oar, every now and then they had heard the cavernous mooing of
Crummie, piteous and low. He found a stream a foot deep running
between her fore and hind legs, and did not wonder that she wanted
to be on the move. Speedily he loosed her, and fastening the
chain-tether to her halter, led her out. She was terrified at sight
of the falling water, and they had some trouble in getting her
through behind it, but presently after, she was making the descent
as carefully and successfully as any of them.

It was a heavy undertaking for the two old folk to walk all the way
to the Mains, and in such a state of the elements; but where there
is no choice, we do well to make no difficulty. Janet was half
troubled that her mountain, and her foundation on the rock, should
have failed her; but consoled herself that they were but shadows of
heavenly things and figures of the true; and that a mountain or a
rock was in itself no more to be trusted than a horse or a prince or
the legs of a man. Robert plodded on in contented silence, and
Gibbie was in great glee, singing, after his fashion, all the way,
though now and then half-choked by the fierceness of the wind round
some corner of rock, filled with rain-drops that stung like
hailstones.

By and by Janet stopped and began looking about her. This naturally
seemed to her husband rather odd in the circumstances.

"What are ye efter, Janet?" he said, shouting through the wind from
a few yards off, by no means sorry to stand for a moment, although
any recovering of his breath seemed almost hopeless in such a
tempest.

"I want to lay my umbrell in safity," answered Janet, "--gien I cud
but perceive a shuitable spot. Ye was richt, Robert, it's mair
w'alth nor I can get the guid o'."

"Hoots! fling't frae ye, than, lass," he returned. "Is this a day to
be thinkin' o' warl' 's gear?"

"What for no, Robert?" she rejoined. "Ae day's as guid's anither for
thinkin' aboot onything the richt gait."

"What!" retorted Robert, "--whan we hae ta'en oor lives in oor han',
an' can no more than houp we may cairry them throu' safe!"

"What's that 'at ye ca' oor lives, Robert? The Maister never made
muckle o' the savin' o' sic like's them. It seems to me they're
naething but a kin' o' warl' 's gear themsel's."

"An' yet," argued Robert, "ye'll tak thoucht aboot an auld umbrell?
Whaur's yer consistency, lass?"

"Gien I war tribled aboot my life," said Janet, "I cud ill spare
thoucht fo