Donald could not answer. Even when he came to say good-bye, he could find but few words of gratitude. But the reticent Duncan understood, and the young man went away with the fixed determination, that though he could not attain to his uncle's ambition, he would at least, with God's help, be such a man as would never bring dishonour upon Duncan Polite. When his boy left him the brightness seemed to die out of the days for the lonely old watchman on the hilltop. He realised now how much he had hoped for and expected in the springtime, when Donald returned from college and Mr. McAlpine's grandson stood in Glenoro pulpit. When he thought of all his great hopes, he could not forbear, in the bitterness of his soul, saying to himself, as he saw around him the signs of a dying season, "The harvest is past, and the summer is ended, and we are not saved." A figure grew out of the dusk of the road, and the gate latch clicked, and a familiar form, erect and sturdy, came up the path. Duncan arose with a sensation of comfort at the sight of his friend. Andrew Johnstone never went down to the village without dropping in for a few minutes at the little shanty. Duncan brought out a chair, and together the two old men sat at the door and watched the stars come out in the clear, pale sky, and as if they were their earthly reflections, the lights appear in the valley. Andrew puffed a while at his pipe in silence. "So Donal's awa'" he said at length, guessing partly the reason of the weary look in his friend's face. "Yes, oh, yes,"--Duncan's voice was like a sigh--"he would be going back to-day." "Aye, it's jist as weel. He'll come to nae mair harm in the city than he would in yon gabblin' crew o' young folk in the Glen. Man, Duncan, the Scripter described them weel. They're jist naething but the cracklin' o' thorns under a pot, aye, an' yon foolish bit crater that an ill fate has gie'n us for a meenister is the lightest o' them a'. May the Lord forgie the man that disgraced Maister Cameron's pulpit an' Maister McAlpine's name!" Duncan did not seem to have the strength to combat his friend's statements; and Splinterin' Andra sailed on, encouraged by his silence. "Ah dinna ken what's come till the man; he acted maist strange aboot the bit music-boax, an' whiles Ah hoped he'd got some sense intill him. But there's nae change in him. It's a tea-meetin' or a huskin' bee, or ane o' his society meetin's ivery night. Och, for a meenister wi' the grace of God in his heart an' a hunger for souls! We hae fallen upon ill times, Duncan!" Duncan Polite roused himself with an effort. "They will not be so bad but the Father can mend them, Andra, an' indeed it will not be like the times when your father an' mine would be praying here for the Glen." "Ah dinna ken that," replied old Andrew morosely. "If they didna' have a meenister in thae times, to show them the way o' salvation, they didna hae a bit worldling to lead them astray."