“If I didna think I had got ower’t I wadna hae been here the nicht,” said the son. “I’ll warrant ye’ll no’ hae to complain o’ me again.” Erchie took his hand. “Willie,” said he, “gie me your thoomb on that. I ken the MacPhersons, if their mind’s made up, and I think ye’re auld enough noo to try your hand at sense. It’ll no’ hurt ye. Willie, Willie, it wasna mysel’ I worried aboot thae seeven years, nor you either; for I kent fine the prodigal wad come back, if it was only to see if his faither de’ed and left him onything. The prodigal son! Awfu’ needin’ a shave! Your mither’ll be the prood wumman this nicht.” Before Jinnet had come back from the grocer’s Erchie put his son into the parlour, so that the returned wanderer might not too abruptly confront his mother. She suspected nothing for a little, going about her ordinary offices in the kitchen till something fidgety in her husband’s appearance directed her more close attention to him, and there was seen then an elation in his countenance that made her ask him what the matter was. “Ye’re awfu’ joco,” said she. “Are ye plannin’ some bawr for Duffy?” “Not me,” said Erchie. “I’m jist wearyin’ for my tea. And, by the wye, Jinnet,” he added, “ye micht put doon anither cup for a frien’ o’ mine I’m expectin’ frae abroad.” “Frae abroad!” cried Jinnet, turning pale. “Ye havena heard onything o’--o’----” “Have I no’?” said Erchie. “There’s a chap in the room at this meenute that wad be awfu’ like Willie if he had a clean shave.” Ten minutes later Erchie joined his wife and Willie in the room. The dunnage-bag was being emptied before Jinnet by a son who was anxious to make the most of his gifts from foreign parts, though painfully conscious of their value. “Oh, whit braw shells!” cried his mother. “Jist the very thing I was needin’ for the mantelpiece. The Carmichaels say wally dugs is no’ the go noo at a’. It was rale thochtfu’ o’ ye to tak’ them a’ the wye frae abroad for me.” “And here a song folio and a pund o’ sweet tobacco for you, faither,” said Willie. Erchie took them in his hand. “Man, that’s the very thing,” said he. “If ‘Dark Lochnagar’s’ in’t, I’ll be upside wi’ Duffy.” “Whit’s this?” asked Jinnet, as the sailor brought forth for her a bottle containing some dark thick fluid. “Riga balsam,--whit the sailors use for sair hands,” said Willie. “Oh, it’s the very thing Erchie used to say ye wad bring back when ye cam,” cried Jinnet in delight. “It’ll be awfu’ useful. I’m almost vext I havena onything sair aboot me the day.” “No’ even a sair hert,” said Erchie, and the son looked contritely at his mother. THE END. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Erchie, by (AKA Hugh Foulis) Neil Munro