Jess & Co./Chapter 8

NOTHER May had come, and the afternoon sunshine fell warmly on the south gable of Hazel Cottage.

Old Angus blinked drowsily and slightly altered his position on the section of a log which served him for a seat, when Mrs. Wallace, who for the last half-hour had been marching up and down the path with her niece's baby in her arms, sat down on the low chair that had been brought from the parlor for her convenience, and carefully adjusted the infant's garments and placed her umbrella in proper position. Then, the child showing signs of waking up, Mrs. Wallace began to croon softly and persuasively, if not altogether tunefully, the ancient, brief, and simple ditty:

which she repeated until it had the desired effect.

"Is't sleepin'?" inquired Angus, taking out his pipe and, having cautiously removed the plug of newspaper, peering regretfully at the remnant of tobacco left in the bowl.

"Ay, she's sleepin', the daurlin'," Mrs. Wallace replied, tenderly, looking down on her charge and gently removing the edge of the shawl from the tiny mouth.

"I was thinkin' ye wud shin ha'e the wean suffocatit if ye didna watch oot," the old man remarked, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for a match. "It's a mercy it doesna need as muckle breith as masel'."

"Man, ye wudna need as muckle breith if ye kep' yer mooth shut," retorted Mrs. Wallace, adding, "Ye waste the biggest hauf o' yer breith on yer stupit sayin's."

Angus did not answer till he had lit his pipe.

"Weel, mistress," he said, slowly, "it's no' for me to instruct ye—"

"'Deed, ye're richt there!"

"But I doot it's no' gettin' suffeecient fresh air to gar it grow nice."

"I'll fresh air ye!"

"Never mind me. I can fresh air masel', thenk ye kindly. I'm shair ye wud be vexed if it growed up nippit an' peely-wally."

"Peely-wally!" exclaimed Mrs. Wallace, indignantly. "An' her the sturdiest lass that ever— Oh, ye auld footer, ye've waukened her again!"

"I dinna. It was yersel', mistress. Yer v'ice is shairper nor mines."

"Haud yer tongue!" she muttered, and set about soothing the little one with croonings and caresses, while Angus grinned behind his pipe, at first in an irritating, but presently in a more sympathetic manner.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Wallace's next remark was not a conciliatory one.

"Ye micht think shame o' yersel', Angus, comin' here an' disturb in' the wean. To hear ye speakin', onybody wud think ye wis sellin' herrin'."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Angus, softly but sarcastically. "I was jist thinkin' the noo, mistress, that if ye kent anither sang ye micht try singin' roon' the doors when the simmer veesitors is here. Eh?"

Mrs. Wallace smiled in a way that made the old man feel he had missed getting the last word.

"D'ye no' think I wud dae better wi' a hurdy-gurdy," she said, slowly, " seein' I've a monkey there a'ready?"

Angus grinned feebly, and sucked at his pipe as if for inspiration.

Mrs. Wallace emitted a low chuckle of triumph, and beamed down on the sleeping child as much as to say, "We had him there, ma dearie!"

Angus writhed on his seat in his desire to pay her back, and puffed nervously.

Another low chuckle came from Mrs. Wallace, and the old man writhed again.

"Ye think ye're awfu' smairt," said Angus, at last, with biting irony in his tone.

"Na, na," she returned, modestly. "I jist try to suit the comp'ny I'm in. There isna ony great need fur smairtness the noo, ye ken."

"Ye're aye thinkin' o' it," he retorted, indicating the baby with the stem of his pipe.

"That's somethin' worth thinkin' o'," she rejoined. "But ye ken weel enough she's a lassie, an' ye needna be aye referrin' to her as it."

"Weel, ye see, mistress, I'm aye thinkin' o' the peety o' it bein'  a lassie, that I canna—"

"An' whit's wrang wi' it—I mean her—bein' a lassie?" Mrs. Wallace fiercely demanded.

