any case right to slay his son, he would have been justified
in doubting whether God really required it of him, and would have been
bound to delay action until the arrival of more light. True, the will
of God can never be other than good; but I doubt if any man can ever be
sure that a thing is the will of God, save by seeing into its nature and
character, and beholding its goodness. Whatever God does must be right,
but are we sure that we know what he does? That which men say he does
may be very wrong indeed.

This burden she in her turn laid upon Robert--not unkindly, but as
needful for his training towards well-being. Her way with him was
shaped after that which she recognized as God's way with her. 'Speir nae
questons, but gang an' du as ye're tellt.' And it was anything but a bad
lesson for the boy. It was one of the best he could have had--that of
authority. It is a grand thing to obey without asking questions, so long
as there is nothing evil in what is commanded. Only grannie concealed
her reasons without reason; and God makes no secrets. Hence she seemed
more stern and less sympathetic than she really was.

She sat with her feet on the little wooden stool, and Robert sat beside
her staring into the fire, till they heard the outer door open, and
Shargar and Betty come in from church.

CHAPTER XIII. ROBERT'S MOTHER.

Early on the following morning, while Mrs. Falconer, Robert, and Shargar
were at breakfast, Mr. Lammie came. He had delayed communicating the
intelligence he had received till he should be more certain of its
truth. Older than Andrew, he had been a great friend of his father,
and likewise of some of Mrs. Falconer's own family. Therefore he was
received with a kindly welcome. But there was a cloud on his brow which
in a moment revealed that his errand was not a pleasant one.

'I haena seen ye for a lang time, Mr. Lammie. Gae butt the hoose, lads.
Or I'm thinkin' it maun be schule-time. Sit ye doon, Mr. Lammie, and
lat's hear yer news.'

'I cam frae Aberdeen last nicht, Mistress Faukner,' he began.

'Ye haena been hame sin' syne?' she rejoined.

'Na. I sleepit at The Boar's Heid.'

'What for did ye that? What gart ye be at that expense, whan ye kent I
had a bed i' the ga'le-room?'

'Weel, ye see, they're auld frien's o' mine, and I like to gang to them
whan I'm i' the gait o' 't.'

'Weel, they're a fine faimily, the Miss Napers. And, I wat, sin' they
maun sell drink, they du 't wi' d