Betty stooped down and poked the smoking coals into glowing flame. Then she pulled down my window-blind and drew the curtains together. 'Oh, you're quite richt; you dootless did hear greetin', but it wasna me;' and she sat down again and unrolled her knitting, but she didn't ply her needles. 'D'ye mind,' she continued after a long pause,' you an' me speakin' aboot Tom Jardine the grocer, oor next-door neebor, ye ken?' 'Perfectly, Betty,' I replied; and at mention of his name I saw in my mind's eye a rain-swept courtyard, a haggard, worried face, and a golden-haired bairn. Intuitively I saw more--troubles, big mental troubles which crush the heart and soul out of a man. Oh! I hadn't forgotten. 'Weel,' she continued, a tremor in her voice, 'it was Tom Jardine's wife that was greetin' in the kitchen, an' I'm juist dyin' to speak to you, for what she has telt me is lyin' at my he'rt like a stane. Are ye weel enough, think ye, to be bothered listenin'?' 'My dear Betty, where two old friends like you and Tom Jardine are concerned, nothing is, or can be, a bother; so proceed, if you please.' She began to knit, then stopped and counted her stitches, while I filled and lit my pipe. 'Little mair than a week bygane,' she began, 'I was in Tom's shop for some odds and ends, and when he was servin' me, says he, "Mrs Hebron, I fully expected to be able to clear off ten pounds of that auld balance this back-end term; but I'm beginning to be feart that'll no' be possible." The balance he referred to, Maister Weelum, was thirty pounds--half o' the sixty Nathan an' me loaned his faither. Ye mind I telt ye aboot that?' I nodded.