id Allan Ritson.

"Why did you send for him?" asked Mrs. Ritson, in the low tone that was
natural to her.

"To get that matter about the will off my mind. It'll be one thing less
to think about, and it has boddert me sair and lang."

Allan spoke with the shuffling reserve of a man to whose secret
communings a painful idea had been too long familiar. In the effort to
cast off the unwelcome and secret associate, there was a show of
emancipation which, as an acute observer might see, was more assumed
than real.

Mrs. Ritson made no terms with the affectation of indifference. Her
grave face became yet more grave, and her soft voice grew softer as she
said:

"And if when it is settled and done the cloud would break that has hung
over our lives, then all would be well. But that can never be."

Allan tossed his head aside, and made pretense to smile; but no gleam of
sunshine on his cornfields was ever chased so closely by the line of
dark shadow as his smile by the frown that followed.

"Come, worrit thysel' na' mair about it! When I've made my will, and put
Paul on the same footing with t'other lad, who knows owt mair nor we
choose to tell?"

Mrs. Ritson glanced into his face with a look of sad reproach.

"Heaven knows, Allan," she said; "and the dark cloud still gathers for
us there."

The old man took a step or two on the gravel path, and dropped his gray
head. His voice deepened:

"Tha says reet, mother," he said, "tha says reet. Ey, it saddens my auld
days--and thine forby!" He took a step or two more, and added: "And na
lawyer can shak' it off now. Nay, nay, never now. Weel, mother, our sky
has been lang owerkessen; but, mind ye," lifting his face and voice
together, "we've had gude crops if we tholed some thistles."

"Yes, we've had happy days, too," said Mrs. Ritson.

At that moment there came from across the vale the shouts of the
merrymakers and the music of a fiddle. Allan Ritson lifted his head,
nodded it aside jauntily, and smiled feebly through the mist that was
gathering about his eyes.

"There they are--wrestling and jumping. I mind me when there was scarce
a man in Cummerlan' could give me the cross-buttock. That's many a lang
year agone, though. And now our Paul can manish most on 'em--that he
can."

The fiddle was playing a country dance. The old man listened; his face
broadened, he lifted a leg jauntily, and gave a sweep of one arm.

Just then there came through the air a peal of happy