ng she had got hold of,
that Jean had begun for her brother. She knew argument concerning
the uses of adversity was vain with a man who knew of no life but
that which consisted in eating and drinking, sleeping and rising,
working and getting on in the world: as to such things existing only
that they may subserve a real life, he was almost as ignorant,
notwithstanding he was an elder of the church, as any heathen.

From being nearly in the centre of its own land, the farm-steading
of the Mains was at a considerable distance from any other; but
there were two or three cottages upon the land, and as the evening
drew on, another aged pair, who lived in one only a few hundred
yards from the house, made their appearance, and were soon followed
by the wife of the foreman with her children, who lived farther off.
Quickly the night closed in, and Gibbie was not come. Robert was
growing very uneasy; Janet kept comforting and reassuring him.

"There's ae thing," said the old man: "Oscar's wi' 'im."

"Ay," responded Janet, unwilling, in the hearing of others, to say a
word that might seem to savour of rebuke to her husband, yet pained
that he should go to the dog for comfort--"Ay; he's a well-made
animal, Oscar! There's been a fowth o' sheep-care pitten intil 'im.
Ye see him 'at made 'im, bein' a shepherd himsel', kens what's
wantit o' the dog."--None but her husband understood what lay behind
the words.

"Oscar's no wi' im," said Donal. "The dog cam to me i' the byre,
lang efter Gibbie was awa', greitin' like, an' luikin' for 'im."

Robert gave a great sigh, but said nothing.

Janet did not sleep a wink that night: she had so many to pray for.
Not Gibbie only, but every one of her family was in perils of
waters, all being employed along the valley of the Daur. It was not,
she said, confessing to her husband her sleeplessness, that she was
afraid. She was only "keepin' them company, an' haudin' the yett
open," she said. The latter phrase was her picture-periphrase for
praying. She never said she prayed; she held the gate open. The
wonder is but small that Donal should have turned out a poet.

The dawn appeared--but the farm had vanished. Not even heads of
growing corn were anywhere more to be seen. The loss would be
severe, and John Duff's heart sank within him. The sheep which had
been in the mown clover-field that sloped to the burn, were now all
in the corn-yard, and the water was there with them. If the