"I loved Anthony," said Ann. "He took things so calmly and was so speechless. One afternoon when he was with us people began to flock up to his front door, carriages and motors arrived, and we called to him to come and tell us what occasion this was. Anthony looked at the commotion for a minute, and then said, 'It must be a party,' and not another word passed his lips. One night we said 'Anthony will recite.' He said neither yea nor nay, and we led him into the middle of the room. Still he made no protest, but stood, drooping like a candle in the sun, while large tears coursed quietly down his face. It must have been good for Davie to have such a phlegmatic friend. But I've seen Anthony wakened to enthusiasm. I came home once full of _Cyrano de Bergerac_, and, of course, told Davie all about it--I was so pleased when I heard Davie say after he was grown up, 'It was Nana made me like poetry'--and it became his favourite game. He and Anthony would crouch behind the sofa, 'behind the walls at Arras,' and then jump wildly up shouting, 'Cadets of Gascony are we...' Mother, I think you and I could talk for weeks on end about Davie...." The door opened and Marget came in. "It's no' nine o'clock yet," she said; "but Mysie has rin oot doon to the cottages--what wi' the mune and the snaw it's near as light as day--an' I cam' in to speer about your _Life_, Mem. Hoo's Miss Ann gettin' on wi't?" "Not very well, Marget," Ann answered for herself. "I'm going to finish it, but it's a much harder job than I expected." Marget sniffed. "I dinna see ony hardness aboot it. You hev a' the facts; a' that you've got to dae is write them doon." "It certainly sounds very easy put in that way," Ann said; "but facts alone are dull things." "But ony thing else wad juist be lees." Ann began to laugh. "But, Marget," she protested, "I could put all the facts of Mother's life into one page--born, married, number of children, and so on; but that wouldn't be any sort of record to hand down to the children. You want all sorts of little everyday touches that will make them see the home that their father was brought up in." "Everyday touches," Marget repeated; "d'ye mean what we hed for oor denners an' aboot washin' days? But thaes no things to write aboot. I could tell ye some rale fine things to pit in a book. One Setterday I let in a young man to see the maister--a rale weel pit-on young man he was, an' I showed him into the study, an' what d'ye think was the very first thing he said to the maister?" Marget leant forward impressively. "He said that he had had a veesion to kill a man an' had been guided to oor Manse. Eh, I say! Sic a fricht I got when I heard aboot it! It juist lets ye see how carefu' ye should be aboot lettin' folk in even if they look respectable." "And how did Father get rid of him?" Ann asked. "You tell her, Mem." Marget nodded towards her mistress, and Mrs. Douglas said: