“What sort of a man is he?” “Weel, it’s hard to say. He’s ane o’ them ’at naebody says weel o’, an’ naebody’s begud to say ill o’--yet.” “There can’t be much amiss with him then, surely!”’ “Weel, I wadna gang freely sae far as say that. You ’at’s a man o’ sense, maun weel un’erstan’, gien it was only frae yer carritchis (_catechism_), ’at there’s baith sins o’ o-mission, an’ sins o’ co-mission. Noo, what sins o’ co-mission may lie at my lord’s door, I dinna ken, an’ feow can ken, an’ we’re no to jeedge; but for the o-mission, ye hae but to see hoo he neglects that bonny sister o’ his, to be far eneuch frae thinkin’ a sant o’ ’im.” Silence followed. Cosmo would go no farther in that direction: it would be fair neither to Lady Joan nor the gardener, who spoke as to one who knew nothing of the family. “Noo the father,” resumed his new friend, “--puir man, he’s deid an’ damned this mony a day!--an’ eh, but he was an ill ane!--but as to Leddy Joan, he wad hardly bide her oot o’ his sicht. He cudna be jist that agreeable company to the likes o’ her, puir leddy! for he was a rouch-spoken, sweirin’ auld sinner as ever lived, but sic as he had he gae her, an’ was said to hae been a fine gentleman in ’s yoong days. Some wad hae ’t he cheenged a’ thegither o’ a suddent. An’ they wad hae ’t it cam o’ bluid-guiltiness--for they said he had liftit the reid han’ agen his neebor. An’ they warnt me, lang as it was sin’ I left it, no to lat ’im ken I cam frae yon pairt o’ the country, or he wad be rid o’ me in a jiffey, ae w’y or anither. --Ay, it was a gran’ name that o’ Warlock i’ thae pairts! though they tell me it gangs na for sae muckle noo. I hae h’ard said, ’at ever sin’ the auld lord here made awa’ wi’ the laird o’ Glenwarlock, the faimily there never had ony luck. I wad like to ken what you, as a man o’ sense, think o’ that same. It appears to me a’ some queer kin’ o’ justice! No’ ’at I’m daurin’ or wad daur to say a word agen the w’y ’at the warl’s goverrnt, but there’s some things ’at naebody can un’erstan’--I defy them!--an’ yon’s ane o’ them--what for, cause oor graceless auld lord--he was yoong than--tuik the life o’ the laird o’ Glenwarlock, the faimily o’ Warlock sud never thrive frae that day to this!--Read me that riddle, yoong man, gien ye can.” “Maybe it was to haud them ’at cam efter frae ony mair keepin’ o’ sic ill company,” Cosmo ventured to suggest; for, knowing what his father was, and something also of what most of those who preceded him were, he could see no such inscrutable dispensation in the fact mentioned. “That wad be hard lines, though,” insisted the gardener, unwilling to yield the unintelligibility of the ways of providence. “But,” said Cosmo, “they say doon there, it was a brither o’ the laird, no the laird himsel’, ’at the English lord killt.”