“I winna greit, Cosmo; I’ll say _yet_, the will o’ the Lord be dune, though it be sair upo’ me the noo, whan I haena a drap o’ milk aboot the place to set afore my only-begotten son whan he comes hame to me frae a far country!--Eh, Lord! whan yer ain son cam hame frae his sair warstle an’ lang sojourn amo’ them ’at kenned na him nor thee, it wasna til an auld shabby man he cam hame, but til the Lord o’ glory an’ o’ micht! An’ whan we a’ win hame til the Father o’ a’, it’ll be to the leevin’ stren’th o’ the universe.--Cosmo, the han’ o’ man’s been that heavy upo’ me ’at coo efter coo’s gane frae me, an’ the last o’ them, bonny Yally, left only thestreen. Ye’ll hae to drink cauld watter, my bairn!” Again the old man’s heart overcame him; his head sank, and he murmured,--“Lord, I haena a drap o’ milk to gie my bairn--me ’at wad gie ’im my hert’s bluid! But, Lord, wha am I to speyk like that to thee, wha didst lat thine ain poor oot his verra sowl’s bluid for him an’ me!” “Father,” said Cosmo, “I can du wi’ watter as weel ’s onybody. Du ye think I’m nae mair o’ a man nor to care what I pit intil me? Gien ye be puirer nor ever, I’m prooder nor ever to share wi’ ye. Bide ye here, an’ I’ll jist rin an’ get a drink, an’ come back to ye.” “Na; I maun gang wi’ ye, man,” answered the laird, rising. “Grizzie’s a heap taen up wi’ yer gran’mither. She’s been weirin’ awa’ this fortnicht back. She’s no in pain, the Lord be praised! an’ she’ll never ken the straits her hoose is com till! Cosmo, I hae been a terrible cooard--dreidin’ day an’ nicht yer hame-comin’, no submittin’ ’at ye sud see sic a broken man to the father o’ ye! But noo it’s ower, an’ here ye are, an’ my hert’s lichter nor it’s been this mony a lang!” Cosmo’s own sorrow drew back into the distance from before the face of his father’s, and he felt that the business, not the accident of his life, must henceforth be to support and comfort him. And with that it was as if a new well of life sprung up suddenly in his being. “Father,” he said, “we’ll haud on thegither i’ the stret ro’d. There’s room for twa abreist in ’t--ance ye’re in!” “Ay! ay!” returned the laird with a smile; “that’s the bonniest word ye cud hae come hame wi’ til me! We maun jist perk up a bit, an’ be patient, that patience may hae her perfe’t wark. I s’ hae anither try--an’ weel I may, for the licht o’ my auld e’en is this day restored til me!” “An’ sae gran’mother’s weirin awa’, father!” “To the lan’ o’ the leal, laddie.” “Wull she ken me?” “Na, she winna ken ye; she’ll never ken onybody mair i’ this warl’; but she’ll ken plenty whaur she’s gaein’!”