottle, and turn the open mouth gently on her hand.  Then she carefully put in the stopper, and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand.  Then she crawled along in their direction, very slowly, as if she were looking for something in the grass.

Then she stopped, still looking very closely at the grass.

Next she jumped to her feet with a shrill cry, clapping her hands; and then she turned, and was actually running along the edge of the marsh, towards Fairnilee.

“Nurse!” shouted Randal, and she stopped suddenly, in a fright, and let the fairy bottle fall.

It struck on a stone, and broke to pieces with a jingling sound, and the few drops of strange water in it ran away into the grass.

“Oh, ma bairns, ma bairns, what have you made me do?” cried the old nurse pitifully.  “The fairy gift is broken, and maybe the Gold of Fairnilee, that my eyes have looked on, will ne’er be seen again.”