"Is there for honest poverty, That hangs his head and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by, And dare be poor for a' that. What though on homely fare we dine, Wear hodden-grey [coarse, woollen, undyed cloth] and a' that, Give fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that. "A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke and a' that; But an honest man's above his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that. [Try.] Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree for a' that." [Bear the gree, _i.e._, be triumphant.] "Bravo! Archie, lad. Glad to see that you haven't forgotten your Scotch, though we've talked little but English for many a long day. "Ah! well," he continued, after a pause, "I was just thinking, Archie, how kind Providence has been to us." "But mind you, Kenneth, we've worked hard." "I'm not saying we haven't, Archie, I'm not saying we haven't. We _have_ worked; and I say shame on the sheep who huddles down in a corner and nurses himself, and thinks that Heaven will give him every blessing for the asking. We must work as well as pray." "Do you know, Archie, that one terrible night at sea, while we were rounding the Horn with a whole gale of wind blowing and a smothering sea on, when it was so dark you couldn't have seen a sheet of white paper held at arm's length, and when we all of a sudden knew from the frightful cold we were surrounded by ice, when at last the ship was struck and began to leak, and no one had a hope of seeing the morn break--that down below I stole just one half minute to open my Book? And my eyes fell upon the ninety-first Psalm, and I took comfort and heart at once; I knew we would be saved, and next day the captain complimented me on having been so daring, so fearless, and cheerful. Ah! lad, little did he know that the bravery in my breast was no bravery of mine; it _had been put there by Him_. Call this faith of mine folly if you like, I don't care; it suits _me_, and it has saved me more than once, and comforted me a thousand times. "Do you mind the time," Kenneth went on, changing the subject, "when you and I used to herd the sheep here with dear old Kooran and Shot?" "Can I e'er forget it, Kenneth?" Sitting on the top of the fairy knoll there, the two young men had quite a long talk about bygone times. I have said "young men;" and they were so, though they might not have appeared to be in the eyes of boys and girls, but as they talked they seemed to grow younger still. Kenneth could almost imagine he saw the smoke curling up from his mother's cot in the glen, and Kooran feathering away through the heather to fetch his dinner. [See Book One, chapter one.] A day or two after this the three friends went together over the hills to pay a visit to the fisherman's cot by the beach.