“I’m ready, father—or will be in ae minute!” said James, making as if to spring out of bed. “Na, na; ye’re no fit!” interposed his father. “I would hae to be takin ye upo my back afore we wis at the fut o’ the brae!—Bide ye at hame, and keep yer mither company.” “Ay, bide, Jamie; and I winna come near ye,” sobbed his mother. “Onything to please ye, mother!—but I’m fitter nor my father thinks,” said James as he settled down again in bed. So Peter went, leaving mother and son silent together. At last the mother spoke. “It’s the shame o’ ’t, Jamie!” she said. “The shame was i’ the thing itsel, mother, and in hidin frae that shame!” he answered. “Noo, I hae but the dregs to drink, and them I maun glog ower wi’ patience, for I hae weel deserved to drink them!—But, eh, my bonnie Isy, she maun hae suffert sair!—I daur hardly think what she maun hae come throuw!” “Her mither couldna hae broucht her up richt! The first o’ the faut lay i’ the upbringin!” “There’s anither whause upbringin wasna to blame: _my_ upbringin was a’ it oucht to hae been—and see hoo ill _I_ turnt oot!” “It wasna what it oucht! I see ’t a’ plain the noo! I was aye ower feart o’ garrin ye hate me!—Oh, Isy, Isy, I hae dene ye wrang! I ken ye cud never hae laid yersel oot to snare him—it wasna in ye to dee ’t!” “Thank ye, mother! It was, railly and truly, a’ my wyte! And noo my life sall gang to mak up til her!” “And I maun see to the manse!” rejoined his mother. “—And first in order o’ a’, that Jinse o’ yours ’ill hae to gang!” “As ye like, mother. But for the manse, I maun clear oot o’ that! I’ll speak nae mair frae that poopit! I hae hypocreesit in ’t ower lang! The vera thoucht o’ ’t scunners me!” “Speyk na like that o’ the poopit, Jamie, whaur sae mony holy men hae stede up and spoken the word o’ God! It frichts me to hear ye! Ye’ll be a burnin and a shinin licht i’ that poopit for mony a lang day efter we’re deid and hame!” “The mair holy men that hae there witnessed, the less daur ony livin lee stan’ there braggin and blazin i’ the face o’ God and man! It’s shame o’ mysel that gars me hate the place, mother! Ance and no more wull I stan’ there, making o’ ’t my stele o’ repentance; and syne doon the steps and awa, like Adam frae the gairden!” “And what’s to come o’ Eve? Are ye gaein, like him, to say, ‘The wuman thoo giedest til me—it was a’ her wyte’?” “Ye ken weel I’m takin a’ the wyte upo mysel!” “But hoo can ye tak it a’, or even ony fair share o’ ’t, gien up there ye stan’ and confess? Ye maun hae some care o’ the lass—that is, gien efter and a’ ye’re gaein to mak o’ her yer wife, as ye profess.—And what are ye gaein to turn yer han’ til neist, seein ye hae a’ready laid it til the pleuch and turnt back?” “To the pleuch again, mother—the rael pleuch this time! Frae the kirk door I’ll come hame like the prodigal to my father’s hoose, and say til him, ‘Set me to the pleuch, father. See gien I canna be something _like_ a son to ye, efter a’’!”