The short broken sobs continued for a moment, and then he raised his head. “I see, Sir,” said the old man, with natural dignity, “that to thank you for troubling yourself in this way, with the humble concerns of these orphans, who can render you little in return, would be to hold you in less esteem than is your due. I take your service, as, if I had been as young and well endowed as you, I think I could maybe have rendered it--and now tell me what it is you want to discover--that I may further it, if I can, without delay.” CHAPTER XII. “What! mine own boy?” ALMOST in Lindsay’s words, Cuthbert told to the old man the story of the Allenders. He listened without making any remark, but evidently, as Cuthbert saw, with great attention. “John Allenders--yes, that was the name,” he said, when his visitor had concluded. “And Violet and Rose--it looks like--very like, as if these bairns were the folk you seek. I pray heaven they may; no for the siller,” continued the old man, turning back on his way to the pin where hung his low broad-brimmed hat: “no alone or even specially for the siller; but for other matters, Mr. Charteris--other things of more concern to Martha and me, and the rest of them, too, poor things, than silver and gold; though no doubt an honourable maintenance, no to say a grand independence like that, is to be thankfully received for itself, if we would not sin our mercies--and now, sir, I am ready.” Charteris followed without any question. The old man turned first to the garden door, and looked out. His young guests had slackened a little in their industry; one of them sat solemnly in the arm-chair, reading with great emphasis from the book he had left. Another had thrown down her work to arrange in elaborate braids a favourite companion’s hair; and two or three other groups, with their heads close together, were discussing “the gentleman;” and what could possibly be his errand with Maister _Meur_. “Bairns,” said the old man, looking out smilingly. With a sudden start the girls resumed their work, the occupant of the arm-chair threw down the book in great haste, and fled to her own seat. “The book will do ye no harm; ye may read it out loud, one at a time,” said the gracious patron of the young embroiderers; “but see that you do not forget what work must be done, or make me forsworn of my word, when I promised to see ye keep from idleness. Mind! or we will cast out the morn.” Saying which, the old man turned to the street door, directing his little Jessie as he passed the kitchen, to have tea prepared with some ornamental additions to its ordinary bread and butter, which he specified in a whisper, exactly at six o’clock.