Who does not see that Thomas had a hold of something to which George was altogether a stranger? Surely it is something more to stand with Moses upon Mount Sinai, and see the back of God through ever so many folds of cloudy darkness, than be sitting down to eat and drink, or rising up to play about the golden calf, at the foot of the mountain. And that Thomas was possessed of some divine secret, the heart of child Annie was perfectly convinced; the tone of his utterance having a greater share in producing this conviction than anything he had said. As he passed out, she looked up reverently at him, as one to whom deep things lay open, Thomas had a kind of gruff gentleness towards children which they found very attractive; and this meek maiden he could not threaten with the vials of wrath. He laid his hard heavy hand kindly on her head, saying: "Ye'll be ane o' the Lord's lambs, will ye no? Ye'll gang into the fold efter him, will ye no?" "Ay will I," answered Annie, "gin He'll lat in Alec and Curly too." "Ye maun mak nae bargains wi' him; but gin they'll gang in, he'll no haud them oot." And away, somewhat comforted, the honest stonemason strode, through the darkness and the rain, to his own rather cheerless home, where he had neither wife nor child to welcome him. An elderly woman took care of his house, whose habitual attitude towards him was one half of awe and half of resistance. The moment he entered, she left the room where she had been sitting, without a word of welcome, and betook herself to the kitchen, where she prepared his plate of porridge or bowl of brose. With this in one hand, and a jug of milk in the other, she soon returned, placing them like a peace-offering on the table before him. Having completed the arrangement by the addition of a horn spoon from a cupboard in the wall, she again retired in silence. The moment she vanished Thomas's blue bonnet was thrown into a corner, and with folded hands and bent head he prayed a silent prayer over his homely meal. By this time Alec and Curly, having received sufficient instruction from George Macwha, were in full swing with their boat-building. But the moment Thomas went, Alec, had taken Annie to the forge to get her well-dried, before he would allow her to occupy her old place in the heap of spales. "Wha's preachin' at the missionar-kirk the morn, Willie?" asked the boy's father, For Willie knew everything that took place in Glamerton. "Mr Broon," answered Curly. "He's a guid man that, ony gait," returned his father. "There's nae mony like him. I think I'll turn missionar mysel', for ance and awa', and gang and hear him the morn's nicht."