say--maist peetifu' in a callant like him, wi' the deid-licht shinin'
already in the blue een o' him."

"D'ye no' mind, Saunders, o' him comin' hame frae the college wi' a
hantle o' medals an' prizes?" said Rob Adair, breaking in as if he felt
that he must contribute his share to the memories which shortened, if
they did not cheer, their road. "His faither was rael prood o' him,
though it wasna his way to say muckle. But his mither could talk aboot
naething else, an' carriet his picture aboot wi' her a' ower the pairish
in her wee black retical basket. Fegs, a gipsy wife gat a saxpence juist
for speerin' for a sicht o' it, and cryin', 'Blessings on the laddie's
bonny face!'"

"Weel," continued Saunders, imperturbably taking up the thread of his
narrative amid the blattering of the snow, "I let the lad rin on i' this
way for a while, an' then says I, 'Walter, ye dinna ask after yer
faither!'

"'No, I don't,' says he, verra short. 'Nell, gie me the draught.' So wi'
that the lassie gied her een a bit quick dab, syne cam' forrit, an'
pittin' her airm aneath his heid she gied him a drink. Whatever it was,
it quaitened him, an' he lay back tired-like.

"'Weel,' said I, after a wee, 'Walter, gin ye'll no' speer for yer
faither, maybe ye'll speer for yer ain mither?'

"Walter Anderson turned his heid to the wa'. 'Oh, my mither! my ain
mither!' he said, but I could hardly hear him sayin' it. Then more
fiercely than he had yet spoken he turned on me an' said, 'Wha sent ye
here to torment me before my time?'