"Tell Mither, Sir. Tell her, she'll maybe find it easier than she thinks; and maybe I could help her;" and Christine went and stood by her mother's chair, and drew her mother's head close to her breast, and kissed her softly, as she whispered, "Ask the Domine what to do wi' wrangs ye canna bear, and canna pay back?"

"That's the sair part, Sir. Christine has touched the raw. If any man or woman in the village scorns or wrangs me, I can gie them as gude as they send--words or blows--and I wad do it! Yes, I would!"

"Have you given up your kirk membership, Margot?"

"No, Sir, I hae done naething yet, requiring me to do sae; but it's hard saying what I might be driven to, if somebody doesna mak' Jess Morrison quit meddling wi' my family affairs--the lying hizzy!"

"Margot! Margot! My friend Margot! You astonish me, you trouble me!"

"Weel, Domine, I'm very sorry to trouble you. I wad rather trouble the hale village than you. What do you want me to do?"

"Just to try for one month, my plan of treating any injustice, or injury, I receive."

"Weel then, what is your plan? I'm no promising to do what I'm vera sure is far oot o' my way, but if you had been injured on every side o' your heart, as I hae been, what would you do?"

"When I receive an injury, Margot, I think it calmly over, and I am sure to find some excuse for part of it--the rest I forgive."

"There's nae excuse in Neil's case, Sir."

"Yes, there are several. These Rath's promise much for his future. He may even be in love with Miss Rath, and a man in love isna a responsible creature. You hae told me, in the course of years, how much Norman's wife troubled you, and Norman could not prevent her. I have heard the same kind of story about Robert's and Allan's, and Alexander's wives. Men do not seem to be responsible, when they are seeking some woman for a wife. Take this into your thoughts, anent Neil. There were also unhappy money considerations. Evidently Neil is not ready to pay Christine's ninety pounds back, and he does not like to be questioned about it. He would rather keep out of the way. In both these cases, it is not Neil. It is first the girl, then the money. He does not despise you, he is only too considerate about Miss Rath. In the case of the money, he is perhaps counting on its use for his advancement in life, and he would rather not talk about it. He does not hate or scorn his own people, he is only looking out for his future love, and his future living. That is such a common and natural feeling, we need not wonder and weep over it. There must be other excuses to make, if I knew all about Neil's life and hopes, and for the rest of the faults against him--forgive them, as G.o.d forgives your faults against His long suffering love and patience."

"Mebbe that is the right way, but----"

"Right! Say that word to yourself, Margot. Say it till it rings like a shout in your soul, till you feel it in your hand like a drawn sword.

It is a conquering word. Say it till your weak heart grows strong."

"Mither will feel better in a few days, Sir."

"To be sure she will. Neither joy nor sorrow leaves us where it found us. Poor Neil!"

"Why 'poor Neil,' Sir?"

"Because he cannot see beyond his limit, and his limit is self, and selfishness is utter loss. They conquer who endure. Live it down.

Deserting our own is a cruel, silent treason even if they deserve it.

It is a sin that our souls are ashamed of. Margot, your weakness tonight came o'er you in a moment when you were slack in Faith. You are naturally and spiritually a brave woman, Margot. What have you to fear?"

"I dinna want the lad I hae nursed at my breast to be ashamed o'

me--that is my fear, Domine. I dinna want to lose his love."

"Does a man ever forget the mother who bore him? I can't believe it.

When all other loves fade, that is green. It is nearly fifty years since I bid my mother 'good-by' for ever in this life. She is the dearest and sweetest mother to me yet. I remember her eyes, the touch of her lips, the soft caress of her hands, as if I had seen her yesterday. A man, however wicked, is not beyond hope, who yet loves his mother. Neil is not a bad boy. He will love you to the end."

"I fear, I fear, Domine, that----"

"No! You do not fear. You have nothing to fear. There was a noted preacher and poet, who shall tell you what your fear is. His name was Crashaw, and he was an Englishman, who died just about two hundred years ago and he says to a fearful soul:

"There is no storm but this Of your own cowardice, That braves you out.

You are the storm that mocks Yourself, you are the rocks Of your own doubt.

Besides this fear of danger, there's No danger here, And they that here fear danger, Do deserve their fear."

