'Considerin' 'at I'm at sae muckle expense wi' ye baith, it wadna hae been ill-contrived to hae brocht the siller to me, an' latten me du wi' 't as I thocht fit.--Gang na awa', laddie,' she added, as she saw Robert about to leave the room. 'I'll be back in a minute, grannie,' returned Robert. 'He's a fine lad, that!' said Mr. Innes; 'an' guid 'll come o' 'm, and that 'll be heard tell o'.' 'Gin he had but the grace o' God, there wadna be muckle to compleen o',' acquiesced his grandmother. 'There's time eneuch for that, Mrs. Faukner. Ye canna get auld heids upo' young shoothers, ye ken.' ''Deed for that maitter, ye may get mony an auld heid upo' auld shoothers, and nae a spark o' grace in 't to lat it see hoo to lay itsel' doon i' the grave.' Robert returned before Mr. Innes had made up his mind as to whether the old lady intended a personal rebuke. 'Hae, grannie,' he said, going up to her, and putting the two sovereigns in her white palm. He had found some difficulty in making Shargar give up his, else he would have returned sooner. 'What's this o' 't, laddie?' said Mrs. Falconer. 'Hoots! I'm nae gaein' to tak yer siller. Lat the puir soutar-craturs hae 't. But dinna gie them mair nor a shillin' or twa at ance--jist to haud them in life. They deserve nae mair. But they maunna sterve. And jist ye tell them, laddie, at gin they spen' ae saxpence o' 't upo' whusky, they s' get nae mair.' 'Ay, ay, grannie,' responded Robert, with a glimmer of gladness in his heart. 'And what aboot the fiddlin', grannie?' he added, half playfully, hoping for some kind concession therein as well. But he had gone too far. She vouchsafed no reply, and her face grew stern with offence. It was one thing to give bread to eat, another to give music and gladness. No music but that which sprung from effectual calling and the perseverance of the saints could be lawful in a world that was under the wrath and curse of God. Robert waited in vain for a reply. 'Gang yer wa's,' she said at length. 'Mr. Innes and me has some business to mak an en' o', an' we want nae assistance.' Robert rejoined Shargar, who was still bemoaning the loss of his sovereign. His face brightened when he saw its well-known yellow shine once more, but darkened again as soon as Robert told him to what service it was now devoted. 'It's my ain,' he said, with a suppressed expostulatory growl. Robert threw the coin on the floor. 'Tak yer filthy lucre!' he exclaimed with contempt, and turned to leave Shargar alone in the garret with his sovereign. 'Bob!' Shargar almost screamed, 'tak it, or I'll cut my throat.' This was his constant threat when he was thoroughly in earnest. 'Cut it, an' hae dune wi' 't,' said Robert cruelly. Shargar burst out crying. 'Len' me yer knife, than, Bob,' he sobbed, holding out his hand.