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like spurtle clenched in her hand. This she had dropped silently behind her, at first sight of her visitor, with a hint, in her half-abashed gaze, that it never could be used for anything more deadly than stirring the porridge - pot! As Angell Jenn murmured and softly purred to poor Drucken Wull, handing over the new scone to his wife, and cheerily offering to wait and join them in a cup of tea, a beautiful light began to illumine even the face of Dirty Bett. She hated life-she hated herself-she hated her drunken husband-but she loved this Little Woman, and would try to please her.

The crowd had, meantime, withdrawn from about the door, feeling that the business was too serious for mere empty show. They ranged themselves on the Bank of the Mill Lade, running along the opposite side of the Village Gate; and made-believe that they were innocently gossiping, as usual, about

A'Thing" and "A'Body"; though, in reality, every one of them was listening, ear and eye intent, for the outcome of the Clay Biggin' episode. For several minutes, which in the circumstances seemed to be hours, all had been peaceful as an Evening Psalm. By-and-bye, the door opened, and Betty, without glancing to left or right, made for the Village Well, kettle in hand, and swiftly disappeared again back into the house.

"Preserve us a'!" muttered Moudie Jamie, "Is she gaun tae feenish'm aff wi' Toddy?"

Some of the lighter hearts laughed. But Angell James turned a pained look on the speaker, as if the joke reflected unworthily on Angell Jenn. All knew that these were not the weapons of her warfare.

The Youngkers had now nearly all left the Village Green. But it suited the Cheery Miller, just at this juncture, to make a circuit round the same, and vigorously to shoo the lesser Bairns off the scene, and away to their beds, as if he were driving before him a cackling clocker and her brood of chickens. He being very tall and thin, however, was observed to stretch his neck and eagerly gaze towards the window of the Clay Biggin',-halting as long as he could decently make any pretence for halting, in the process of shooing the Bairns past it. This little game of his was seen through by all; and there was a hush of expectancy when he threw himself on the Bank of the Lade. First he gave

vent to a deep and long-cherished chuckle of unspeakable glee. Then there came the provokingly unintelligible cry

"Lovan-entie-me!

entie-me!"

Yon cowes a'! Lovan

After several repetitions, each emphasised by a slap on the Miller's own thigh that sent the flour flying in clouds into the faces of the rest,-Moudie Jamie recalled the Miller to his senses by sarcastically observing:

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Mercy on us a'! The Mill Stane has run aff. The Corn's dune. The Miller's brain has lost its grit. Let nae mair o' ye keek in at that Winnock."

"Cannie, Moudie man, cannie! Ma een saw't; but ma brain's just tryin' tae tak' it a' in, afore I tell it ower. A bonnie sicht! A bonnie sicht! There sat the three o' them, aboot the wee table in front o' the fire;-Wull hingin' ower the airm o' his chair, the buttered scone in the yae haun', an'

Angell Jenn tryin' to steady the tither, an'wilin' a cup o' tea tae his mou; on the opposite side, Betty, wi' a new weeshen face (as shure as deith!), an' a clean mutch an' a white apron, poorin' oot the tea an' pressin' her veesitor tae eat ;-an' atween the twa sat Angell Jenn, wi' licht on her face, an' lauchter in her voice, and cracky jokes, as if it was a waddin' spree! Lovan-entie-me, but yon cowes a'! That Angell Jenn's no a cannie craytur. I thocht she wad been haudin' a Prayer Meetin', and gettin' puir Wull doon greetin' on his knees. But yon cowes a'."

"Man Miller," retorted Moudie Jamie, "Ye micht hae learnt, afore this time o' day, that gif ye want at folks' herts, there's waur Means o' Grace than buttered scones and breezy jokes."

They had seen it Besides, they were

An hour and more had passed away. Several of the Villagers had scattered to their Homes and to their early beds. This scene did not smite to their inner being, as it smote to mine. all, scores of times, may be. familiar with the personality of Angell Jenn of The Cottage. It did not rise on them, as on me, like a Heavenly Dawn, flooding heart and brain. To them, Wull was the one hopeless drunkard of the Village, doomed only, and certainly, to a drunkard's grave. They had ceased to think of the Sin; and almost ceased to pity the Sinner. So completely had the idea of the Sin passed from them, that they felt no particular shock in seeing the Children making sport of Drucken Wull and his madcap sprees. They looked on him, much as one looks on the Clown at a show. There was

much laughter. There was little pity. There was almost no shame.

But my inmost soul was thrilled to notice with what very different emotions Angell Jenn viewed the whole event. I felt as if Christ had crossed the pathway. Hushed were all the mocking voices. And all the wells began to fill with love and tears.

Through all these evening hours, she, sacrificing her time, her heart, her Home claims, was with infinite skill wakening the Soul's life in poor Drucken Wull. Her first line of assault was to make him absolutely trust herself-to believe in her, to be anxious and willing to please her; and to write that into his brain even then, so that, when he came to be sober, it might flood back on him with power, and constrain him to the better way.

Her second line of assault was more difficult. It was to sap and mine underneath his hatred and suspicion of Betty; and to pierce him with the conviction that his poor Wife, whom he had neglected and abused and wronged, was mad with him for the very love she bore him; and that she would glory in him, as never Queen gloried in her jewels, if he were but a sober and decent man, even half worthy of her love.

As for Betty herself, Angell Jenn knew, by woman's instinct, that her savage tongue and savage temper were but the mis-shapen counterparts of the love she longed to show; and that these would die off into songs of joy and psalms of peace, the moment that Wull came to himself; -so she bothered little about the changing of Betty.

Under such generalship, and partly under the influence of the Scones and the Tea, Wull waxed eloquent, and became communicative beyond all former experience. The day, when he "felled the Polis," and it took "three mair o' the same to drag me tae the Offis, leavin' ma coat an' waistcoat in a hunder shreds on the Plainstanes,"-was described with aggravating minuteness; and every scene ended with a slap from the shut fist, that made all the cups dance on the table, followed by the foolish boast "They'll think twice, afore they meddle again wi' Drucken Wull."

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The day, when he "horse-whuppit the Meenister, and made him rin skellochin' three times round his ain Stable Yaird for ca'in' me 'a disgrace tae the Pairish"-had to be chronicled with painful detail, ending with a thud that shook the little table, and the renewed assertion-"The Meenister 'll think twice, afore he meddles again wi' Drucken Wull!”

The day, when he was "pitched heid foremost ower Lochar Brig frae a runawa' horse and cairt; an' they searched the watter for a mile wi' airn graips; but a wee Herd Laddie fand me, sax and twenty 'oors after, stickin' in a Peat Hole up tae the oxters, and nowther Man nor Deevil can tell hoo I got there," — all this also had to be gone over again, with many stops and curses, for Sleep was now asserting itself, and Angell Jenn encouraged it by introducing still another Means of Grace.

"Ye've dune weel, Wullie ma man; ye've enterteened us like a prince! An' noo, ye maun hae a bit nappie. After a hard faucht, welcome a deep sleep. See, there's wee Lappie, yaumerin' tae get

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