"Ay, that's what you ca' poetry. I dinna understand a word o' it, but I can mind that David said, he didna fear, even in the dead-mirk-dale; but it's a far-back thought to King David, and when a mither is angry at her bairn, she feels as if the Lord, too, was like to lose sight o'

her, and that earth and heaven are baith a' wrang."

"Well, then, Margot, when you feel as if the Lord was like to lose sight o' you, then you canna lose sight o' the Lord. Then, in the words of your Covenanters' Psalms, you be to cry out: 'How lang, O Lord! Will ye mind me nae mair? How long will ye hap yer face frae me?' And then, Margot, you mind how the few verses of doubt and fear, end--'the Lord he's wrought a' things neiborlie for me'. Now, Margot, I am not going to preach to you. Your own leal heart can do that. I will just say goodnight with one verse from that same dear old book o'

psalms--'Let the words o' my mouth, an' the thought o' my heart, be for pleasure in yer sight, O Lord, my strength, and my hame bringer.'

I leave blessing with you."

"You werna as kind as you should hae been to the Domine, Mither. He tried to comfort you," said Christine.

"That was in the way o' his duty. What does he know, puir fellow!

anent a mither's love or sorrow?"

"I'm glad feyther hes wee Jamie for his comfort."

"Ay, but Jamie doesna comfort me, in the place o' Neil."

"You hae me, Mither. Dinna forget Christine."

"Would I do that? Never! Christine is worth a' the lads in Scotland.

They marry--and forget."

"The Domine says he loves his mother today, better than ever, and her dead near fifty years."

"The Domine is a wonder, and he ne'er put a wife in her place. I hope your feyther didna go to the toun today. Where has Jamie been?"

"He went out with feyther, this morning. I think they went to the boats, but I canna weel say. They ought to be hame by this hour. I wonder what is keeping them sae late?"

"Weel, Christine, the trouble hes gone by, this time, and we willna ca' it back. If your feyther didna come across the lad i' the town, it will mebbe be best to let him get back to the Maraschal without remark or recollection."

"To be sure, Mither."

"I wonder what's keeping your feyther? It is too late, and too cold, for Jamie to be out."

"I hear their voices, Mither. They're coming up the hill. Stir the fire into a blaze o' welcome. Just listen to the laddie laughing--and feyther laughing too. Whatever has happened to them?"

James Ruleson and the lad at his side came into the cottage the next moment. The light of the laugh was yet on their faces, and oh, what a happy stir their advent made in the cozy, firelit room! Margot forgot she had been crying and complaining, she was helping her man take off his heavy coat, and Christine was helping the child, who was in a state of great excitement:

"I hae been to the circus!" he cried. "Christine! Gran'mither! I hae been to the circus! It was wonderful! I did not want to leave it. I wanted to stay always there. I want to go tomorrow. Gran'feyther! Will you take me tomorrow? Say yes! Do say yes!"

"Why, James!" cried Margot, "I never heard tell o' the like! Hae ye lost your senses, gudeman?"

"No, I think I hae just found them. I am sair-hearted, because I didna send all the lads there. Let us hae a cup o' tea, and we will tell you how we spent the day."

Then there was a ten minutes hurry, and at the end a well spread table, and four happy faces round it; and as Margot handed Ruleson his big tea cup, she said, "Now, James Ruleson, tell us what you and the lad hae been after today, that took you into such a sinfu' place as a circus. You'll hae to face the Domine on the matter. You, a ruling elder, in a circus! I'm mair than astonished! I'm fairly shocked at ye! And I'm feared it was a premeditated sin. And ye ken what the Domine thinks o' premeditated sins."

"It was far from a sin o' any kind, gudewife. Jamie and I were on our way to the boat, for a few hours' fishing, when we met a lad wi' a note from Finlay, saying he wanted a few words o' advice from me, and I took a sudden thought o' a day's rest, and a bit o' pleasure wi'

little Jamie. Sae, to the town we went, and first o' all to Finlay's, and I had a long talk wi' him, about some railway shares he owns, on my advice; and they hae turned out sae weel, he wanted me to tak' part o' the profit. I wouldna do that, but I let him gie twenty pounds towards the school fund."

"You might hae put that twenty in your ain pouch, gudeman, and nae fault in the same. You are too liberal anent the school. Our ain lads get naething from it."