sed away at the age
of two in the course of a severe winter. Clearly he would never have
been a credit to oatmeal. His younger brother broke loose at nineteen,
pained his relatives exceedingly, and retired to a distant colony where
the standard was lower. His name was never mentioned till at his decease
it was found that he had left L30,000 to be divided among the survivors
of the ordeal. And finally, here was Heriot, a credit to his parents,
his porridge, and his Catechism--in a word, an Example.

One damp February morning, Mr. Walkingshaw, accompanied as usual by his
eldest son, set forth from his decorous residence. It was one of a
circle of stately houses, broken in two or three places to permit the
sedatest kind of street to enter. The grave dignity of these mansions
was accentuated by the straight, deep-hewn furrows at the junctions of
the vast rectangular stones, and by the pediment and fluted pillars
which every here and there gave one of them the appearance of a Greek
temple dedicated to some chaste goddess. In the midst, a round,
railed-in garden was full of lofty trees, very upright and dark, like
monuments to the distinguished inhabitants.

Just as Mr. Walkingshaw and his son had got down the steps and reached
the pavement, the door opened again behind them and a figure appeared
which seemed to light the dull February morning with a ray of something
like sunshine. Her dress was a warm golden brown; her face clear-skinned
and fresh-colored, with bright eyes, a straight little nose, and, at
that moment, eager, parted lips; her hair a coil of curling gold; her
age nineteen.

"Father!" she cried, "you've forgotten your muffler!"

"Tut, tuts," muttered Mr. Walkingshaw.

He stopped and let her wind the muffler round his neck, while his son
regarded the performance with a curiously captious eye.

"Thanks, Jean," said Mr. Walkingshaw.

He threw the girl a brief nod, and the two resumed their walk. Jean
stood for a minute on the steps with a smile half formed upon her lips,
as though she were prepared to wave them a farewell; but neither man
looked back, and the smile died away, the door closed behind her, and
the morning became as raw as ever.

For a few minutes father and son walked together in silence. In Andrew's
eye lurked the same suggestion of criticism, and in his parent's some
consciousness of this and not a little consequent irritation. They were
the same height--just under six feet--and there was