The keeper, who, unconsciously, was calmly enjoying the contemplation of his own righteousness, observed that "the kintra was a hantle decenter than the toon". But in a better and more kindly spirit he said to Jock, "I’ll stan’ yer friend, Hall, especially sin’ his lordship wishes me to help you. Ye hae got guid claes in that bundle, I’se warrant--the verra claes, mark ye, that were on himsel’! Pit them on, and jist think _what’s_ on ye, and be dacent! Drop a’ drinkin’, swearin’, and sic trash; bend yer back tae yer burden, ca’ yer han’ tae yer wark, pay yer way, and keep a ceevil tongue in yer head, and then ’whistle ower the lave o’t!’ There’s my han’ to ye. Fareweel, and ye’ll hear frae me some day soon, whan I get a place ready for ye aboot mysel’ and the dougs." "God’s blessin’ be wi’ ye!" replied poor Jock. They then rose and parted. Each after a while looked over his shoulder and waved his hand. Jock ran back to the keeper when at some distance from him, as if he had lost something. "What’s wrang?" asked Spence. "A’s richt noo!" replied Jock, as again he raised his hand and repeated his parting words, "God’s blessin’ be wi’ ye"; and then ran off as if pursued, until concealed by rising ground from the gaze of the keeper, who watched him while in sight, lost in his own meditations. One of the first things Jock did after thus parting with Hugh was to undo his parcel, and when he did so there was spread before his wondering eyes such a display of clothing of every kind as he had never dreamt of in connexion with his own person. All seemed to his eyes as if fresh from the tailor’s hands. Jock looked at his treasures in detail, held them up, turned them over, laid them down, and repeated the process with such a grin on his face and exclamations on his lips as can neither be described nor repeated. After a while his resolution seemed to be taken: for descending to a clear mountain stream, he stripped himself of his usual habiliments, and, though they were old familiar friends, he cast them aside as if in scorn, stuffing them into a hole in the bank. After performing long and careful ablutions, he decked himself in his new rig, and tying up in a bundle his superfluous trappings, emerged on the moorland in appearance and in dignity the very lord of the manor! "Faix," thought Jock, as he paced along, "the Sterlin’ wasna far wrang when it telt me that ’a man’s a man for a’ that!’"