He is to a day exactly four years my senior. I remember it was when his mother and Betty were putting out clot

conversations through the garden hedge; and on these occasions the desire was always strong within me to talk of our birthday, and to ask if he wasn't wearying for the 23rd to come round. And when that auspicious dat

us; and when the rent had been paid and sundry repairs and alterations agreed upon, he and my father drank a glass of wine together. It had, however, long been the height of Robert's ambition to be the owner of

ars-there was no one else to look after affairs. Tom at once gave up a responsible position in a wholesale grocery establishment in Glasgow, came south wit

less pleasing to me to know from Betty, shortly after my return, that as neighbours the family was st

down upon the Jardines' back-yard. Long ago I used to sit here and watch old Robert grooming his horse, cleaning his harness, and packing

gs make a merry clatter on the stone-paved court. His wife and the two eldest children-blue-eyed, curly-haired bairns they are-give him willing help, and, standin

g footstep outside, the taming of the key in the stable-door lock, and the anticipating whinny of the gray mare. Then a horse-pail is filled from the tap at the stable-door; a minute later it is returned empty and

ig, kindly heart and her never-failing sympathetic nature invite many confidences, and she is therefore more fully versed

undivided attention he gave to his business, and finished up by asking if he was a successful man. Betty made no reply; but she shook her head doubtfully, from which I argued

reopened our chat by asking if it was usual in busi

only one, and I told her of it. I didn't go into details, but gave her the bald outstanding

s so, Betty,

down into our neighbour's back-yard. Then I saw her eyebrow

ever talk aboot them. But ye asked me regairdin' Tom Jardine, an' I'm no' betrayin' ony confidences w

rprise. 'Surely Robert Jardin

an' yin or twae mair that the whole affair-shop, hoose, an' business-didna show much mair than ten shillin's in the pound. Tom-him that's doon there noo-was in a guid wey o' doin' in Glesca, an' nothing wad ser' him but he bood come hame an' tak' things in haun. He was strongly advised to have nothing to do wi' it, an' to let the creditors handle what was left as best it was likely to pay them. But Tom said, "No." All he asked frae the creditors was time an' secrecy as far as was possible as to how things stood, an' frae the Almighty health an' strength, an', given these, he promised to clear his dead faither's name an' see every yin get his ain. That's three years ago past the May term, an', honour an' praise to the puir laddie, he's nearly succeeded. But it

would like to shake hands with him. Have you the paper besi

went downstairs, and returned a min

d. 'Betty,' I said seriously, 'are you aware

y,' she said

find that out

signed that. I have every confidence in you an' Nathan. My faither an' mither thought the world o' ye, an'

Maister Weelum,' she said as she lifted her tea-tray; and I looked through the wee round window to Tom's back-yard with an increased appreciation o

very far wrong, as St Swithin's Day from early morn to dewy eve was cloudless and fa

groaning, creaking carts. The Newton pippins on the apple-tree at the foot of the garden are showing a bright red cheek, and the phloxes and gladioli in the plot at the kitchen window are crowned with a mass of bloom so rich and luxuriant that every one of Betty's co

he lace-holes of my boots, or as a man with waterproof and hazel staff, breasting the scarred side of Caerketton or the grassy slopes of Allermuir, with the pelting, pitiless raindrops blinding my eyes

grassy mounds of the Dunty Knowes, with their shivering birks tossing to windward, and a rain-soaked hogg beneath every sheltering crag. Alone, yet not alone; for a Presence was with me, guiding me on, showing me through the

moving with firm, sure step among scenes which a master's touch has made immortal; but a poor, crippled, pain-racked invalid, as parochial in feeling as in outlook,

uietly opens, a tiny, smiling-faced figure darts through the rain, and in an instant two round, bare, chubby arms are encircling his knee, and a fair, curly head is nestling against his thigh. But there is no fatherly response to the loving embrace, no reply to the childish prattle. With a jerky wrench Tom frees himself from the wee, cuddling arms, and two wide-opened, surprised blue eyes follow him as again, in thoughtful measured tread, he walks up and down and up and down. Then red dimpled knuckles