Glenairlie; or, the Last of the Græmes, etc

Front matter

1 GLENAIRLIE; OR, THE LAST OF THE GEÆMES. "BY the sad set__ waves" GLENAIRLIE; OR, THE LAST OF THE GRÆMES. BY ROBINA F. HARDY, ' AUTUOK OF ' JOC- HALLIDAY,' 'TOM TELFL-'S ollADOW,' ETC. TKIlttb Sij ©riginal Jllustrations. EDINBURGH: OLIPHANT, ANDERSON, & FERRIER. 1884. PFIKTFD BT MORRISON AND CTPB. FDINBl'RGH, FOR OLIPHANT, ANDERSON, & FERETER. LOKMfJf, .... IIAIUlLlOSk, AJJAM&, AMj CO. [..'■ Rijlds reserved. ' And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble thro' the story, For happy summer days gone bye. And vanished summer glory; It shall not touch with breath of vale The pleasaunce of our homely tale.' A LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE 'By the Sad Sea Waves,' Frontispiece A Watch by Moonlight, 32 The Castletoun, . . 65 'I_J THE HlTKI.Y-BlJ_.LY,' 151 A Border Town, 165 The Manor House CONTENTS. PACE PRELUDE 7

Part I

:— CHAP. I. AT rowandean, 17 ii. pastor and people, 26 in. footprints, 36 iv. Martha's first mistake, .... 44 v. rosanne at home, 64 VI. A FAIR OFFER, 64 VII. IN THE STUDY, 69 VIII. KOSANNE in service 79 IX. DOMESTIC AFFAIRS, 88 X. CROSS PURPOSES, 95 XI. GATHERING CLOUDS, 101 XII. 'TOO MANY COOKS,' ETC, .... 112 XIII. A NEW WILL, 122 XIV. AT THE DAWNING, ...... 127 XV. A PRIVATE CONFERENCE, . . . .133 XVI. READING THE WILL, ..... CONTENTS. FA.-R AN INTERLUDE 1W I'ART II. :— CHAP. I. A border town, 165 II. THE PRIORY, . . . . . . .173 III. THE 'NEXT MOVE,' 181 IV. THK ATTACK 189 V. HOPE DEFERRED 199 VI. SOCIETY 207 VII. A PICNIC PARTY, 215 VIII. DELAY'S ARE DANGEROUS, .... 225 IX. PERPLEXITIES, 231 X. A CONSULTATION, 237 XI. GLENAIRLIE AGAIN, ..... 249 XII. A REVELATION, 255 XIII. LEAVE-TAKING, 265 XIV.

ARRIVALS, 275 XV. CLEARING-UP , 285 XVI. CONCLUSION, PRELUDE r prelube. (^i=___>Æ__>^ .... <ftl_3ft«\'^ intelligent travellers are ignorant of the y EaoJf exact position of the Glenairlie estates on MSvmk the map of Scotland. They would know at once where to look for them, whether they had ' done ' the Highlands under the auspices of the indefatigable Cook, or penetrated the mountain fastnesses alone and unaided. For Glenairlie is, and ever has been, a centre of life and energy to a con siderable district; while in former days the Græmes of Glenairlie yielded to none of the families of earth in matters of pride and pedigree. Did not five distinct parishes owe allegiance to the laird in those good old times ? And could that poten tate, even when seated on the very top of Benavore, descry any object of the slightest importance that did not belong to himself, from his own baronial mansion down to his own saw-mill ?

But Glenairlie fell on evil days. When Laird Archibald, as the country folk usually called him, GLENAIRLIE. 10 died, the property was so heavily burdened that nothing remained but to part with the richest tracts of land and the finest farms, bit by bit, till only the old house itself, and some dreary moorlands, remained to tell of the old grandeur of Glenairlie. Yet his successor, a colonel in the dragoons, a gay and handsome man, seemed determined to make a ' short life and a merry one ' out of what remained. Instead of re trenching and restraining, he made the lavishness of his reign eclipse all that had ever been heard of in the old days, and the grey walls of the manor-house rang to the sound of bacchanalian riot and revelry. Finally he departed to the Continent, and was seen and heard of no more.

He was the last of Laird Archibald's three sons, and unmarried. The last bonds of entail were easily broken, and the House of Glenairlie, with its surrounding moorlands, came — as the rest of that once wide demesne had already come — to the hammer. It was a day Glenairlie had never thought to see ! Strangely enough, the purchaser was a man who had begun life on that very estate as a ' herd-laddie,' his ' forbears ' for many generations having been crofters on Glenairlie ground ! Martin Leslie had been many trades since then, and had wandered in many climes. He had learned well — perhaps too well — the thrift and prudence that his unfortunate landlords had never known. And he had come back, from strong attach ment to tlie old place, to dwell quietly among the familiar scenes of his boyhood in his modest nook of Eowandean.

It was perhaps stranger still that he showed no dis- PRELUDE. 11 position at all to triumph in his new possession, no desire to live in greater style as ' the laird,' none even to live in the great turretted mansion he now called his own. He contented himself with slowly and surely bringing the grounds into that perfect order and repair to which they had so long been strangers, and the house itself was left shut up and desolate. Whether from crotchet or caprice, or from any deeper hidden motive, the building remained untouched, and of course falling rapidly to decay. Martin Leslie seldom entered it himself, and never allowed others to do so. Many a good offer was made for so desirable a residence by wealthy merchants and by sporting noble men, but he remained firmly ' dog-in-the-manger,' and would listen to none of them.

And so it chanced that at the time our story begins, the old family scutcheon of the Græmes still hung, grim and gaunt, over the wide door way, where it had been placed in mournful pride some twenty years before at the death of Laird Archibald ! There it still swung and shuddered on the breezes, though the Græmes themselves were gone ' like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown.' And the goodly halls within were silent and deserted ; the windows looked blank and lifeless ; owls and bats were the most lively inhabitants of its ivied towers. A full harvest moon was shedding all its soft lustre and glory over the braes of Glenairlie. It touched the long rows of ungathered ' stooks ' in the wide fields on either side of the Airlie Burn ; it gleamed ghostly and white over the sleeping hamlet of the Castletoun, and its long low-roofed ' kirk ; ' and it flashed on the waters GLENAIRLIE. 12 of the stream itself, wrestling and foaming away round the great grey boulders just as they always have done, and always will do, no matter who reigns in Glenairlie.

That moonlight almost seemed to fall more softly and tenderly on the ivied walls of the old mansion house, lending a fresh tinge to the faded gold and tarnished colours of the sable hatchment, which showed on either side a shield emblazoned with the arms and crest of the Græmes, the latter being an eagle prepared for flight, bearing in its folded claws a scroll inscribed with the Gaelic legend, ' Gu hard,' in the language of ordinary mortals, ' Excelsior'. Had any one been there to see, that is what he would have seen. But who was likely to be there, in that lonely place, at that midnight hour ? And yet ! — Something stirred upon the wide moss grown steps beneath the scutcheon, — something like the figure of a man, crouching in deep despondency, his face buried in his hands. Presently he rose and came forward : the full moonlight showed a tall, slender man, clad in what seemed but threadbare relics, a fine, thoughtful face, though one furrowed by stormy passions, perhaps by bitter disappointment ancl humiliation.

As he began to wander with slow and restless pace round the deserted house, stopping at times to gaze long and earnestly at each more salient feature, — tower or turret, sculptured stone or cornice, griffin or gurgoyle, - — looking as if each was some dear familiar friend, any of the Glenairlie villagers would certainly have said that it was one of the old family come back to visit in PRELUDE. 13 the spirit the scene of his earthly grandeur, now in such deep decay. And the few half-muttered words that fell from the lips of this spectral form would have helped greatly to confirm the impression, for they were these : — ' Jf I might live my life over again, I would swear to buy back my father's house ; — hut now — it is too late — too late .' '

PART I IS CHAPTEE

I. AT ROWANDEAN. MILE distant from the old manor - house stood the plain, comfortable dwelling of the new proprietor. His home was shared by his sister Grizzel, a wiry old person of ninety, and his niece Martha Leslie, who had been brought up by him. They still lived in the simple, homely style of earlier days, when Martin Leslie had at least affected to be poor, and domestic economy had to be studied. ' Eowandean ' seemed a very appropriate name one bright September morning, when the fairy-like ring of mountain-ashes circling the house showed their graceful pointed leaves and bright masses of coral berries, or rowans, lightly shadowing the fresh white gables, the velvet turf, and well-kept gravel paths. Within everything was as scrupulously neat as without, thanks to the genius of Martha Leslie, than whom a more notable housekeeper was not to be found anywhere north of the Forth.

