“It's a rouch schule the Glen, an' sae wes puir Domsie's; but, sall, he sent oot lads 'at did us credit in the warld, an' a 'm judging Drumsheugh, that the scholars that gied oot o' the Glen the ither road 'ill hae their chance tae, an' pit naebody tae shame. Ye ken a' hevna hed muckle time for releegion, but a body gies a thocht tae the ither warld at a time, an' that's ma ain mind.” “Ye're maybe no far wrang, Weelum; it soonds wise like, but... ye canna be sure.” “A've seen fouk 'at were sure,” said the doctor, “an' a 'm thankfu' that a' kent auld Burnbrae. He wes a strict man, an' mony a lecture he gied me aboot gaein' tae kirk an' usin' better langidge, but a' tell ye, he wes the richt sort; nae peetifu' chaff o' heepocrisy aboot him. “A' wes wi' him at his deith,...” “Did ye see onything?” Drumsheugh leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “A' saw naething but a gude man gaein' oot on his lang journey, an' a' want tae see nae graunder sicht. “He wesna conscious, an' his wife, puir wumman, wes murnin' that she wudna get a last look, an' John, him 'at 's Burnbrae noo, wes distressed for his mither's sake. “'Say the name,' for a' wes holdin' his head, 'an' he 'ill hear;' but a' cudna; it wesna for my tongue. “So he said it into his father's ear, an' Burnbrae opened his eyes, and githered them a' in a smile, an' a' heard twa words. “'No evil.' He wes past sayin' fear.... Drumsheugh, a' wud... tak ma chance the nicht wi' auld Burnbrae.” “Ma mither didna ken us for the laist twa days,” and Drumsheugh rested his head on his hands. “Ye mind the bit lassiky”--Maclure would tell all when he was at it--“that lived wi' Mary Robertson and Jamie Soutar made sic a wark aboot, for her mither wes dead; she wes chokin' wi' her tribble, an' a' took her on ma knee, for Daisy and me were aye. “'Am a' gaein' tae dee the day?' she said, an' a' cud not tell a lee lookin' intae yon een.' “'Ye're no feared, dautie, 'a' said; 'ye 'ill sune be hame.' “'Haud me ticht, then, Docksie '--that wes her name for me--' an' mither 'ill tak me oot o' yir airms. '... The Almichty wud see the wee lassie wesna pit tae shame, or else... that's no His name. “The wind's doon,” and the doctor hurried over to the window, “an' the mune is shinin' clear an' sweet; a 'll need tae be aff, an' a 'll hae the licht instead o' the drift aifter a', Drumsheugh.” Nothing passed between them till they came to the main road, and the doctor said goodnight. Then Drumsheugh stood close in to the saddle, and adjusted a stirrup leather. “You an' me are no like Burnbrae and the bairnie, Weelum; a'm feared at times aboot... the home comin'.” “A' dinna wunner, Drumsheugh, a'm often the same masel; we 're baith truant laddies, chief, and maybe we 'ill get oor paiks, an' it 'ill dae us gude. But be that as it may, we maun juist risk it, an' a'm houpin' the Almichty 'ill no be waur tae us than oor mither when the sun gaes doon and the nicht wind sweeps ower the hill.”