The pits'll a' be ready afore ye're ready for them;" an' he lifted a knife to gi'e them a haun. He pu'd a turnip, an' was juist gaun to whang off the shaw, when doon he drappit in the middle o' the drill as deid as Abel.' Nathan relit his pipe, which had gone out during the narrative. 'Ay,' he continued, as he puffed audibly, 'it was a very big funeral, was Cairnie's. He was buried in Dalgarnock--a damp, douth place to lie in, in my estimation. No' that it maitters muckle, I daur say; but still'---- 'Whae's this ye're on, Nathan?' said Betty, who had entered the room unobserved. 'Oh, naebody parteeklar, Betty. I'm juist ca'in' the crack as ye telt me, an' keepin' Maister Weelum here cheery till ye come up;' and he rose, with a sigh of relief, from his chair, sidled toward the door, and went cautiously downstairs. When I heard him safely round the 'sherp' turn on the staircase I looked at the sonsie, kindly face of my old nurse. 'Oh my dear Betty, I am glad to see you!' I said with fervour. 'Hoo's that, noo, Maister Weelum?' and she gave a wee bit pleased laugh. 'Ha'e ye been missin' me? Has Nathan no' been ca'in' the crack?' 'Yes, Betty, I have been missing you, and Nathan _has_ been ca'in' the crack; but, Betty'--and I lowered my voice--'he's been in kirk-yards all the time.' 'Ah, is that so?' she sympathetically asked. 'I'm sorry, noo, to ken that. He must ha'e been workin' among leaf-mould the day.' 'He was, Betty; he told me so.' 'That accoonts for it, Maister Weelum. Nathan's awfu' queer that wey; but, puir falla, he canna help it; an' then ye ken he means sae terribly weel. I'm awfu' sorry, though, if his crack has depressed ye. Ye're juist a wee bittie doon i' the mooth the noo, an' ye'll be easily putten aboot; but keep your pecker up, like a guid laddie, an' ye'll soon be better in health an' better in spirits. Efter a', an' when a''s considered, ye've a lot to be thankfu' for. Mony a yin wad gladly change places wi' ye. It's a gey hard, step-motherly kind o' world this for some folk; but you--weel, I wad say ye've your fu' share o' blessin's.' I looked keenly toward her while she was speaking. 'You are perfectly right, my dear Betty,' I said. 'I have my full share of blessings, and every reason to be thankful and grateful. Why, Betty, when I think of it, it is a downright sin in me to allow myself to become depressed. It would be much more to the purpose were I to bestir myself and do all I can to help others, whose share of the good things is less, and whose burdens are greater. By the way, Betty, were you crying downstairs about half-an-hour ago?' 'No, Maister Weelum, I was not cryin'.' 'Strange,' I said; 'I was sure I heard some one sobbing.'