“Gude nicht tae ye, Burnbrae,” said that great man, departing; “if ye hae tae gang it 'ill no be empty-handed,” and although Burnbrae did not understand all, he knew that his neighbours had stood by him without stint that day. For an hour the buyers were busy conveying away their goods, till at last the farm had been stripped of all the animal life that had made it glad, and those familiar articles that were each a link with the past. Burnbrae wandered through the staring sheds, the silent stable, the empty granary, and then he bethought him of his wife. When her kirn was put up he had been moved by a sudden emotion and bought it back, and he saw her face for an instant between the bushes of the garden. Where was Jean? He sought her in the house, in the garden, and could not find her. Then he heard the rattle of a chain in one of the byres, and understood. Jean's favourite cow had been kept, and she was sitting in the stall with her, as one left desolate. When Burnbrae entered, Brownie turned her head and looked at him with an intelligent understanding in her soft, motherly eyes. “She's a' that's left o'ma byre,” and Jean burst into a passion of weeping. “Ye mind hoo they deed in the rinder-pest ane by ane, and were buried; juist Brownie cam through, and noo she's alane again. “That wes the judgment o' the Almichty, and we daurna complain, but this wes the doin' o' man, an' ma hert is bitter. “A' the beasts a' reared, an' the gear we githered, a' sold and carried off, till there's nae soond heard in the hooses, nae wark tae dae.” Burnbrae sat down and flung his arm round her, and as the two old heads were bent together, the gentle animal beside them missed her companions and moaned. After a while Burnbrae began: “It 's a shairp trial, wife, an' hard tae bear. But dinna forget oor mercies. We hae oor fower laddies left us, an' a' daein' weel. “We oucht tae be thankfu' that Sandie 's been kept in the battle. Think o' yir son win-nin' the Victoria Cross, wumman, an' ye 'ill see it on his breist. “An' oor lassie's safe, Jean... in the Auld Hame, an'... we 'ill sune be gaein' oorsels an'... the 'ill be nae pairtin' there. “Ye hae me, Jean, an' a' hae ma ain gude wife, an' luve is mair than a' the things a man can see wi' his een or haud in his hands. Sae dinna be cast doon, lass, for nae hand can touch oor treasures or tak awa' oor luve.” When Jean was comforted, Burnbrae gathered his household together in the kitchen, and he chose the portion from the tenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel: “Whosoever therefore shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” As Burnbrae read the last words he lifted up his head, and it seemed even unto the serving girls as if he had received a crown. They had the right to occupy their old home till Martinmas, but Jean had begun to fret, wandering through the empty “houses” and brooding over the coming trial.