"Time is naething tae me, Jock. Time, that gies us thochts an' veesions an' lessons, is weel spent. Sae, dinna spare!"

"Hech, man Laird, but she was barely Saxteen; an' the Mither an' her, bent on makin' a pickle siller, bundlet her aff tae the great Toun, an' gat her a genteel place in a Mansion at the Wast End. The first year, a' gaed richt eneuch, an' her weekly letter was the joy o' a' at Peesweep Nests. Every chance, there cam' aye a bit knick-knack for the Hoose tae the Mither, an' a quarter o' Bacca tae Daidy—the verra twist she used to buy for me at the Castlebraes, an' brawly kennt she hoo I likit it! . . .

"But, losh, man Laird, yae nicht whan I cam' in frae the Hill, says Bell the Wife, wi' a kin' o' saftness in her voice that shook me-'Jockie, ma man, ye'll gang tae Glesca the morn, an' bring hame oor Bell.' 'What,' shouted I, 'Wifie, is the Dochter ill?' 'At ony rate,' says she, 'Bell maun come hame.' An' she laid a bit open letter on the Kitchen table, an' slippit saftly awa' oot tae the Byre. Kind-o'-dazed, I grabbit it; an' there I read only a kindly message frae a Neebour lass servin' i' the same Hoose, 'that something had gane wrang wi' Bell, an' that she had better be wi' her Iain Mither for a wee.' .

'What's this, thocht I. Is't fever, or consumption, or a broken leg, or what? Great muckle turnip-heid, that I was, it took me several meenuts tae hammer oot what her Mither's instinck had

seen at a glance. As the horrible thing began slowly to dawn on me, I just leant forwarts, laid ma twa haun's on ma twa knees, booed doon ma

heid, an' swore, an' swore, an'

swore, till I had na shape an aith! I

anither breath left in me to cursed an' swore, alike at God an' at Man. I had nae ither wush at that moment but to be deid, an' dune wi't a'! ...

"Tae see oor Bell in that state, an' tae bring her hame in disgrace - Laird, man, I tell ye, deith, dooble deith, deith in fire an' flude, was na to be named 'the same breath! ...

"But, ben cam' Bell the Wife, oot frae the Byre, where she quately waited till ma rage was spent a wee; an' says she, as calm like as ye please,— 'Jockie, ma man, ye maun gang tae Glesca. She's oor Bairn, an' gif her ain Daidy does na proteck her, nae sayin' what micht happen.' . . . This was pouther an' shot, poured red het into ma puir stupit heid, and set me aff in a bleeze-' Happen tae her, happen tae her!' quo' I; 'gif ony Loon in Glesca daur tae hairm yae hair o' her heid, he'll hae to square accounts wi' me afore the morrow's nichtan' the yin o' us 'll mak' a spuilly, or ma name's no Heather Jock!'

"Man Laird, tae ma great surprise, the Wife lookit awfu' upliftit at this! An' a licht cam' ower her face, as if she had gained a victory, instead o' being a Mither covered wi' disgrace."

"Nae wonder," responded I. "She kennt that Bell was safe, when she saw the faither-hert in ye fairly roosed at last."

"Laird, that nicht I sleepit little, an' the Wife less. She was up afore the oot ma Sunday claes, an' temptin' breakfast. We

skraich o' day, spreadin' cookin' for me a verra never had ower mony

an' me.

words tae tell oor feelin's tae ilk ither, the Wife We kind o' understood a' withoot muckle help frae words! But, that mornin', withoot yince namin' the shamefu' thing that had happened, she laid her haun' on ma shoother at the door, and, lookin' richt doon intill me, said wi' an unco saftness i' her voice:

"Jockie, ma man, ye'll bring oor Bairn safe hame tae me, whatever happens. Dinna luik angry at her. Dinna say sair words. Tell her, the Mither 'll no sleep, till she faulds her ain Lassie in her airms this nicht!'

