“Weel, they micht maybe sayin' behind yir back, Drum, what some o' them wud say tae yir face, meanin' nae evil, ye ken, that ye were... carefu', in fact, an'... keen aboot the bawbees. Naethin' mair nor worse than that, as a 'm sittin' here.” “Naethin' mair, said ye?” Drumsheugh spoke with much bitterness--“an' is yon little? “Carefu';' ye 've a gude-hearted man, Weelum; miser's nearer it, a 'm dootin', a wratch that 'ill hae the laist penny in a bargain, and no spend a saxpence gin he can keep it.” Maclure saw it was not a time to speak. “They 've hed mony a lauch in the train ower ma tigs wi' the dealers, an' some o' them wud hae like tae hev cam aff as weel--a cratur like Milton; but what dis Burnbrae, 'at coonted his verra livin' less than his principles, or auld Domsie, that's dead an' gane noo, 'at wud hae spent his laist shillin' sendin' a laddie tae the College--he gied it tae me aince het, like the man he wes--or the minister, wha wud dee raither than condescend tae a meanness, or what can... Marget Hoo think o' me?” and the wail in Drumsheugh's voice went to the heart of Maclure. “Dinna tak on like this, Drum; it's waesome tae hear ye, an' it 's clean havers ye 're speakin' the nicht. Didna Domsie get mony a note frae ye for his college laddies?--a 've heard him on't--an' it wes you 'at paid Geordie Hoo's fees, an' wha wes't brocht Sir George an' savit Annie Mitchell's life--?” “That didna cost me muckle in the end, sin' it wes your daein' an' no mine; an' as for the bit fees for the puir scholars, they were naethin' ava. “Na, na, Weelum, it 'ill no dae. A' ken the hert o' ye weel, and ye 'ill stan' by yir freend through fair and foul; but a'm gaein' tae clear things up aince for a'; a 'll never gang through this again. “It's no the Glen a'm thinkin' aboot the nicht; a' wud like tae hae their gude opinion, an' a 'm no what they 're considerin' me, but a' canna gie them the facts o' the case, an'... a' maun juist dee as a' hev lived. “What cuts me tae the hert is that the twa fouk a' luve sud hae reason to jidge me a miser; ane o' them wull never ken her mistake, but a 'll pit masel richt wi' the ither. Weelum, for what div ye think a've been scrapin' for a' thae years?” “Weel, gin ye wull hae ma mind,” said the doctor slowly, “a' believed ye hed been crossed in luve, for ye telt me as much yersel....” “Ye 're richt, Weelum; a 'll tell ye mair the nicht; gang on.” “It cam tae ma mind that ye turned tae bargainin' an' savin', no for greed--a' kent there wes nae greed in ye; div ye suppose a' cudna tell the differ atween ma freend an' Milton?--but for a troke tae keep yir mind aff... aff yir sorrow.” “Thank ye, Weelum, thank ye kindly, but it wesna even on accoont o' that a've lived barer than ony plooman for the best part o' ma life; a' tell ye, beyond the stockin' on ma fairm a'm no worth twa hunder pund this nicht.