‘He s’ never be Francie’s _late_ father to Francie, gien I can help it, mem! He may be your _late_ husband, mem, but he’s my cornel yet, and I s’ keep my word til him! It’ll no be lang noo, i’ the natur o’ things, till I gang til him; and sure am I his first word ’ill be aboot the laddie: I wud ill like to answer him, “Archie, I ken naething aboot him but what I cud weel wuss itherwise!” Hoo wud ye like to gie sic an answer yersel, mem?’ ‘I’m surprised at a man of your sense, Barclay, thinking we shall know one another in heaven! We shall have to be content with God there!’ ‘I said naething about h’aven, mem! Fowk may ken ane anither and no be in ae place. I took note i’ the kirk last Sunday ’at Abrahaam kent the rich man, and the rich man him, and they warna i’ the same place.--But ye’ll lat the yoong laird come and see me, mem?’ concluded David, changing his tone and speaking as one who begged a favour; for the thought of meeting his old friend and having nothing to tell him about his boy, quenched his pride. ‘Home, Thomas!’ cried her late husband’s wife to her coachman, and drove away. ‘Dod! they’ll hae to gie that wife a hell til hersel!’ said David, turning to the door discomfited. ‘And maybe she’ll no like it whan she hes ’t!’ returned his wife, who had heard every word. ‘There’s fowk ’at’s no fit company for onybody! and I’m thinkin she’s ane gien there bena anither!’ ‘I’ll sen’ Jeamie hame wi’ the powny the nicht,’ said David. ‘A body canna insist whaur fowk are no freen’s. That weud grow to enmity, and the en’ o’ a’ guid. Na, we maun sen’ hame the powny; and gien there be ony grace i’ the bairn, he canna but come and say thank ye!’ Mrs. Gordon rejoiced in her victory; but David’s yielding showed itself the true policy. Francis did call and thank him for taking care of Don. He even granted that perhaps he had been too hard on the pony. ‘Ye cud richteously expeck naething o’ a powny o’ his size that that powny o’ yours cudna du, Francie!’ said David. ‘But, in God’s name, dear laddie, be a richteous man. Gien ye requere no more than’s fair frae man or beast, ye’ll maistly aye get it. But gien yer ootluik in life be to get a’thing and gie naething, ye maun come to grief ae w’y and a’ w’ys. Success in an ill attemp is the warst failyie a man can mak.’ But it was talking to the wind, for Francis thought, or tried to think David only bent, like his mother, on finding fault with him. He made haste to get away, and left his friend with a sad heart.