"Aw, it's jist a peety it wasna a laddie. If it had been a laddie it micht grow intil a man—a dacent man like its fayther."

"If she grows intil a dacent wumman like her mither, she'll dae fine!"

"If!"

"Whit d'ye mean, Angus?"

"Jist what I say."

"D'ye mean she'll no' grow up?"

"Och, she'll grow up, if she doesna get suffocatit."

"Tah!... When I want yer advice I'll ask ye fur it."

"I hope ye'll no' come askin' when it's ower late," he retorted. "Hooever, there's aye a chance o' yer niece bringin' up the wean in spite o' ye. We maun hope for the best."

What Mrs. Wallace was going to reply—and it was doubtless something exceedingly crushing—was prevented by a new arrival.

"Here's Ogilvy comin'," said Angus, looking round the corner of the cottage. "What 'll he be wantin'?"

"Ye best ask him," said Mrs. Wallace, shortly.

"He's lukin' unco spruce in his Sawbath claes. I never seen him dressed on a hauf-holiday afore.... I suppose I best tell him to come roon' here."

"Ye best tell him David and Jess are awa' to Kilmabeg, an' they'll no' be hame till tea-time," said Mrs. Wallace.

"Ay. But I'll tell him ye're here yersel'. I'll get him for a witness that ye're suffocatin' the wean, mistress."

With a grin on his face, Angus toddled away to meet the grocer, who was coming slowly up the path towards the porch. Mr. Ogilvy's eyes were modestly turned groundward, and any one following him would have seen that his big fingers were working convulsively behind his back.

"This is a fine day, Maister Ogilvy," said Angus.

"Eh? Oh, ay, it's a fine day—a fine day," the other stammered, for he had not expected to encounter the old man at Hazel Cottage.

"Yell be wantin' to see David, maybe?" said Angus.

"Ay." The word came with an effort, and the grocer said in his heart, "Samuel Ogilvy, ye're a leear!"

"Aweel, ye'll no' see David the noo. He's awa' wi' the wife to Kilmabeg. It's queer ye didna see them gaun by the shop, Maister Ogilvy."

Mr. Ogilvy, his face on fire, forced an incoherent reply, and then, recovering himself, said, as carelessly as he could: "Weel, weel, it wasna onythin' important. I'll see him the morn." And he made to depart.

"Bide a wee—bide a wee, Maister Ogilvy," Angus interposed. "Ye're no' gaun awa' wi'oot speakin' to Mistress Wallace. She's sittin' wi' the wean roon' the corner. Come awa', an' ye'll maybe get dandlin' the wee yin."

"I'll come anither time, Angus. I—I'm kin' o' pressed for time, as it were," the grocer returned.

"Och, ye can bide twa-three meenits—an' tak' a smoke," said Angus, pleasantly, looking at his own empty pipe and thinking of his own empty tobacco-box.

"Na, I'll no' bide the day. I was thinkin' o' gaun back to the shop an' gettin' a wheen things tidied up, seein' the place is quate an' neabody aboot. Jist gi'e ma respec's to—"

"Ye're shairly no' gaun to tidy up things wi' yer guid claes on?" the old fellow interrupted. "Come awa', an' see Mistress Wallace, or ye'll maybe offend her. She seen ye comin' in at the gate."

"Did she?" said the grocer, feebly. "W—was she surprised to see me, think ye?" he inquired, nervously.

Before Angus could speak, Mrs. Wallace was heard calling:

"Is that you, Maister Ogilvy?"

"Ay, it's jist me," he replied, without moving.

"Weel, come here! I want to speak to ye."

"Come awa'," said Angus. "Ye dinna need to dandle the wean unless ye like. Come awa', Maister Ogilvy."

The grocer, on anything but flying feet, followed Angus round the corner of the cottage.

"My! but ye're a masher the day!" cried Mrs. Wallace, jocularly.' "I suppose ye're jist on yer road to meet her?"'

