How much his father knew of this employment might be doubted. He took much forethought for the boy’s future, seeing he was like to be left so poorly, and would sometimes assist at his lessons, sighing heavily, yawning deep, and now and again patting Francie on the shoulder if he seemed to be doing ill, by way of a private, kind encouragement. But a great part of the day was passed in aimless wanderings with his eyes sealed, or in his cabinet sitting bemused over the particulars of the coming bankruptcy; and the boy would be absent a dozen times for once that his father would observe it. On 2nd of July 1682 the boy had an errand from his mother, which must be kept private from all, the father included in the first of them. Crossing the braes, he hears the clatter of a horse’s shoes, and claps down incontinent in a hag by the wayside. And presently he spied his father come riding from one direction, and Curate Haddo walking from another; and Montroymont leaning down from the saddle, and Haddo getting on his toes (for he was a little, ruddy, bald-pated man, more like a dwarf), they greeted kindly, and came to a halt within two fathoms of the child. ‘Montroymont,’ the curate said, ‘the deil’s in ’t but I’ll have to denunciate your leddy again.’ ‘Deil’s in ’t indeed!’ says the laird. ‘Man! can ye no induce her to come to the kirk?’ pursues Haddo; ‘or to a communion at the least of it? For the conventicles, let be! and the same for yon solemn fule, M‘Brair: I can blink at them. But she’s got to come to the kirk, Montroymont.’ ‘Dinna speak of it,’ says the laird. ‘I can do nothing with her.’ ‘Couldn’t ye try the stick to her? it works wonders whiles,’ suggested Haddo. ‘No? I’m wae to hear it. And I suppose ye ken where you’re going?’ ‘Fine!’ said Montroymont. ‘Fine do I ken where: bankrup’cy and the Bass Rock!’ ‘Praise to my bones that I never married!’ cried the curate. ‘Well, it’s a grievous thing to me to see an auld house dung down that was here before Flodden Field. But naebody can say it was with my wish.’ ‘No more they can, Haddo!’ says the laird. ‘A good friend ye’ve been to me, first and last. I can give you that character with a clear conscience.’