“Wha’s that?” his mother said when he returned. “Oh, it’s you! bless me, I thought it was some person with something to do. There was not the draigh in the foot that I’m getting used to. Maybe something’s happened! You’ve gotten something to do, or you’ve ta’en another thought! and well I wot it’s time.” “No,” he said, “nothing’s happened. I’m tired enough and ready enough to take anything that offered, mother; but, worse luck, nothing has happened. I don’t know what could happen here.” “No, nor me neither,” said Mrs. Glen; “when a lad hangs on at hame looking for luck like you, and never doing a hand’s turn, it’s far from likely luck will ever come the side he’s on. Oh, pit away your trash, and dinna trouble me with the sight o’t! Painting! paint the auld cart, as I tell ye, if you’re that fond o’ painting, or the byre door.” “Everybody is not of your mind,” said Rob, stung by this assault. “There are some that think them worth looking at, and that not far off either: somebody better worth pleasing than--” you, he had almost said; but with better taste he added, “any one here.” “And wha may it be that has such guid taste?” said the mother, satirically; “a lass, I’ll wager. Some poor silly thing or other that thinks Rob Glen’s a gentleman, and is proud of a word from ane sae well put on. Eh, but it’s easy to be well put on when it comes out of another person’s pocket. It would be some lass out of the Kirkton. How dare ye stand there no saying a word, but smile-smiling at me?” “Would you like it better if I cried?” he said; “smiling is not so easy always. I have little enough to smile at; but it is good sometimes to feel that all the world is not against me.” “And wha is’t that’s on your side? Some fool of a lass,” repeated Mrs. Glen, contemptuously. “They’re silly enough for onything when a young lad’s in the case. Who was it?” she added, raising her voice; “eh, I would just like to gie her my opinion. It’s muckle the like of them know.” “I doubt if your opinion would matter much,” he said, with an air of superiority that drove her frantic, “_I_ respect it deeply, of course; but she--a young lady, mother--may be allowed, perhaps, to think herself the best judge.” “Leddy!” said Mrs. Glen, surprised; and instinctively she searched around her to find out who this could be. “You’ll be meaning Mary Fleming, the dress-maker lass; some call _her_ Miss; or maybe the bit governess at Sir Claud’s.” Rob laughed; in the midst of his troubles this one gleam of triumph was sweet. “I mean no stranger,” he said, “but an old friend--one that was once my companion and playfellow; and now she’s grown up into the prettiest fairy, and does not despise me even now.”