"Aw, Mistress Wallace," he murmured, removing his felt hat and wiping his forehead, on which a deep red line was visible.

"Yer hat's ower wee fur ye," she observed, as he squeezed it on again. "Ye'll be daein' yer heid an injury, Maister Ogilvy. Is't a new hat?"

"Ay. As ve say, it's ower wee. I got Geordie Harvey to buy it for me when he was at the toon, an' he forgot ma size an' had jist to guess it. But I've seen a waur guess, an' Geordie says if I weer it twa-three Sawbaths, it 11 fit like a glove. I'll thole it in the mean time, onywey, as it were." Here Mr. Ogilvy stopped abruptly, as one stops on suddenly realizing that one has been talking for the simple sake of doing so.

"Ye maun be guid at the tholin'," said Mrs. Wallace. "Ye're like a lassie at a pairty wi' sma' slippers on big feet."

"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed Angus. "A lassie wi' big feet 'll thole onythin'!"

"Haud yer tongue, or ye'll wauken the baby again.... Weel, Maister Ogilvy," she continued, genially, "if it's no' jist time fur yer app'intment, ye best tak' a sate, an' ha'e a smoke, an' rest ye, fur ye're lukin' as if ye wud melt an' rin doon the gairden in til the sea like lava frae a burnin' mountain."

"'Deed, it's uncommon warm for the season o' the year," said the grocer, seating himself on a stump; "an' to tell ye the truth, Mistress Wallace, I'm a wee bit decomposed wi' the heat."

He produced his pipe, a plug of tobacco, and his knife, while old Angus ostentatiously drew forth a battered little tin box, opened it, and sighed absently but quite audibly.

"Are ye for a smoke, Angus?" Mr. Ogilvy inquired when he had cut himself a fill.

"I'm no' heedin', but I'll tak' yin jist to keep ye comp'ny," said Angus, obligingly, as he received the plug from the grocer...." I'm a stupit buddy," he said, apologetically, two minutes later. "I've cut ower plenty for ma pipe. Ha'e ye a boax, maister?"

"Pit it in yer ain boax, Angus," returned the other, kindly, although the trick was far from novel.

"Aweel, it wud be a peety to waste it." And the tobacco-box seemed to shut with a snap of satisfaction. Having set his pipe agoing, Angus announced his intention of departing. "Dinna forget to gi'e David the letter I brocht, an' dinna suffocate the wean," he said, to Mrs. Wallace, offering the latter instruction with a grin.

"Dinna forget to gi'e Maister Ogilvy back his tobacco," she retorted, sharply.

"I was jist gaun to gi'e it back when ye spoke," said Angus, in some confusion, producing the plug which he had dropped into his pocket along with the tobacco-box. "Ye sud try to learn to mind yer ain business, mistress," he added, in an aggrieved tone.

"Angus maun ha'e his bit joke," interposed Mr. Ogilvy, pacifically, as he received his property. "He has nae intention o' insulting ye, as it were.... An' seein' he's gaun along the road, I'll jist gang wi' him," he said, rising suddenly, as if stricken by a new fear.

Mrs. Wallace smiled unkindly. "Is it time ye wis gaun to meet her?" she inquired. "Of course, ye mauna keep her waitin'."

The grocer fairly wriggled. "I—I—I'm no' gaun to meet onybody!" he exclaimed.

"Weel, sit ye doon an' rest ye," said she. "I want to speak to ye aboot somethin', Maister Ogilvy," she added, in an undertone.

After a brief period of indecision Mr. Ogilvy resumed his seat, nodding in a half -shamed fashion to Angus, who, being afraid lest Mrs. Wallace should confound him at the last moment, turned and took his departure, a thin, dry smile hovering about his lips.

"Ye sudna let him mak' free wi' yer tobacco," Mrs. Wallace remarked to the grocer. "He's no' needin' chairity since his sister dee'd."