Never a speck of dust was to be seen on is GLENAIRLIE. the plain old-fashioned furniture, nor a grimy foot mark on the lively green and red carpets; while window-curtains and chair-covers — everything capable of being washed — seemed to have newly escaped from the hands of the laundress. Age is pretty much a comparative matter, and in that household, where even the one servant Betty was an elderly woman, Martha Leslie retained a youthful feeling and aspect, though she was full five-and-thirty, or, as she mildly expressed it, ' not a girl.' Her life was spent in a species of warfare with the old people, though a warfare with the most benevolent intentions, for Uncle Martin and Aunt Grizzel were both sufficiently feeble to require constant attention, and also sufficiently self-willed to resent the slightest interference ; while as for Betty, the idea of managing her without an occasional thunderstorm was not to be thought of!

It was only a little after breakfast-time, and Aunt Grizzel had not yet risen, being accustomed to remain in bed till noon, as befitting her ninety years. The white dimity bed-curtains were pinned back that she might better see to read the old clasped Bible which she would persist in using, rather than the fine large type Testament Martha had lately purchased for her. Honeysuckle and briar-rose clambered round her window, nodding their heads against the pane ; and Hodge, the old lady's favourite cat, lay stretched in lazy luxuriance before a bright little fire. It was a sweet and quiet room for age to rest iu. Suddenly, however, a little hurricane swept over this peaceful haven, — the door was slammed, the window AT ROWANDEAN. 19 rattled, the floor shook. The old lady calmly laid down her book and raised her eyes ; she knew it was only the advent of Martha, possibly a little busier than usual.

And Martha looked like business. Her fresh printed wrapper was tucked carefully up, revealing the whitest thread stockings and tidy feet and ankles. A large apron enveloped most of her person, while a clean duster, carefully pinned on, protected head and shoulders. An olive complexion, regular features, and sharp black eyes, framed by glossy raven hair and set off by a good deal of colour, were Martha's distinguishing marks. The singular head-dress gave her a somewhat foreign aspect on the present occasion, but Aunt Grizzel knew that the spare bedroom was being thoroughly cleaned that day, and she felt no surprise. ' What's wrong now, Aunt Grizzy ? ' asked Martha, in her clear, sharp tones. ' I see you haven't taken the half of your breakfast ! ' 'What for suld I tak' the same measure o' meat ilka day ? ' returned the old dame defiantly.

Martha, finding her in this mood, adroitly changed the subject. ' I can tell ye I'm just out of all patience waiting on for Jenny Duguid. She promised Betty a hand with the carpet by ten o'clock, aud now it's wearing on to twelve ! ' ' Ye aye tak' yer ain gait aboot tra/ecZ-in' wi' Jenny, — a thowleless cratur, as I hae aften tauld ye. Ye're cheap o't ! ' 'Dear me! Everything's wrong today, Auntie! You must take one of your powders this very day, or we'll have to send for the doctor ! ' GLENAIRLIE. ' Ye may tak' the pouthers to yersel'. Pheesick'll dae little gude to my trouble ! ' This was said with some solemnity, and Martha turned a more scrutinizing glance upon her aged charge. The wrinkled face was indeed somewhat paler than usual, and the faded, dim eyes had a rather startled expression. ' Tell me what ails you, Aunt Grizzel ! ' she said in a milder tone. ' I'm sure you're not just in your ordinary.' ' Maybe no, and maybe ay.

I hae had a dream, Martha, — a kind o' a dream,— and if ye werena sae gude at clatterin' ow'r a' thing, I wad maybe hae telled it ye.' 'A dream !' shrieked Martha, rather up in arms at the last uncomplimentary statement. 'A dream indeed ! You must think I've little to do, Aunt Grizzy, to clatter about dreams ! Indeed, I've no time just now to listen to such havers, for there's Jenny coming up the brae at last, and I must away ! Lie you still till I come back, and I'll mix your powder for you before you get up.' So saying, Martha was off in the same hurricane fashion as she had come, and Aunt Grizzel was once more alone. But the powder, whether viewed in the light of a promise or a threat, had no effect whatever on the old lady's arrangements. Another hour saw her dressed as usual iu her black stuff dress and high starched cap ; a white knitted shawl over her spare shoulders com pleting her attire.

