“Well, Cuthbert, you know your own secrets, I suppose,” said Lindsay, laughing, “and whether all this is pure professional zeal, or no, I won’t inquire; but as for your rubbish about east countrymen, you don’t mean me to believe that, you know. Of course, if you are acquainted with the family, that is a great matter. But mind, be cautious!” “Look at ‘_The Scotsman_,’ Davie,” said Cuthbert, “and keep silence, while I read your advertisement. There now, be quiet.” Two stories up in the honourable locality of York Place, lived Cuthbert’s mother. They were not very rich, certainly, but the old lady had a sufficient portion of the means of comfort, to prove her a Buchanan. She was a little, brisk, active woman, under whose management everything became plentiful. It was not an economical propensity, but, refined and somewhat elegant though Mrs. Charteris’ own individual tastes were, it was an indispensable thing with her that there should be “routh” in her house. So there were dependants hanging about her door at all times, and stores of bread and broken meat dispensed to all comers. Mrs. Charteris had unlimited faith in her two neat, blooming, sister servants. She thought they could discriminate the line between plenty and waste, almost as distinctly as she did herself--yet when Cuthbert returned home that day he found his mother delivering a short lively lecture on the subject--a lecture such as was rather a habit of hers--to the elder of the two trusted confidential maids. “You see, Lizzie, my woman, to lay the moulins out of the bread-basket on the window-sill for the sparrows is very kindly and wiselike--a thing that pleases me--but to crumble down one side of the good loaf that we’re using ourselves, is _waste_. You see the difference. It might have been given to some poor body.” “Yes, mem,” said Lizzie, demurely, “and so I did. I gi’ed the ither half o’ the loaf to Marget Lowrie.” Mrs. Charteris looked grave for a moment. “We were using it ourselves, Lizzie; but to be sure, in a house where there’s plenty, there should aye be the portion for folk that have more need, and as long as its lawfully used, Lizzie, I never find fault, but to waste is a great sin. Now, you’ll mind that, and take the moulins after this for the sparrows.” “It’s Mr. Cuthbert, mem,” said Jess, the younger sister of the two, returning from the door, and the little active old lady rustled away in her black silk gown to her parlour, to see what had brought home her son at so unusual an hour.