'It's ower lang syne to min' upo' that,' she said in reply, with a look of cunning consciousness ill settled upon her fine features. 'But ye can be naebody but my Geordie. Haith, man!' she went on, regarding him once more from head to foot, 'but ye're a credit to me, I maun alloo. Weel, gie me a sovereign, an' I s' never come near ye.' Poor Shargar in his despair turned half mechanically towards Robert. He felt that it was time to interfere. 'You forget, mother,' said Shargar, turning again to her, and speaking English now, 'it was I that claimed you, and not you that claimed me.' She seemed to have no idea of what he meant. 'Come up the road here, to oor public, an' tak a glaiss, wuman,' said Falconer. 'Dinna haud the fowk luikin' at ye.' The temptation of a glass of something strong, and the hope of getting money out of them, caused an instant acquiescence. She said a few words to the young woman, who proceeded at once to tie her donkey's head to the tail of the other cart. 'Shaw the gait than,' said the elder, turning again to Falconer. Shargar and he led the way to St. Paul's Churchyard, and the woman followed faithfully. The waiter stared when they entered. 'Bring a glass of whisky,' said Falconer, as he passed on to their private room. When the whisky arrived, she tossed it off, and looked as if she would like another glass. 'Yer father 'ill hae ta'en ye up, I'm thinkin', laddie?' she said, turning to her son. 'No,' answered Shargar, gloomily. 'There's the man that took me up.' 'An' wha may ye be?' she asked, turning to Falconer. 'Mr. Falconer,' said Shargar. 'No a son o' Anerew Faukner?' she asked again, with evident interest. 'The same,' answered Robert. 'Well, Geordie,' she said, turning once more to her son, 'it's like mither, like father to the twa o' ye.' 'Did you know my father?' asked Robert, eagerly. Instead of answering him she made another remark to her son. 'He needna be ashamed o' your company, ony gait--queer kin' o' a mither 'at I am.' 'He never was ashamed of my company,' said Shargar, still gloomily. 'Ay, I kent yer father weel eneuch,' she said, now answering Robert--'mair by token 'at I saw him last nicht. He was luikin' nae that ill.' Robert sprung from his seat, and caught her by the arm. 'Ow! ye needna gang into sic a flurry. He'll no come near ye, I s' warran'.' 'Tell me where he is,' said Robert. 'Where did you see him? I'll gie ye a' 'at I hae gin ye'll tak me till him.' 'Hooly! hooly! Wha's to gang luikin' for a thrum in a hay-sow?' returned she, coolly. 'I only said 'at I saw him.' 'But are ye sure it was him?' asked Falconer. 'Ay, sure eneuch,' she answered. 'What maks ye sae sure?' ''Cause I never was vrang yet. Set a man ance atween my twa een, an' that 'll be twa 'at kens him whan 's ain mither 's forgotten 'im.' 'Did you speak to him?' 'Maybe ay, an' maybe no. I didna come here to be hecklet afore a jury.' 'Tell me what he's like,' said Robert, agitated with eager hope.