"That journey tae Glesca, Laird, was ma first an' ma last i' the Train. For years had I luikit forrit till that, as the yae great treat o' ma life. But, on that day, the scenery was a' dule and dreary; the bonniest Glens an' the brawest Hills had tint a' their glamour; an' I thocht the men and women beside me the least interestin' lot o' human beings I had ever met i' this warld. In troth, there was but yae thing i' ma hert, an' yae thing i' ma ee, an' a'thing else was lost on me, that day.

"The great roarin' Toun, the plate-glass Winnocks wi' their shows o' gowd an' finery, the michty graun' Hooses an' Mansions,-they passed me, like processions in a dream, and, neist meenut, I couldna tell what I had seen!

"Spierin', spierin', Street after Street, an' Terrace after Terrace,-I fand masel' in a Kitchen, an' Bell cam' steppin' ben an' kissed me; but there was a kin' o' veil or a shadow ower her face that I had never seen afore. I luikit, an' luikit, as saftly as I could, an' tauld ower a' her Mither's words; but

still that meeserable veil wadna lift.

Bell was there, shure eneuch; but there was a something atween us, an' ma hert was like to brack; for that I could na staun' ava,-ony shadow twixt me and Bell. .

"Pit up your bits o' things, Bell,' said I, 'an mak' ready tae come awa' wi' me. Ye're gaun hame tae yer Mither, the nicht; an yer ain auld Daidy's

here tae tak' ye safely awa'. . . . Your Mistress? Leave that tae me. I'll settle a' wi' her!'

"Turnin' tae a bit Lassock that was cleanin' i' the Kitchen, says I,-' Gang wi' me tae the Mistress, an' introduce me as the faither o' Bell, ma bonnie Lass.'

"Up stairs,—a knock,-an' she ushered me into the presence o' a hauchty madam, dinglin' wi' gowd cheens, an' rowth o' jewels an' rings flashin' aboot her;

"Lady Bland, this is Bell's faither, and he wishes to see you, please Ma'm.'

Gude day tae ye, Mem,' quo' I. 'The Gudewife has sent me for Bell. She wants her hame, an' I

houp ye'll no objeck.'

"Not I in the least,' replied she, wi' a tongue shairper than ma razor; 'Glad to see her out of this! I trusted her, and valued her highly; and now she has brought disgrace on us.'

"Disgrace,' quo' I; 'speak cannie, Mem! Ye've sons an' dochters o' yer ain, I learn; an', mibbe, this is no past mendin' yet. Think hoo ye wad feel, if it was yin o' yer ain, an' deal kindly wi' Bell an' me.'

She said she wushed

"She luikit kind o' peetifu'. us weel; but wad say nae mair that day. Man

Laird, ye see, I kennt na, then, what she kennt, that it was her ain eldest Son that had dune the shamefu' deed; an' that I, withoot jaloosin', was thrustin' her through an' through wi' swurds! . . .

"But, on the wey tae the Station, wi' Bell an' her bit box, I gleaned that Sir James's heir was the man, and that he micht be seen at their Offis in the Ceety, close by. Him I determined tae see, come what micht!

Sae, leavin' Bell at the Railway, amidst her paircels, I suddenly minded o' a message that had to be attended tae in a shop near by, an', by the help o' a few spierins, I shune stood at the Offis door o' Sir James Bland, an' askit tae see the young Maister. Passin' through a great ooter Ha', where ithers were waitin' their turns, I was marched to the door o' an Inner Chaumer, marked 'Private.' The Clerkie Lad, that knockit, showed me in. Ither twa Clerkie Lads, readin' an' writin' wi' piles o' letters afore them, rase and left the room, at a signal frae the Dapper Mannie sittin' at the grandest desk o' a, richt i' the middle.

"I fand masel' face tae face wi' a verra prim, curly-haired, eye-glassed, gowd-ringed an' gowdcheened Gent, about 30, mair or less. He sat still, luikit verra hard at me, as if to say—'What's yer wull?' an' waited for me tae speak. "I'm Bell's faither,' quo' I, firm, but no impudent.

"I guessed as much,' quo' he; 'I had a hint that you had been written for.'

666

Mibbe, then,' continued I, 'ye're jaloosin' why I ca'd here ? Her Mither is unco sair - herted;