r,
Do deserve their fear."

"Ay, that's what you ca' poetry. I dinna understand a word o' it, but
I can mind that David said, he didna fear, even in the dead-mirk-dale;
but it's a far-back thought to King David, and when a mither is angry
at her bairn, she feels as if the Lord, too, was like to lose sight o'
her, and that earth and heaven are baith a' wrang."

"Well, then, Margot, when you feel as if the Lord was like to lose
sight o' you, then you canna lose sight o' the Lord. Then, in the
words of your Covenanters' Psalms, you be to cry out: 'How lang, O
Lord! Will ye mind me nae mair? How long will ye hap yer face frae
me?' And then, Margot, you mind how the few verses of doubt and fear,
end--'the Lord he's wrought a' things neiborlie for me'. Now, Margot,
I am not going to preach to you. Your own leal heart can do that. I
will just say goodnight with one verse from that same dear old book o'
psalms--'Let the words o' my mouth, an' the thought o' my heart, be
for pleasure in yer sight, O Lord, my strength, and my hame bringer.'
I leave blessing with you."

"You werna as kind as you should hae been to the Domine, Mither. He
tried to comfort you," said Christine.

"That was in the way o' his duty. What does he know, puir fellow!
anent a mither's love or sorrow?"

"I'm glad feyther hes wee Jamie for his comfort."

"Ay, but Jamie doesna comfort me, in the place o' Neil."

"You hae me, Mither. Dinna forget Christine."

"Would I do that? Never! Christine is worth a' the lads in Scotland.
They marry--and forget."

"The Domine says he loves his mother today, better than ever, and her
dead near fifty years."

"The Domine is a wonder, and he ne'er put a wife in her place. I hope
your feyther didna go to the toun today. Where has Jamie been?"

"He went out with feyther, this morning. I think they went to the
boats, but I canna weel say. They ought to be hame by this hour. I
wonder what is keeping them sae late?"

"Weel, Christine, the trouble hes gone by, this time, and we willna
ca' it back. If your feyther didna come across the lad i' the town, it
will mebbe be best to let him get back to the Maraschal without remark
or recollection."

"To be sure, Mither."

"I wonder what's keeping your feyther? It is too late, and too cold,
for Jamie to be out."

"I hear their voices, Mither. They're coming up the hill. Stir the
fire into a blaze o' welcome. Just listen to the laddie laughing--and
feyther laughing t