creation with the old
Cameronian. True, they disputed the whole time. John said very
positive things and Andrew very contemptuous ones; but as they each
kept their own opinions intact, and were quite sure of their grounds
for doing so, no words that were uttered ever slackened the grip of
their hands at parting.

One day, as John was on the way to Cargill, he perceived a man sitting
among the Druids' stones. The stranger was a pleasant fellow, and
after a few words with the preacher he proposed that they should ride
to Sinverness together. John soon got to talking of Andrew and his
lost son, and the stranger became greatly interested. He said he
should like to go up to Andrew's and get a description of Davie,
adding that he travelled far and wide, and might happen to come across
him.

The old man met them at the door.

"My sight fails, John," he said, "but I'd hae kent your step i' a
thousand. You too are welcome, sir, though I ken you not, and doubly
welcome if you bring God's blessing wi' you."

The stranger lifted his hat, and Andrew led the way into the house.
John had been expected, for haver bread and potted shrimps were on the
table, and he helped himself without ceremony, taking up at the same
time their last argument just where he had dropped it at the gate of
the lower croft. But it had a singular interruption. The sheep-dogs
who had been quietly sleeping under the settle began to be strangely
uneasy. Keeper could scarcely be kept down, even by Andrew's command,
and Sandy bounded towards the stranger with low, rapid barks that made
John lose the sense of the argument in a new thought. But before he
could frame it into words Mysie came in.

"See here, John," she cried, and then she stopped and looked with
wide-open eyes at the man coming towards her. With one long, thrilling
cry she threw herself into his arms.

"Mother! mother! darling mother, forgive me!"

John had instantly gone to Andrew's side, but Andrew had risen at once
to the occasion. "I'm no a woman to skirl or swoon," he said, almost
petulantly, "and it's right and fit the lad should gie his mither the
first greeting."

But he stretched out both hands, and his cheeks were flushed and his
eyes full when Davie flung himself on his knees beside him.

"My lad! my ain dear lad!" he cried, "I'll see nae better day than
this until I see His face."

No one can tell the joy of that hour. The cheese curds were left in
the dairy and the wool was