Having bade adieu to my postman friend, and arranged for my heavier luggage to be sent forward in the next carrier's cart that might be going 'up the wattor,' I set out across the hills to The Nook on Fair Green Haugh with my knapsack on my back. Two hours' walking brought me within view of The Nook, and as I paused at the top of the brae to drink in the well-beloved aspect of the small 'bigging' that sheltered in the green coign between Windy Law and Blind Burn side, I noticed the figure of a man carrying a small child in his arms. I knew most of the inhabitants of the vale by sight, but the aspect of the individual in question was unknown to me. It was scarcely likely he could be a shepherd's extra hand, for the washing and shearing time was over, and a tramp in the ordinary sense of the term would have been, to quote from the ornithologists, a 'rare and occasional visitor.' Besides, he had not the appearance of a tramp; he walked with an easy boldness, apparently playing with the child as he strolled, for as I drew nearer I could hear the child's voice gleefully crying, 'Again, again; do it again, funny man.' As I drew nearer I looked at the stranger with interest, and noted that he was a well-made, active fellow, of good proportions. His face was slightly scarred, as though from small-pox, but not unpleasantly; it was as if the disease, suddenly repenting of spoiling a bright and healthful countenance, had incontinently left him for another victim. His eyes blue, his teeth, splendidly regular, were clean and white as a hound's. Glancing at the child, I discovered her to be Maggie, the six-year-old child of Tom Hedley, the herd at Fulhope Law, so I went straight up to her and asked for a kiss as usual. 'No,' said the diminutive flirt archly, holding her head backwards; 'no kiss for zoo. I's got a new man noo,' and forthwith she buried her curls in his neck. 'He's a nice funny man,' she continued in another moment, peeping forth from her hiding-place, 'an' he's got nae mair hair on his heid than oor little puppy-dog at home.' I glanced at her captor, and noting his cropped crown, jumped to a sure conclusion as to his identity. 'Why, 'tis none other,' thought I, 'than the protégé.' Possibly he read my thoughts; at any rate, releasing one arm, he lifted his hand to a salute, smiling, meanwhile, in the most affable way in the world. I nodded 'Good afternoon,' and learning that the minister was within and waiting my arrival, turned my steps to the house. After our first greetings were over he commenced to apologize again for the limited space at my disposal, but he was certain that when once I had got to know his 'protégé,' I should think no more about it. 'He is a beautiful character,' he concluded enthusiastically, 'one could tell that at a glance by the way in which children take to him.'