armly.
'Ye'll alloo 'at God made him, doctor; though his father an' mither
thochtna muckle aboot him or God either whan they got him atween them?
An' Shargar couldna help it. It micht ha' been you or me for that
maitter, doctor.'

'I beg your pardon, Robert,' said Dr. Anderson quietly, although
delighted with the fervour of his young kinsman: 'I only wanted to know
how he came to be your companion.'

'I beg your pardon, doctor--but I thoucht ye was some scunnert at
it; an' I canna bide Shargar to be luikit doon upo'. Luik here,' he
continued, going to his box, and bringing out Shargar's little heap of
coppers, in which two sixpences obscurely shone, 'he brocht a' that hame
last nicht, an' syne sleepit upo' the rug i' my room there. We'll want
a' 'at he can mak an' me too afore we get Mr. Ericson up again.'

'But ye haena tellt me yet,' said the doctor, so pleased with the lad
that he relapsed into the dialect of his youth, 'hoo ye cam to forgather
wi' 'im.'

'I tellt ye a' aboot it, doctor. It was a' my grannie's doin', God bless
her--for weel he may, an' muckle she needs 't.'

'Oh! yes; I remember now all your grandmother's part in the story,'
returned the doctor. 'But I still want to know how he came here.'

'She was gaein' to mak a taylor o' 'm: an' he jist ran awa', an' cam to
me.'

'It was too bad of him that--after all she had done for him.'

'Ow, 'deed no, doctor. Even whan ye boucht a man an' paid for
him, accordin' to the Jewish law, ye cudna mak a slave o' 'im for
a'thegither, ohn him seekin' 't himsel'.--Eh! gin she could only get my
father hame!' sighed Robert, after a pause.

'What should she want him home for?' asked Dr. Anderson, still making
conversation.

'I didna mean hame to Rothieden. I believe she cud bide never seein' 'im
again, gin only he wasna i' the ill place. She has awfu' notions aboot
burnin' ill sowls for ever an' ever. But it's no hersel'. It's the wyte
o' the ministers. Doctor, I do believe she wad gang an' be brunt hersel'
wi' a great thanksgivin', gin it wad lat ony puir crater oot o' 't--no
to say my father. An' I sair misdoobt gin mony o' them 'at pat it in her
heid wad do as muckle. I'm some feared they're like Paul afore he was
convertit: he wadna lift a stane himsel', but he likit weel to stan' oot
by an' luik on.'

A deep sigh, almost a groan, from the bed, reminded them that they were
talking too much and too loud for a sick-room. It was followed by the
words, mutt