"Oh, I ken that fine, Mistress Wallace. But, ye see, it's deefficult to get oot o' a bad habit when ye're auld. Angus canna help try in' to get his tobacco for naethin', an' I canna help gi'ein' him it. But I'll no' dae't again if ye dinna like it."

"Och, it's nae odds to me if ye wis gi'ein' him yer hale shope. But that's no" the thing I wis wantin' to speak to ye aboot.... I wis wantin' to tell ye that Angus cam' here the day wi' a story aboot a new jiner stairtin' in Kinlochan. Ha'e ye heard onythin' aboot that?"

"Ay," said Mr. Ogilvy.

"An' whit wey did ye no' tell us?"

"I jist heard the—the rumor, so to speak, the day. I was gaun to speak to ye aboot it, if ye hadna mentionedit."

"Is there ony truth in the report?"

"I doot there is. In fac', I ken there is. It's twa young men frae Paisley that's gaun to set up in Kinlochan, an' I hear they're vera pushin' young men."

"I'll push them!" muttered Mrs. Wallace, angrily.

"But ye needna be feart for David Houston," Mr. Ogilvy continued. "They'll no' hurt him. He's ower weel in wi' the folk here nooadays."

"I wudna be ower shair o' that. Whit aboot a' the new hooses that's gaun to be builded?"

"I didna think o' that," he admitted, slowly. "Na; I didna think o' that. The jiner-work there 'll be a fine big job. I wudna like to see it gaun by David.... D'ye think he's heard aboot the opposeetion, as it were, Mistress Wallace?"

"Na; he hasna heard yet. Him an' Jess gaed aff the day as blithe an' brisk as bees, like a pair o' young yins—jist like a lad an' lass afore they're mairrit."

"Ye mean, I preshume, that they gaed aff in a licht-hertit condeetion?"

"Ye preshume richt. I'm shair David had nae word o' the business. Angus got it frae a man wha heard it frae the factor."

"I heard it frae the factor hissel'. It was only fixed this mornin'. But I thocht David micht ha'e got wind o' 't. I suppose ye'll tell him when he comes hame?"

"I'll see. I wis thinkin' ye micht tell him yersel'."

"Me? Aw, Mistress Wallace! I'm no' the yin to break bad news. I canna dae it in a cheery enough style. Ma disposeetion is ower melancholical, an' I mak' the bad news seem waur nor it really is. I mind when John Cameron's wife ran awa'—eloped, as it were—wi' a man o' the name o' McMeekin, a brass-feenisher to trade, an' I was deputit to inform John o' the distressin' occurrence. I was near chokit wi' emotion, an' it was wi' a supreme effort that I produced the unseasonable information. But when I had feenished, John Cameron jist drew a lang breith, an' a' he said was: 'An' what are ye groanin' aboot, Ogilvy?'... I'm tellin' ye this, Mistress Wallace, to illustrate the fac' that, wi' ma melancholical disposeetion, I'm inclined for to mak' bad news waur nor it really is—to exaggerate it, as it were."

"I ken ye're a kin' o' dismal buddy," said Mrs. Wallace, agreeably, "but seein' ye've brocht guid news to David noo an' then, I thocht ye wud be the best yin to bring the bad news."

"Wud it no' be best to say naethin', an' jist let David fin' it oot for hissel'?"

"Na, na! I'm thinkin' it's the new hooses that's bringin' the new jiners to Kinlochan—a big job like that wud be a fine stairt fur them—an' the shinner David gets his word in wi' the contractor, the better. I jist hope he's no' ower late as it is.... Hoo dae ye think David wud staun' opposeetion?" she inquired, suddenly.

Mr. Ogilvy rubbed his chin meditatively.

"D'ye think it wud mak' him strive mair?" his companion asked.

Mr. Ogilvy ceased rubbing his chin, and took to scratching his nose gently with his middle finger. "Is he no' strivin' the noo?" he said, at last.

