“I ran frae nae pairt, but I cam frae hame i’ the north pairt o’ that same,” answered Cosmo, and bent again to his work. The man came a step nearer, and Cosmo, without looking up, was aware he was regarding him intently. “Ay! ay!” he said at last, in a tone of reflection mingled with dawning interest, “I ance kent a terrible rascal cam frae owerby that gait: what ca’ they the perris ye’re frae?” Cosmo told him. “Lord bless me!” cried the old man, and came close up to him.--“But na!” he resumed, and stepped a pace back, “somebody’s been tellin ye!” Cosmo gave him no answer. He stood a moment expecting one, then broke out in a rage. “What for mak ye nae answer whan a body speirs ye a queston? That wasna mainners whan I was a bairn. Lord! ye micht as weel be ceevil! Isna it easy eneuch to lee?” “I would answer no man who was not prepared to believe me,” said Cosmo quietly. The dignity of his English had far more effect on the man than the friendliness of their mother-tongue. “Maybe ye wadna objec’ to mak mention by name o’ the toon nearest to ye whan ye was at hame?” said the old man, and from his altered manner and tone Cosmo felt he might reply. “It was ca’d Muir o’ Warlock,” he answered. “Lord, man! come into the hoose. Ye maun be sair in need o’ something to put intil ye! A’ the gait frae Muir o’ Warlock! A toonsman o’ my ain! Scotlan’ ’s a muckle place--but Muir o’ Warlock! Guid guide ’s! Come in, man; come in!” So saying he took the spade from Cosmo’s hands, threw it down with a contemptuous cast, and led the way towards the house.