"It was na your mither," said Mr. Macpherson; "it's ma ain conscience, as well ye ken! Dae I no' see the travellers themselves succumb tae th' cussed sippin' and tastin' frae mornin' till nicht? There was Burbage, I mind weel, and there was Broun; guid men both--no better men on th' road! Whaur's Burbage noo--whaur's Broun?" "Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul!" interpolated Charlotte. "Gone!" continued Mr. Macpherson, responding to his own inquiry with morbid unction. "Deed! The Lord be praised, I ha'e the guid sense tae withstand th' infeernal tipplin' masel'. Mony's the time, when I'm talkin' tae a mon in the way o' business, ye ken, I turn the damned glass upside down when he is na lookin'. But there's the folk I sell tae, an' the ithers; what o' them? It's ma trade to praise the evil--tae tak' it into the world, spreadin' it broadcast for the destruction o' monkind. Eh, ma responsibeelity is awfu' tae contemplate." "I'm sure, James, you mean first class," said the little woman weakly. "Come, light your pipe comfortable, now, and don't worrit, there's a good man!" The traveller waved the pipe aside. "There's a still sma' voice," he said, "ye canna silence wi' 'bacca; ye canna silence it wi' herbs nor wi' fine linen. It's wi' me noo, axin' queestions. It says: 'Macpheerson, how dae ye justeefy thy wilfu' conduct? Why dae ye gloreefy the profeets o' th' airth above thy speeritual salvation, mon? Dae ye no ken that orphans are goin' dinnerless through thy eloquence, an' widows are prodigal wi' curses on a' thy samples an' thy ways?' I canna answer. There are nichts when the voice will na let me sleep, ye're weel aware; there are nichts----" "There are nights when you're most trying, James, I know." "Woman, it's the warnin' voice that comes tae a sinner in his transgreession! Are there no' viseetations eno' about me, an' dae I no' turn ma een frae them; hardenin' ma heart, and pursuin' ma praise o' Pilcher's wi' a siller tongue? There was a mon are day at the Peacock--a mon in ma ain inseedious line--an' he swilled his bottle o' sherry, an' he called for his whusky-an'-watter, and he got up on his feet speechify in', after the commercial dinner. 'The Queen, gentlemen!' he cries, liftin' his glass; an' wi' that he dropped deed, wi' the name o' the royal leddy on his lips! He was a large red mon--he would ha' made twa o' me." He seemed to regard the circumference of the deceased as additionally ominous. His arms were extended in representation of it, and he waved them aloft as if to intimate that Charlotte might detect Nemesis in the vicinity preparing for a swoop. "You take the thing too seriously," said Mary. "Nine people out of ten have to be what they can, you know; it is only the tenth who can be what he likes." The little woman inquired what her own calling was. "I am very sorry to say I haven't any," she answered. "I'm doing nothing." There was a moment's constraint.