Mrs. Wallace shook her head. "The gairden's got the haud o' him again, an' furbye that he's sae ta'en up wi' this wee daurlin'"—she looked down at the infant "that whiles Jess canna get him oot the hoose till ten i' the mornin'."

"It's no' a great sin to be ta'en up wi' his dochter," the grocer observed.

"I didna say it wis, Maister Ogilvy, but it wull be a sin if her an' Jess ha'e to suffer i' the future," Mrs. Wallace returned, solemnly. She patted the child tenderly, and continued: "I think a man's the queerest thing in the hale o' creation. I've leeved a lang while noo, an'—"

"Ye're no' that auld," put in Mr. Ogilvy, gallantly.

"Haud yer tongue, please! I wis sayin' I've leeved a lang while noo; an' I've met twa sorts o' whit ye micht ca' honest, dacent, guid men—an' I wudna like to say which is the warst o' the twa. There's the man that aye pits his business afore his wife an' weans, an' there's the man that aye pits his wife an' weans afore his business. I've never seen a man yet that kent hoo to divide hissel'."

"Nae man can serve twa maisters," remarked Mr. Ogilvy, seriously.

"Nae man sud try it," she returned. "A man sud be his ain maister."

"In theory, as it were."

"Na! In practice, as it is. Theory's a' richt efter a man's deid. Ye dinna buy a man wi' wages: ye buy his wark; he disna sell hissel' to his wife an' weans: he lends hissel' as lang as he has the richt an' micht to dae it. At least, that's the wey it sud be."

"Ay; but that's jist theory, if ye'll excuse me for sayin' it, Mistress Wallace."

"I'll excuse ye, fur I ken ye canna help bein' a blether, Maister Ogilvy. I never met a man yet that didna gas aboot theories when he hadna the sense or the spunk to practise whit he kent in his hert wis the richt thing to dae."

"Ye're vera severe on man," said Mr. Ogilvy, mopping his brow. "Man is but mortal," he added, in dignified apology.

"An" mortal stupit furbye! Tak' aff that hat afore it gi'es ye some affliction o' the brain."

Mr. Ogilvy removed his hat, not without a grimace, and laid it on the ground against the stump on which he was seated.

"I doot ye're markit fur life," said Mrs. Wallace. "Disfeegured through yer ain consate. Eh?"

Smiling ruefully, the grocer rubbed his suffering forehead. "I doot I'll ha'e to get anither hat, efter a'," he said.

"Either that or anither heid," said Mrs. Wallace. "But that's no' the p'int we wis speakin' aboot, Maister Ogilvy," she went on, becoming serious. "Ye ken whit I mean."

"Ay; ye mean Man. Ye wis speakin' aboot Man, Mistress Wallace."

"Tits! Ye're haverin'! That wisna a p'int. Man's o' nae consequence. I meant the business aboot the new jiners."

"Oh, ay."

"An" I want ye to tell David the nicht, Maister Ogilvy. Ye'll obleege me greatly if ye tell him secret-like, fur I'm no' wantin' Jess to be vexin' hersel' aboot it. She's got plenty to think aboot the noo wi'oot a big trouble like this.... Jess is no' jist as weel as I wud like to see her."

"Is she no'?" exclaimed Mr. Ogilvy, in a voice of deep concern, if not alarm.

"Oh, I dinna think it's onythin' serious, but she needs to tak' care o' hersel'. Dinna say a word to her or onybody else aboot it."

"I'll never open ma mooth! But she was fine an' rosy the last time I seen her."

"Rid cheeks isna everythin'. Jess has ower big a he'rt fur her body, an' she—"

"Oh, me! Ye dinna mean that, Mistress Wallace?" he cried, looking shocked.

