“That's frae the shooting lodge tae his Lordship. It 'ill be aboot the white hares;” and Mrs. Robb began to review the letters with unfailing accuracy. “Ye can aye ken Drumsheugh's hand; he's after some siller frae Piggie Walker. Piggie trickit him aince; he 'ill no dae't again. 'Miss Howieson.' Ma word! Jean's no blate tae pit that afore her lassie's name, and her a servant-lass, tho' a 'm no sayin' 'at she disna deserve it, sendin' her mother a post-office order the beginnin' o' ilka month, riglar. 'The Worshipful Chief Bummer of the Sons of Temperance Reform.' Michty, what a title! That's what they ca' that haverin' body frae the sooth Archie Moncur hed up lecturin' laist winter on teetotalism. Ye were terribly affeckit yersel, Posty, a' heard”--to which sally the immovable face gave no sign. “And here's ane tae auld Maister Yellowlees, o' Kildrummie, askin' him tae the fast a'm jalousin'. Sall, the Free Kirk fouk 'ill no bless their minister for his choice. Div ye mind the diveesions o' his laist sermon here on the sparrows, Posty?” “'We shall consider at length'”--the voice seemed to proceed from a graven image--“'the natural history of the sparrow; next we shall compare the value of sparrow in ancient and modern times; and lastly, we shall apply the foregoing truth to the spiritual condition of two classes.'” “That 's it tae a word. It was michty, an' Donald Menzies threipit that he heard the deil lauchin' in the kirk. Weel, that's a', Posty, an' an Advertiser frae Burnbrae tae his son in the Black Watch. He 'ill be hame sune juist covered wi' medals. A' doot there 's been mair snow thro' the nicht. It 'ill be heavy traivellin'.” The light of the oil-lamp fell on Posty as he buckled his bag, and threw his figure into relief against a background of boxes and barrels.