"Mr Cupples, I'm nae elder brither i' that sense. G.o.d kens I wad gang oot to lat him in."

"What ken ye aboot him, gin it be a fair queston?"

"I hae kent him, sir, sin he was a bairn. I perilled his life?-no my ain?-to gar him do his duty. I trust in G.o.d it wad hae been easier for me to hae perilled my ain. Sae ye see I do ken aboot him."

"Weel," said Mr Cupples, to whom the nature of Thomas had begun to open itself, "I alloo that. Whaur do ye bide? What's yer name? I'll come and see ye the morn's nicht, gin ye'll lat me."

"My name's Thomas Crann. I'm a stonemason. Speir at Robert Bruce's chop, and they'll direc ye to whaur I bide. Ye may come the morn's nicht, and welcome. Can ye sup parritch?"

"Ay, weel that."

"My Jean's an extrornar han' at parritch. I only houp puir Esau had half as guid for's birthricht. Ye'll hae a drappy wi' me?"

"Wi' a' my hert," answered Cupples.

And here their ways diverged.

When he reached home, he asked Annie about Thomas. Annie spoke of him in the highest terms, adding,

"I'm glaid ye like him, Mr Cupples."

"I dinna think, wi' sic an opingon o' 'm, it can maitter muckle to you whether I like him or no," returned Mr Cupples, looking at her quizzically.

"Na, nae muckle as regairds him. But it says weel for you, ye ken, Mr Cupples," replied Annie archly.

Mr Cupples laughed good-humouredly, and said,

"Weel, I s' gang and see him the morn's nicht, ony gait."

And so he did. And the porridge and the milk were both good.

"This is heumble fare, Mr Cupples," said Thomas.

"It maitters little compairateevely what a man lives upo'," said Cupples sententiously, "sae it be first-rate o' 'ts ain kin'. And this _is_ first-rate."

"Tak' a drappy mair, sir."

"Na, nae mair, I thank ye."

"They'll be left, gin ye dinna."

"Weel, sen' them ower to Mr Bruce," said Cupples, with a sly wink. "I s' warran' he'll coup them ower afore they sud be wast.i.t. He canna bide waste."

"Weel, that's a vertue. The Saviour himsel' garred them gaither up the fragments."

"Nae doobt. But I'm feared Bruce wad hae c.o.o.nt.i.t the waste by hoo mony o' the baskets gaed by his door. I'm surprised at ye, Mr Crann, tryin'

to defen' sic a meeserable crater, jist 'cause he gangs to your kirk."

"Weel, he is a meeserable crater, and I canna bide him. He's jist a Jonah in oor ship, an Achan in oor camp. But I sudna speyk sae to ane that's no a member."

"Never ye min'. I'm auld eneuch to hae learned to haud my tongue. But we'll turn till a better subjec'. Jist tell me hoo ye made Alec peril's life for conscience sake. Ye dinna burn fowk here for nae freely haudin' by the shorter Carritchis, do ye?"

And hereupon followed the story of the flood.

Both these men, notwithstanding the defiance they bore on their shields, were of the most friendly and communicative disposition. So soon as they saw that a neighbour was trustworthy, they trusted him.

Hence it is not marvellous that communication should have been mutual.

Cupples told Thomas in return how he had come to know Alec, and what compact had arisen between them. Thomas, as soon as he understood Mr Cupples's sacrifice, caught the delicate hand in his granite grasp?-like that with which the steel anvil and the stone block held Arthur's sword?-and said solemnly,

"Ye hae done a great deed, which winna gang wantin' its reward. It canna hae merit, but it maun be pleesant in His sicht. Ye hae baith conquered sin i' yersel, and ye hae turned the sinner frae the error o'

his ways."

"Hoots!" interrupted Cupples, "do ye think I was gaun to lat the laddie gang reid-wud to the deevil, ohn stud in afore 'm and cried _Hooly_!"