"Man, man, of course I dinna mean there's onythin' wrang wi' her he'rt, or her body either," said the other, sharply. "I mean that she's aye fashin' hersel' an' vexin' hersel' aboot David's affairs as weel as her ain—no' but whit she has a richt to ken aboot his affairs. But nooadays she's plenty o' her ain to keep her busy, mind an' body; an' whiles I wud like to gi'e David a hint, but I've never managed it yet. It's no' often I canna tell a man whit I think, but—"

"'Deed, that's truth!" said Mr. Ogilvy, quite involuntarily.

"But," she continued, ignoring the remark, "if I wis tellin' David, he wud be that pit aboot that I doot he wud speak to Jess, an' maybe frichten her an' mak' her waur nor she is."

"I see, I see, "he said, sympathetically. "Weel, Mistress Wallace, I'll speak to David aboot the new jiners the nicht, an' I'll drap a hint for him no' to mention onythin' to Mistress Houston in the mean time. I'll tell him to wait till he gets the job for the new hooses, an' then gi'e her a fine surprise."

"Yer hat hasna sp'iled yer heid efter a', Maister Ogilvy," said Mrs. Wallace, graciously. "Of course, Jess is boun' to hear o' the new jiners afore lang, but the langer we can keep it frae her the better. But I wisht—I wisht David hadna stairtit the gairdenin' again. I hear folk complainin' aboot him no' peyin' attention to his business."

"Aw, weel, the man maun ha'e his recreation, as it were. An' I dinna think Mistress Houston liket him gi'ein' up his gairdenin' a'thegither. An' nae doot the news o' the opposeetion 'll gar him pit his best fit furrit."

"Ye're rale tender wi' ither folk's failin 's," said Mrs. Wallace, half-mockingly.

"I've kent David Houston since he was a laddie," said the grocer, after a pause, "an' I never kent him dae onythin' that wasna fair an' kind. He never done a dirty trick, or behaved shabby to onybody; an' when he does, it 'll be time enough for me to fin' fau't wi' him."

"Weel, weel," she said, her voice softening, "I ken ye fur a guid freen', Maister Ogilvy, baith to David an' masel'."

Mr. Ogilvy bowed his head and sat silent, his hands tightly clasped between his knees. "Samuel Ogilvy," he said to himself, "can ye no' speak?"

"An" I hope," resumed Mrs. Wallace, "ye'll be a guid freen' to this wee lassie here when she grows up a bit. I ken ye like weans."

"Ay," he said, simply.... Presently an idea occurred to him, and he drew from his pocket a small package. "It's for her," he said, indicating the child, and handing the package to the nurse.

"Whit's this?" inquired the latter.

"Oh, jist a wheen jujubes, Mistress Wallace."

"Jujubes?"

"Ay. They're the finest in ma shop, an' they wudna hurt the maist delicate digeestion. Ye micht gi'e her yin when she waukens!"

"Jujubes?" cried Mrs. Wallace again, and, in spite of an effort to the contrary, she broke into merriment.

The grocer stared foolishly.

"Oh, Maister Ogilvy," she said, at last, "ye maun excuse me, but ye canna gi'e jujubes, or ony ither sweeties, till a wean that isna lower month auld— Oh, dear me! I canna help lauchin'."

"But she'll shin be fower month auld, an' the jujubes 'll keep fine, if they dinna get damp. An' if they spile, I'll bring fresh yins." There was the slightest trace of offended feeling in his voice.

Mrs. Wallace recovered herself and explained the position. "An' it wis rale nice o' ye to think o' bringin" the jujubes fur this wee lassie, Maister Ogilvy," she said, in conclusion.

"I'm a stupit buddy," he groaned. "But—but it's ma misfortune to—to be a single man. I—I—I wisht I wasna!" he suddenly gasped.

"If ye're no' wantin' the jujubes back, I'll keep them masel'," said Mrs. Wallace, calmly.

