o make amends. He's a fine fellow, Turkey. I have a high
opinion of Turkey--as you call him."

"If he would, papa, I should not wish for any other company than his."

"A boy wants various kinds of companions, Ranald, but I fear you have
been neglecting Turkey. You owe him much."

"Yes, indeed I do, papa," I answered; "and I have been neglecting
him. If I had kept with Turkey, I should never have got into such a
dreadful scrape as this."

"That is too light a word to use for it, my boy. Don't call a
wickedness a scrape; for a wickedness it certainly was, though I am
only too willing to believe you had no adequate idea at the time _how_
wicked it was."

"I won't again, papa. But I am so relieved already."

"Perhaps poor old Mrs. Gregson is not relieved, though. You ought not
to forget her."

Thus talking, we hurried on until we arrived at the cottage. A dim
light was visible through the window. My father knocked, and Elsie
Duff opened the door.

CHAPTER XIX

Forgiveness

When we entered, there sat the old woman on the farther side of the
hearth, rocking herself to and fro. I hardly dared look up. Elsie's
face was composed and sweet. She gave me a shy tremulous smile, which
went to my heart and humbled me dreadfully. My father took the stool
on which Elsie had been sitting. When he had lowered himself upon it,
his face was nearly on a level with that of the old woman, who took no
notice of him, but kept rocking herself to and fro and moaning. He
laid his hand on hers, which, old and withered and not very clean, lay
on her knee.

"How do you find yourself to-night, Mrs. Gregson?" he asked.

"I'm an ill-used woman," she replied with a groan, behaving as if it
was my father who had maltreated her, and whose duty it was to make an
apology for it.

"I am aware of what you mean, Mrs. Gregson. That is what brought me to
inquire after you. I hope you are not seriously the worse for it."

"I'm an ill-used woman," she repeated. "Every man's hand's against
me."

"Well, I hardly think that," said my father in a cheerful tone. "_My_
hand's not against you now."

"If you bring up your sons, Mr. Bannerman, to mock at the poor, and
find their amusement in driving the aged and infirm to death's door,
you can't say your hand's not against a poor lone woman like me."

"But I don't bring up my sons to do so. If I did I shouldn't be here
now. I am willing to bear my part of the blame, Mrs. Gregson, but to
say I br