Stopping at the village-inn he sought out the old servant. Knocking at the cottage door, a face somewhat familiar presented itself. "Is this Jennie Scott?" asked Roland. "It is so, please your honor; will ye sit doon, sir, in my humble cottage?" "Do you remember Roland Bruce, the little son of Mary Gordon, Jennie?" "Do I remember the bairn that I nursed so lang in these auld arms? Can I e'er forget the bonny chiel? Mine were the first arms that held him after he breathed the breath o' life--can ye tell me ony thing aboot the lad?" "He stands before you, Jennie," and Roland seized the hand of his old nurse, while she threw herself upon his bosom, and wept for joy. "It canna' be,--he was sic a wee bairn when I saw him last, and now sic a braw an' winsome mon. Bless the Lord! O, my soul, for a' his guidness to his auld servant." Roland then told the old woman something of his history, and what had brought him to Scotland. "Ye've came too late, my son; the auld minister has been dead these ten years. O, he greeted sair for ye, my bairn. Miss Ellen died in twa years after that, and Mr. Alick twa years ago; ye've nae mother's kin in Scotland, that I ken, Roland." "And none in America, my old friend, my mother and sister both sleep in Jesus, and I am alone in the wide world; but then, God is my Father--can I visit the old manse, Jennie?" "Yes, my bairn, I keep the key, for I gang owre there every few weeks to luik after the furniture, and to keep it a' clean." "How is it, Jennie, that it is not inhabited?" "Why, Mr. Alick ordered, when he died, that it sud be kept closed for three years, and if nane came to claim it then, that it might be sold, for it belanged to the auld minister, Roland, and Mr. Alick hoped that the right heir might come some day." Jennie led the way to the old homestead, and as they advanced, tears would force themselves into Roland's eyes, as he recognized the familiar porch, and one old tree, where he had so often played. She opened the shutters, and let in the light of day. All was in a state of perfect neatness and order. The family-parlor was so comfortable, from which a glass door opened into the minister's study. How sacred it appeared! The study-table where he had prepared so many sermons for his flock--the old arm-chair where he had sat--the couch where he had reclined when weary--the book-case, with its shelves of devotional books, and the best authors of the Scottish Church; and on the study-table, his old Bible marked from the Old to the New Testament by his own venerable hands. In a table-drawer, lay his spectacles, the inkstand that he used, and even the pen with which he wrote. "Look here, Roland! at this carpet," said Jennie, as she pointed to the spot so worn by the old man's knees, for he always knelt in one particular place. "This is a sacred room, Roland, an' I hae always been sae happy to ken that nae stranger has e'er come in here amang the auld minister's books."