And when Martin Leslie came in from his walk that day, he found Miss Grizzel seated by the parlour fire in her accustomed chair, perfectly AT RO W ANDEAN. 21 erect, aud plying her knitting - needles with great assiduity. He was a little, wizened, highshouldered man, with iron-grey hair, shaggy eyebrows, rugged features, and the same sharp blue-grey eyes that characterized Miss Grizzel. Though nearly a score of years separated the brother and sister, they looked very much on a par as regarded age and vigour. ' Come away, Martin ; I've been waitin' till ye wad come in,' said the old lady. ' Anything wanted, Grizzel, anything wanted ? ' He had a sharp way of speaking at all times, and the household was used to it. ' No' very much ; only a listener to an auld wife's tale.' She tried a little feeble laugh, but there was a quiver in her voice that belied it. ' Where's Martha ?

Does she not pay attention to ye ? ' ' Oh ay ; Martha's very attentive in her way ; but she's a young senseless tawpie for a' that. Noo ye are a sensible man, and hae come to the years o' discretion.' ' Humph ! ' was Mr. Leslie's only acknowledgment of the compliment. ' I want to tell ye o' a circumstaince that has come to my knowledge, Martin,' continued his sister, after a minute's listening had assured her that Martha was yet fully occupied with domestic warfare. ' Tut, tut, tut !' muttered Mr. Leslie, apprehensive of some fresh annoyance. ' Na, na, Martin ! ye needna be " tutsin' " at it,' said the old lady, whose hearing was perfect. ' I'm an auld wife, an' ye think it some havers I'm gaun to fash ye wi' ; but it's no' that. An' if it was havers, still GLENAIRLIE. 22 ye suld listen to me, for ye'll no' be troubled wi' me lang.' ' Very well, Grizzel ; for any sake make an end of this business, whatever it may be.

You know how I hate long rigmaroles.' ' Aweel ! ' was the composed rejoinder, accompanied by a careful laying aside of the knitting-needles, and a prolonged snuff from a capacious box by her side, — ' Aweel ! ye'll mind Frauncie Græme o' Glenairlie, I'm thinkin' ? ' Her brother only waved his hand in token that she was to proceed. ' The bonnie fair-haired laddie, weello'ed for his ain sake an' for his forbears ; faur mair thocht o' than ever his brither the laird was. He wad never hae made ducks an' drakes o' his faither's lauds an' siller as " Gamblin' Geordie " has dune.' ' What on earth is the use of raking up all this ? ' interrupted the old man impatiently. ' Gie me my time, Martin. Ye'll mind how it came to pass that manslaughter an' bluidshed were laid to the striplin's door ? — how that evil-doer Gillespie o' Gilbieston provoked him sair beyond the power o' nature to withstand (mair's the pity he hadna yet socht the Grace that wad hae enabled him to con quer) ?

And — ' ' Grizzel ! this is intolerable ! ' But Grizzel took another prolonged snuff, and went on like a giant refreshed. ' An' sae Gillespie fell, and Frank Græme fled for his life beyond the seas, an outcast frae hame and kindred, an' the price of bluid ia set on his heid to this day.' A T ROWANDEAN. 23 ' You're forgetting, Grizzel, that word came of his death. Even a manslayer finds safety in his grave, I suppose.' ' I maybe mind mair than ye think, Martin Leslie, for I mind that ye said the letter bore but " few marks o' veraucity," — thae were yer very words, my mau ! ' ' I may have had my doubts then, Grizzel.' ' Ay, very weel ! ye need hae nane noo ! Francie Græme (Gude forbid that onybody suld hear me say it !) was at Eowandean last nicht, an' wandered roun' the auld place whaur he used to play his bits o' pranks lang syne, lookin' like a ghaist, tho' I never heard o' them gaun wi' ragged coats on their' backs like him.' ' What makes you imagine such a foolish thing, Grizzel ? ' asked old Leslie, trembling with suppressed agitation. ' Fulish or no fulish, it's nae imaugination (as ye ca' it) o' miue !

I couldna sleep, and sat up by my window a while, glowrin' oot like a wull-cat at the bonnie moon. An' there afore me was the face I aye likit sac weel, — straight afore me, for he stude on the flower border, an' keekit in. I trow he thocht me a ghaist, for he took to his heels gey scared like ! ' The ancient dame tried again to laugh at her own little joke, but again failed. ' I suppose your visitor left no footmarks behind him ? ' said her brother in a sarcastic tone. ' Did he no' ? Gang an' luik beside the white rose tree, Martin, and see for yersel'.' ' Nonsense, Grizzel, nonsense ! Suppose there are GLENAIRLIE. 24 footmarks, what would they prove ? Any Irish shearer can leave the marks of his heels behind him ! ' ' If ye're determined no' to believe me, Martin Leslie, jist say sae at ance.