"Thenk ye, thenk ye," he stammered. " I'll be prood if ye'll accept the jujubes. An'—an'—wud ye—wud ye no' accept a—a—onythin' else, as it were?" Beads formed upon his brow, and speech failed him.

"Toots! Maister Ogilvy, I'm no' a great sweety eater, thenk ye a' the same. But it's time the wee lassie wis gaun inside the hoose," she said, rising. "Ye better tak' yer smoke till David and Jess get hame. They'll no' be lang noo. Ye'll bide to yer tea, Maister Ogilvy?"

"Na, thenk ye. I—I dinna think I'll bide the night."

"But ye've got to see David, onywey."

"I forgot.... Weel, I'll bide, thenk ye." He fumbled for his pipe, keeping his eyes on the ground the while, and Mrs. Wallace with her charge moved away.

Had he looked he would have seen that her eyes were very kindly, although her lips were shut even more firmly than usual.

About nine o'clock Mrs. Wallace and Mr. Ogilvy left Hazel Cottage together.

"Guid-nicht!" they both called, as they turned from the gate, after which they proceeded at least a furlong in gloomy silence.

"Hoo did David come to ken aboot it?" said the grocer, at last.

"It wis the letter that Angus brocht," she replied, shortly.

"Wha was it frae?"

"The contractor, or whitever ye ca' him. It saved ye breakin' the bad news, onywey," she said, rather bitterly.

"D'ye think I was glad for that, Mistress Wallace?" he asked, quickly but quietly.

"Na, na, Maister Ogilvy. But I'm vexed at David Houston. Ay, an' I'm angry at him furbye. I wis near cuffin' his lugs when he passed the letter to Jess, sayin', 'There's a love-letter fur ye, ma lass,' an' lauchin' as if the hale thing wis a joke. If he had seen her face when she gaed ower to the winda to read it—" Mrs. Wallace stopped with a sigh, which her companion echoed.

"But ye kin' o' lauched yersel'," he said, presently. "An' ye cried oot that ye wud maybe get the lock pit on yer coal-cellar door noo."

"That wis jist to keep Jess frae breakin' doon. Yer no' vera quick at the up-tak', Maister Ogilvy."

"Maybe I'm no'," he admitted. "An' I wisht I kent the meanin' o' the hale business. It's a mystery to me. What did the contractor mean in writin' to tell David that he needna bother tryin' for the job, as it had a' been arranged wi' the new jiners. There's some thin' gey queer aboot it. I wunner wha's buildin' the hooses. It's naebody in Kinlochan, or I wud ha'e heard lang syne. It wasna fair, no' gi'ein' David his chance. There's naebody can touch him for guid work."

"Ye micht try an' fin' oot wha's buildin' the hooses the morn," said Mrs. Wallace, whose spirits were sinking lower and lower.

"I'll fin' oot the nicht! I'll fin' oot the noo, if I can. Here's the manse, an' I'll speir at the meenister. I mind yinst seein' him crackin' wi' a strange man that was measurin' the grun' for the new hooses. Jist bide a meenit, Mistress Wallace, till I rin up to the door an' prosecute inquiries, as it were."

He was not long absent, and he returned somewhat short of breath, but able to pant:

"There's twa-three gentlemen in the business, but the chief yin is a Maister Dobbie in Glesca. He's in the gless trade. Eh? Whit's wrang, Mistress Wallace?"

"Everything" she groaned, throwing up her hands. "Ma puir Jess!"

"What ha'e I said—what ha'e I said?" cried the grocer.

Mrs. Wallace became suddenly calm. "Never heed the noo, Maister Ogilvy; I'll maybe tell ye anither time."

Mr. Ogilvy nodded gently, and nothing more was said till they reached Mrs. Wallace's gate. "It's no' that I canna trust ye," she said, abruptly; "I'll tell ye a' aboot it the morn, if—if I can."

"Mistress Wallace," he returned, in a solemn whisper, "I'm aye at—at yer service, as it were."