ery fire,
the men enjoying their pipes, Maggie Jean busy with her knitting. No
sound disturbed the peaceful calm except the regular faint click of the
rapidly moving knitting-pins.

Suddenly there was a loud noise at the door. It was not so much a
knock as the fall of some heavy body against it. Don's startled bark
roused all from their seats, and Peter made for the door at once,
having first quieted the dog by the forcible argument of a
well-directed kick. "It's a mon," he cried in surprise as he opened
the door, "faint wi' the cauld!" And at once strong arms lifted the
prostrate form out of the snow and bore it to the warm hearthside.

It was a man--young and handsome. He was well dressed, and his thick
gloves, gaiters and strong boots, together with his warm clothing,
showed him to be not altogether unprovided against the cold whose
unusual potency had overcome him. He had evidently tramped for some
distance in deep snow, and gave proofs of more than one fall into the
drifts.

The men busied themselves in efforts for his restoration. Maggie Jean
produced whiskey, which they administered in small doses; Jock and
Peter drew off the man's sodden boots and socks, and chafed his hands
and feet in the warmth of the fire. Old Davie stood regarding the
stranger attentively during these proceedings.

"It's himsel', I doot," he remarked to Jock at last. "D'ye ken him?"

"Aye, aye," said Jock dispassionately. "I ken him fine. I see him in
the toon last market-day. It's himsel', sure enough!"

"Eh! Puir body!" exclaimed old Davie. "And mayhe the creetur wes on
his wye t' oor still."

"Nae doot o' thot," remarked Peter, while Jock wisely nodded assent.

"No' but what he'd find it gey hard to come up wi't in the sna' and
a'!" added the latter, in a tone of unrestrained congratulation.

They spoke in half-whispers, and never ceased their charitable
ministrations the while. Not a word passed on the subject again, for
in a few minutes the stranger had gained consciousness. He looked in a
puzzled way from one face to another, not realizing for the moment
where he was. Davie was the first to speak.

"The storm's bin ower muckle for ye, sir, I'm thinkin'," he said
kindly. "It's weel ye chanced to find y'r wye t' oor wee hoosachie.
It's nae muckle to be prood on; but it's better ner bein' ootside in
siclike weather, I doot!"

Bonar suddenly became aware of the identity of his hosts. He had no
doubt that