“Right!” said Erchie, patiently; and they turned, but not without one sad glance from his wife before they lost sight of the black ships, the noisy wharves, the rolling seamen on the pavement, the lamplights of the watery way that reaches to the world’s end. “Oh! Erchie,” she said piteously, “I wonder if he’s still on the ships.” “Like enough,” said her husband. “I’m shair he’s no’ in Gleska at onyrate without conin’ to see us. I’ll bate ye he’s a mate or a captain or a purser or something, and that thrang somewhere abroad he hasna time the noo; but we’ll hear frae him by-and-bye. The wee deevil! I’ll gie him’t when I see him, to be givin’ us such a fricht.” “No’ that wee, Erchie,” said Jinnet. “He’s bigger than yersel’.” “So he is, the rascal! am I no’ aye thinkin’ o’ him jist aboot the age he was when he was at the Sunday school.” “Hoo lang is’t since we heard o’ him, Erchie?” “Three or four years, or maybe five,” said Erchie, quickly. “Man! the wye time slips bye! It doesna look like mair nor a twelvemonth.” “It looks to me like twenty year,” said Jinnet, “and it’s naething less than seeven, for it was the year o’ Annie’s weddin’, and her wee Alick’s six at Mertinmas. Seeven years! Oh, Erchie, where can he be? Whit can be wrang wi’ him? No’ to write a scrape o’ a pen a’ that time! Maybe I’ll no’ be spared to see him again.” “I’ll bate ye whit ye like ye will,” said her husband. “And if he doesna bring ye hame a lot o’ nice things--shells and parrots, and bottles of scent, and Riga Balsam for hacked hands, and the rale Cheena cheeny, and ostrich feathers and a’ that, I’ll--I’ll be awfu’ wild at him. But the first thing I’ll dae’ll be to stand behind the door and catch him when he comes in, and tak’ the strap to him for the rideeculous wye he didna write to us.” [Illustration: 0047] “Seeven years,” said Jinnet. “Oh, that weary sea, a puir trade to be followin’ for ony mither’s son. It was Australia he wrote frae last; whiles I’m feared the blecks catched him oot there and killed him in the Bush.” “No! nor the Bush! Jist let them try it wi’ oor Willie! Dod! he would put the hems on them; he could wrastle a score o’ blecks wi’ his least wee bit touch.” “Erchie.” “Weel, Jinnet?” “Ye’ll no’ be angry wi’ me; but wha was it tellt ye they saw him twa years syne carryin’ on near the quay, and that he was stayin’ at the Sailors’ Home?” “It was Duffy,” said Erchie, hurriedly. “I have a guid mind to--to kick him for sayin’ onything o’ the kind. I wad hae kicked him for’t afore this if--if I wasna a beadle in the kirk.” “I’m shair it wasna oor Willie at a’,” said Jinnet. “Oor Willie! Dae ye think the laddie’s daft, to be in Gleska and no’ come to see his mither?” “I canna believe he wad dae’t,” said Jinnet, but always looked intently in the face of every young man who passed them. “Weel, that’s ower for anither Setturday,” said Erchie to himself, resuming his slippers and his spectacles.