Ye'll maybe wish ye had listened to me when it's ow'r late. I maun ou wi' my waurk noo, sae dinna hinder me.' So saying, Miss Grizzel resumed her knitting in a most eneigetic manner, and though her brother made several overtures as to a renewal of the conversation, she remained obdurately deaf to them. It was now dinner-time, and Martha Leslie, arriving on the scene to make due preliminary arrangements, found both the old people looking extremely cross. Uncle Martin marching up and down with his hands behind his back, and a frown on his brow indicative of anything but inward peace. ' You'll be wearying for your dinner, Uncle ! I was just flytin' on Betty for being late with the vegetables.' ' I daresay if you attended more to your own duties, Martha, it would do as much good to the household !

There is your aunt quite out of sorts with not sleeping well at night, and having no one to talk to her all "morning.' It flashed on Martha's mind that she had left her aunt's room somewhat unceremoniously. No doubt the old lady had been complaining about it, and so brought down Uncle Martin's wrath upon her. ' Dear me, Uncle ! Can I bring " sleep to the eyes an' slumber to the eyelids," as the text says ? Very few old folk sleep as well as my aunt does for ordi- AT ROWANDEAN. 25 nary ; and as to me not sitting to converse all the morning, I've little time for that. There was some thing about a dream, I mind, Auntie was beginning, but really, as Dr. Cargill was saying Sabbath was three weeks, " Though dreams may be and often have been used by Providence to — " ' ' Peace, woman ! ' thundered old Leslie, now roused to a passion. ' Leave the minister alone.

We get enough of him on Sunday to last for the rest of the week. Get your old aunt a glass of wine or some hot stuff to revive her. I am sure she is starving of cold.' Mr. Leslie piled some logs on to the fire while he spoke, a favourite action of his, and one that tended to give free vent to his internal combustion. And fortunately for his niece, at that very moment Betty appeared with tray and tablecloth, showing the immediate approach of dinner, while a flagrant steam also found its way from the kitchen, and in a little while tranquillity ancl eveu cheerfulness were in a great measure restored. CHAPTEE II. PASTOR AND PEOPLE. Castletoun of Glenairlie was an ordinary L^-M _m specimen of the Highland village of some \£§d*l~% thirty years ago. Its score or so of thatched cottages were arranged very much as if shaken out from a Cyclopean pepper-castor in some remote age of antiquity.

There they stood, shouldering each other in the most uncompromising manner, with their low fronts mottled over with patches of moss and lichen, and their brown roofs gay with yellow ragweed and tall horse-gowans, while here and there a little square window was blocked up by some fine geraniums or fuchsias. There were a few finer specimens of architecture in the slated inn and the pretty school-house with its belfry and playground, not to mention the ' kirk ' and manse, which stood only a little way out of the ' toun,' but the spirit of improvement had not yet laid its unhallowed touch upon highways and byways. The path threading the mazy labyrinth generally resembled the dry bed of a mountain torrent, and was by no means safe footing for the uninitiated, especially after nightfall. Such persons attempting the feat might probably find themselves landed safe and sound in Granny Dovv's pig stye, or in Lachlan M'Vean's ' midden.' Indeed, such misadventures had occurred.

Still the ' Castletoun folk ' made no alteration in their ways, being sustained by a strong innate conviction that what they and their fathers before them had been in the habit of doing from time immemorial, must of necessity be the proper course to pursue at least untd the close of the present dispensation. And they argued that if these unhappy strangers were rational beings, and possessed of that inestimable blessing, ' a Scotch tongue in their heid,' ' suld they no' hae speird their gait at Duncan Dow's shop, quilk is aye lichtit at nicht, or gien ane o' the callants a bawbee to guide them whaur they wad gang ? ' And, lastly, having neglected these heaven-appoiuted means of safety, could they reasonably complain afterwards of their fate ? Their snug ' kail-yards ' were enlivened with patches of sweet-william and marygold, while now and then a rose-bush or a peony caught the eye.

One or two groups of tall, spreading plane-trees, centuries old, shadowed the peaceful hamlet, and an ancient grey fountain in front of the inn completed the picture. A little eastward from the village stood the parish church and manse. The former, a low whitewashed building, owed its simple structure to the rigour of Eeformation times, and showed no features specially worthy of notice. But it was dear to the Glenairlie GLENAIRLIE. people, as the hallowed place where they aud their fathers had worshipped, and around which kindred dust was laid. In one corner of the churchyard there still stood, half-hidden by luxuriant growth of ivy, the fragment of a much older building. Only the chancel now remained — and that crumbling to decay — of the ancient church whose last service had been that of the gorgeous ritual of Eome.

