ven if folk cannot quite make out the lady or
gentleman that uses them."

I could not help laughing. "What words did you use?" I asked.

"Naething oot o' the way, I just told him, in a ceevil manner, that he
was a feckless, fashious gowk, or something or ither o' an idiotic
make. He was just telling me he didn't speak French, when you opened
the door," and then she laughed in a very infectious manner. "But this
is not business, Madam," she said, "and I will be glad to hear what
you require."

Our business was soon pleasantly arranged, and just then, very
opportunely, my five o'clock tea came in, and I asked Miss Sarah
Lochrigg to stay, and drink a cup with me, and tell me all about the
Scotland of her day. "It is fifty years since I left Scotland," I
said, "there will be many changes since then."

She took off her hat and gloves and sat down. "I come from a fishing
village on the coast of Fife. They don't change easily, or quickly,
in a fishing village."

"What village? Was it Largo?"

"No. Culraine, a bit north of Largo."

"Never!"

"Ay, Culraine. Do you know the place?"

"I used to know people who lived there. Doctor Magnus Trenabie, for
instance. Is he living yet?"

"No, he went the way of the righteous, twenty years ago. I remember
him very well. He preached until the last day of his life, but he was
so weak, and his eyesight so bad, that one of the elders helped him up
the pulpit stairs, and another went up at the close of the service,
and helped him down, and saw him safely home.

"One Sabbath morning, though he made no complaint, he found it
difficult to pronounce the benediction, but with a great effort he
raised his hands and face heavenward, and said every word plainly.
Then he turned his face to the elder, and said, 'Help me home,
Ruleson,' and both Ruleson and Tamsen took him there. He died sometime
in the afternoon, while the whole kirk was praying for him, died so
quietly, it was hard to tell the very time o' his flitting. He was
here one minute, the next he was gone. In every cottage there was the
feeling of death. He was really a rich man, and left a deal of money
to the Ruleson school in Culraine village."

"Then Norman Ruleson is yet alive?"

"Ay, but his wearisome wife fretted herself into a-grave a good many
years ago."

"And the other Ruleson boys? Are they all alive yet?"

"I cannot tell. They were all great wanderers. Do you remember old
Judith Macpherson?"

"To be sure I do