'Weel, shivery weys, Maister Weelum; shivery weys. Imphm!--Where's Betty?' I told him she had gone out on an errand, but would be back presently; and, going into the dining-room, I poured out a glass of brandy and brought it to him. 'Here, Nathan. I know your mind on the liquor question; but put aside your objections and drink this. It will do you good.' He smiled feebly. 'What would Betty say? Will ye tak' the blame?' he asked. 'Certainly I'll take the blame, or, rather, I should say the credit. Drink it up now, Nathan.' Joe, who had been splitting firewood in the stick-house, had recognised his brother's voice, and came into the kitchen. 'It is you, Nathan!' he said, in surprise. 'It's no' often we see you wi' a dram-gless in your hand, an' at this time o' day, too. My word, but you're lucky!' 'Ay, Benjy, it is me, an' I am lucky. I daur say ye wad like to chum wi' me the noo. Are--are ye still keepin' the teetotal?' For a moment Joe looked shamefacedly at Nathan; then truth and honour--outstanding traits of the Hebrons--shone in his eye. 'No,' he said; 'I broke it this mornin'.' 'Ay--imphm! And hoo did you come to do that?' asked Nathan, without looking round. 'Betty tempted me, and I fell.' 'Oh, imphm! Betty gied ye a dram, did she? Weel, Benjy, whatever Betty did was richt. She didna tempt ye, man; she treated ye, that's what she did. Ye'll no' gang far wrang if ye're guided by Betty.--Eh, Maister Weelum?' He was sitting very near the fire, with his long gnarled fingers spread out for warmth, and he looked up sideways to me when he said this with a look in his blue eyes which told me, more pointedly than words, of his absolute confidence in her good judgment, and the pride he had in the possession of her love. CHAPTER XIII.