"Why, look ye here, lad," cried Jock. "Here am I as blithe and hearty as a bird, and here are you, plod, plod, plod, from day to day, round and round, like old Michael Ross's blind horse in the bark mill. I look as hearty as a buck; you look ten years older, and as if life warn't worth a gill o' ale." "I wean't argue with you, Jock," said Tom, quietly. "You must go your own gate, I suppose, and I'll go mine." "Ay, that's it, Tommy." "But if ever you like to try being an honest man again, lad, I'm thy own brother, and I'll give thee a lift best way I can for the old folks' sake." Jock Morrison left the window, and came like a modern edition of Astur of the stately stride round to the door, walked in amongst the shavings and sawdust, gave his brother a tremendous slap on the back, and then seized his hand and stood shaking it for a good minute by the old Dutch clock in the corner. He did not speak, but half sat down afterwards upon the bench, watching his brother as Tom resumed his work. "How's little wife?" said Jock at last. "Not hearty, Jock," said Tom Morrison. "She's pined a deal lately. Never got over losing the bairn." There was a spell of silence here, and then Tom said quietly-- "Go in and have a crust o' bread and cheese, Jock, and a mug of ale. The little lass has been baking this morning." "Ay, I will," said Jock, and thrusting his hands down into his pockets, he rolled like a great ship on a heaving sea out of the workshop, along the road, and then through the little garden, and without ceremony into the cottage, stooping his head as he passed in at the low door. PART TWO, CHAPTER NINE. A CRUEL CHARGE. Polly was busy at needle-work, and as the great fellow strode in and stood staring at her, she started up and seemed as if about to run away. "You here, Jock, again?" she faltered. "Ay! here I am again," he said, in a deep growl, as he fixed her with his eye, while she trembled before him and his fierce look. "I'm glad--to see you, Jock," she said, faintly, and she glanced towards the door. "That's a lie," he growled, and then he laughed grimly, but only for his face to darken into a savage scowl. "Tom said I was to come in, lass." "Oh, you've seen Tom!" she said, as if relieved. "Ay, and he said I was to have some bread and cheese and beer." "Yes, Jock," she cried; "I'll get it out." She had to pass him, and he caught her hand in his, towering over her and making her shiver, as if fascinated by his gaze, as Julia Mallow had been a score of times. "Stop!" he said, in a low, deep voice. "Wait a bit. I don't want the bread and cheese. Look here, Polly." "Yes, Jock, yes," she panted; "but don't hurt me." "Hurt ye!" he growled; "I feel as if I could kill thee." "Jock!"