Leezabeth was ordered to bring such dainties as could be found, and she heard Drumsheugh pressing things upon the doctor with solicitude. “It's no richt tae gang that lang withoot meat, an' the nicht's sae cauld; ye 'ill be fund on the road some mornin'. Try some o' thae black currants; they're graund for a hoast. Ye're no surely dune already. “Draw in yir chair tae the fire, Weelum; tak this ane; it wes ma mither's, an' it's easier; ye need it aifter that ride. Are ye warm noo?” “A'm rael comfortable an' content, Drumsheugh; it's a wee lonesome wast yonder when a man comes in weet an' tired o' a nicht; juist tae sit aside a freend, although nane o's say mickle, is a rest.” “A' wush ye wud come aftener, Weelum,” said Drumsheugh hastily; “we 're no as young as we were, an' we micht draw thegither mair. It's no speakin' maks freends.... Hoo auld are ye noo?” “Seeventy-three this month, an' a 'll no see anither birthday; ye 're aulder, Drum”--Maclure only was so privileged--“but ye 're a hale man an' gude for twal year yet.” “Ye micht hae been the same yersel if ye hadna been a senseless fule an' sae thrawn (obstinate) ye wudna be guided by onybody; but if ye gang cautious ye 'ill live us a' oot yet; ye 're no like the same man noo 'at cam in tae the kitchen. Leezabeth wes fleggit at the sicht o' ye,” and Drumsheugh affected mirth. “Wes she, though?” said Maclure, with some relish. “A've often thocht it wud tak a chairge o' gunpooder tae pit Leezabeth aff her jundy (ordinary course). Hoo lang hes she been wi' ye? A' mind her comin'; it wes aifter yir mither deed; that 's a gude while past noo.” “Five and thirty year last Martinmas; she 's a Kildrummie wumman, but a' her fouk are dead. Leezabeth's been a faithfu' housekeeper, an' she's an able wumman; a' ve nae-thing tae say against Leezabeth. “She 's a graund manager,” continued Drumsheugh meditatively, “an' there's no been mickle lost here since she cam; a 'll say that for her; she dis her wark accordin' tae her licht, but it's aye scrapin' wi' her, and the best o' hoosekeepers maks a cauld hame. “Weelum--” and then he stopped, and roused the fire into a blaze. “Ay, ay,” said Maclure, and he looked kindly at his friend, whose face was averted. “Wes ye gaein' tae say onything?” and Maclure waited, for a great confidence was rare in Drumtochty. “There wes something happened in ma life lang syne nae man kens, an' a' want tae tell ye, but no the nicht, for ye 're tired an' cast doon. Ye'ill come in sune again, Weelum.” “The mornin's nicht, gin it be possible,” and then both men were silent for a space. The wind came in gusts, roaring in the chimney, and dying away with a long moan across the fields, while the snow-drift beat against the window. Drumsheugh's dog, worn out with following his master through the drifts, lay stretched before the fire sound asleep, but moved an ear at the rattling of a door upstairs, or a sudden spark from the grate.