After this the two were friends, and met often. Cupples went to the missionars again and again, and they generally walked away together.

"What gart ye turn frae the kirk o' yer fathers, and tak to a conventicle like that, Thomas?" asked Mr Cupples one evening.

"Ye hae been to them baith, and I wad hae thocht ye wad hae kent better nor to speir sic a question," answered Thomas.

"Ay, ay. But what gart ye think o' 't first?"

"Weel, I'll tell ye the haill story. Whan I was a callan, I took the play to mysel' for a week, or maybe twa, and gaed wi' a frien' i' the same trade's mysel', to see what was to be seen alang a screed o' the sea-coast, frae toon to toon. My compaingon wasna that gude at the traivellin'; and upo' the Setterday nicht, there we war in a public-hoose, and him no able to gang ae fit further, for sair heels and taes. Sae we bude to bide still ower the Sawbath, though we wad fain hae been oot' o' the toon afore the kirk began. But seein' that we cudna, I thocht it wad be but dacent to gang to the kirk like ither fowk, and sae I made mysel' as snod as I could, and gaed oot. And afore I had gane mony yairds, I cam upo' fowk gaein to the kirk. And sae I loot the stream carry me alang wi' 't, and gaed in and sat doon, though the place wasna exackly like a kirk a'thegither. But the minister had a gift o' prayer and o' preaching as weel; and the fowk a' sang as gin't was pairt o' their business to praise G.o.d, for fear he wad tak it frae them and gie't to the stanes. Whan I cam oot, and was gaein quaietly back to the public, there cam first ae sober-luikin man up to me, and he wad hae me hame to my denner; and syne their cam an auld man, and efter that a man that luikit like a sutor, and ane and a' o' them wad hae me hame to my denner wi' them?-for no airthly rizzon but that I was a stranger. But ye see I cudna gang 'cause my frien' was waitin' for his till I gaed back. Efter denner, I speirt at the landlady gin she cud tell me what they ca'd themsels, the fowk 'at gathered i' that pairt o' the toon; and says she, 'I dinna ken what they ca'

them-?they're nae customers o' mine?-but I jist ken this, they're hard-workin' fowk, kind to ane anither. A'body trusts their word. Gif ony o' them be sick, the rest luiks efter them till they're better; and gin ony o' them happens to gang the wrang gait, there's aye three or four o' them aboot him, till they get him set richt again. 'Weel,' says I, 'I dinna care what they ca' them; but gin ever I jine ony kirk, that s' be the kirk.' Sae, efter that, whan ance I had gotten a sure houp, a rael grun' for believin' that I was ane o' the called and chosen, I jist jined mysel' to them that sud be like them?-for they ca'd them a'

Missionars."

"Is that lang sin syne?"

"Ay, it's twenty year noo."

"I thocht as muckle. I doobt they hae fared like maist o' the new fashions."

"Hoo that?"

"Grown some auld themsel's. There's a feow signs o' decrepitude, no to say degeneracy, amo' ye, isna there?"

"I maun alloo that. At the first, things has a kin' o' a swing that carries them on. But the sons an' the dochters dinna care sae muckle aboot them as the fathers and mithers. Maybe they haena come throw the hards like them."

"And syne there'll be ane or twa cruppen in like that chosen vessel o'

grace they ca' Robert Bruce. I'm sure he's eneuch to ruin ye i' the sicht o' the warl', hooever you and he may fare at heid-quarters, bein'

a' called and chosen thegither."

"For G.o.d's sake, dinna think that sic as him gies ony token o' being ane o' the elec."

"Hoo wan he in than? They say ye're unco' particular. The Elec sud ken an elec."

"It's the siller, man, that blin's the een o' them that hae to sit in jeedgment upo' the applicants. The crater professed, and they war jist ower willin' to believe him."

"Weel, gin that be the case, I dinna see that ye're sae far aheid o'

fowk that disna mak' sae mony pretensions."