Altar and priest were long departed ; no echo of forgotten masses fingered on the air, — ' Nought but the daisy and the blue harebell Waved their old incense.' So one part of this ruin had been for three centuries tlie burying vault of the Græmes of Glenairlie. Here village children often stood on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the dismal and decaying grandeur of the tomb, for faded crimson velvet still mantled many of the coffins resting on its wide stone shelves, and silver mount ings glimmered drearily through the gathering rust. Late one Saturday evening, Dr. Cargill, the parish minister of Glenairlie, was returning from an afternoon stroll over Ardennie Muir. He was a tall, powerfully built man, not much over fifty, but looking a good deal older. His dark thick hair was plentifully sprinkled with silver, his brow was furrowed, his form bent by long years of constant study.

A thorough student by nature, and living as he did, entirely alone, books were his never-failing companions and solace. Eather heavy features were redeemed from the charge of plainness only by a marvellous pair of eyes — dark grey eyes, singularly clear and penetrating, and full of varying expression. A faithful and affectionate pastor, a good though rather prolix preacher, and a generally abstracted member of society, — such was the minister of Glenairlie. It was by a short cut through the Airlie Den that he was then returning home, and the path led him next into the private grounds of the old house. He stopped in front of the lonely mansion for a minute or two, moralizing over the passing nature of all earthly things. ' They are all gone ! ' he said, speaking to himself, as he often did ' All vanished like shadows before the sun !

A fine generous race, too, with all their faults, — their own worst enemies, perhaps ! Many and many a time have I been welcomed under that hospit able roof, but the friendly faces are gone. " The flowers o' the forest are a' wede awa'." ' Dear me ! what a deserted look the place is getting ! If only the poor Colonel or any of them could look back for a moment, what would they feel ? But I am an old fool to dream of such an absurdity. I might rather be thinking how to convince young Barclay of this little plant's identity, — perhaps no very easy task ! ' Here the Doctor drew from his folded handkerchief a tiny, withered-looking object, which an ignorant onlooker might easily have taken for a worthless weed, but which was regarded in a very different light by this enthusiastic botanist. Many people averred that Dr. Cargill's predilection for the science of botany was accounted for by the GLENAIRLIE. long polysyllabic terms characteristic of it, for the reverend gentleman's discourse was indeed frequently adorned with language of that order.

But people will always say ill-natured things, and why should we repeat them ? ' Yes ! ' he continued ; ' I have no doubt that this is indeed a specimen of that most interesting plant, the " Anthericum serotinem," or mountain saffron ! Truly it is in this country an exceedingly rare flower ; and yet I had almost lost my equanimity with that young fellow Barclay when he so strongly insisted that it was to be found only on the Welsh mountains ! I felt so certain that I had with my own eyes seen it growing on Ardennie Muir, but till now I have had uo positive evidence to adduce. ' A fine fellow, too, Barclay ! — a young man of high piomise in this very department, — only too confident, 1 must say, in the results of one or two sessions of the botanical class at college, inasmuch as he would rashly oppose them to opinions based upon a lifelong research among the wild " habitats " of these children of the mountain and the moor ! ' Ah, well ! he'll see his error now !

I'll write to liim about it this very night, after I've had down Hooker and verified all the parts.' This lengthy meditation brought him close to the outskirts of the village. The children, playing about still in spite of the growing darkness, came up shyly to greet him, for the minister knew them all individually, and had an appropriate and kindly word for each. Then, as he turned along by the kirkyard wall in order to get to his own manse gate, his attention was arrested by a loud, peculiar cough coming from overhead, and, looking quickly up, he encountered the solemn gaze of two great vacant blue eyes, belonging to Davie Eoy, a village ' character,' commonly known as ' Daft Davie.' Davie was seated stride-legs on the kirkyard wall, from which elevated platform he commanded an excellent view of the abodes both of the living and the dead, as well as of the surrounding country. ' Why, Davie, man ! is that you seated up there " like a eraw i' the mist " ? ' asked the minister laughingly. ' I wad like to hae a word wi' yer raeverence,' answered Davie, looking very grave and important. ' But it's getting late, Davie ! — I'm thinkin' ye should be home to your mother.' ' It's a matter o' great importance, yer raeverence,' persisted Davie.