ion of the wonder and the joy
of a circus, and the last cups of tea were turned into some glorious
kind of a drink, by the laughter and delight his descriptions evoked.
Then and there it was resolved that his grandfather must take him
again on the following day, and with this joyous expectation in his
heart, the child at last fell asleep.

When Ruleson and his wife were alone, Margot noticed that her man's
face became very somber and thoughtful. He was taking his bed-time
smoke by the fireside, and she waited beside him, with her knitting in
her hands, though she frequently dropped it. She was sure he had
something on his mind, and she waited patiently for its revealing. At
length he shook the ashes from his pipe, and stood it in its proper
corner of the hob, then going to the window, he looked out and said,

"It's fair and calm, thank God! Margot, I saw Neil today." As he
spoke, he sat down, and looked at her, almost sorrowfully.

"What did he say for himsel'?"

"I didna speak to him. I was in Finlay's store, at the back o' it,
whar Finlay hes his office. A young man came into the store, and
Finlay got up and went to speak to him. It was Rath, and when he went
awa', Finlay called me, and showed me a little group on the sidewalk.
They were Rath and his sister, our Neil and Provost Blackie's son."

"Our Provost Blackie's son?"

"Just sae. And Neil and him were as well met and friendly as if they
had been brought up in the same cottage. The four o' them stood
talking a few minutes, and then Neil offered his arm to Miss Rath, and
led the young lady to a carriage waiting for them. She smiled and said
something, and Neil turned and bowed to Rath and young Blackie, and
then stepped into the carriage and took his seat beside the lady, and
they drove off together."

"Gudeman, you arena leeing to me?"

"I am telling you the plain evendown truth, Margot."

"Did he see you?"

"No. I keepit oot o' his way."

"Whatna for?"

"I needna say the words."

"I'll say them for you--you thought he would be ashamed o' you."

"Ay, he might hae been. Dinna cry, woman. Dear, dear woman, dinna cry!
It's our ain fault--our ain fault. If we had stood firm for the
pulpit, if we had said, 'you must be either a preacher or a
schoolmaster,' this wouldna hae been. We were bent on makin' a
gentleman o' him, and now he prefers gentlemen to fishermen--we ought
to hae expectit it."

"It is cruel, shamefu', ungratefu' as it can be!"

"A