“C'est e'gal,” said Christie in Scotch, “it's awfu' bonny.” Gatty reached home late; his mother had retired to rest. But the next morning she drew from him what had happened, and then ensued another of those dialogues which I am ashamed again to give the reader. Suffice it to say, that she once more prevailed, though with far greater difficulty; time was to be given him to unsew a connection which he could not cut asunder, and he, with tearful eyes and a heavy heart, agreed to take some step the very first opportunity. This concession was hardly out of his mouth, ere his mother made him kneel down and bestowed her blessing upon him. He received it coldly and dully, and expressed a languid hope it might prove a charm to save him from despair; and sad, bitter, and dejected, forced himself to sit down and work on the picture that was to meet his unrelenting creditor's demand. He was working on his picture, and his mother, with her needle, at the table, when a knock was heard, and gay as a lark, and fresh as the dew on the shamrock, Christie Johnstone stood in person in the apartment. She was evidently the bearer of good tidings; but, before she could express them, Mrs. Gatty beckoned her son aside, and announcing, “she should be within hearing,” bade him take the occasion that so happily presented itself, and make the first step. At another time, Christie, who had learned from Jean the arrival of Mrs. Gatty, would have been struck with the old lady's silence; but she came to tell the depressed painter that the charitable viscount was about to visit him and his picture; and she was so full of the good fortune likely to ensue, that she was neglectful of minor considerations. It so happened, however, that certain interruptions prevented her from ever delivering herself of the news in question. First, Gatty himself came to her, and, casting uneasy glances at the door by which his mother had just gone out, said: “Christie!” “My lad!” “I want to paint your likeness.” This was for a _souvenir,_ poor fellow! “Hech! I wad like fine to be painted.” “It must be exactly the same size as yourself, and so like you, that, should we be parted, I may seem not to be quite alone in the world.” Here he was obliged to turn his head away. “But we'll no pairt,” replied Christie, cheerfully. “Suppose ye're puir, I'm rich, and it's a' one; dinna be so cast down for auchty pund.” At this, a slipshod servant entered, and said: “There's a fisher lad, inquiring for Christie Johnstone.” “It will be Flucker,” said Christie; “show him ben. What's wrang the noo I wonder!” The baddish boy entered, took up a position and remained apparently passive, hands in pockets. _Christie._ “Aweel, what est?” _Flucker._ “Custy.” _Christie._ “What's your will, my manny?” _Flucker._ “Custy, I was at Inch Keith the day.” _Christie._ “And hae ye really come to Edinbro' to tell me thaat?”