"Love is but cauldrife cheer, my lad," said Janet, "an' the breast o' a
bird an' a raspberry tartlet will be nane out o' the way." David was of
the same opinion. He was very willing to enjoy Janet's good things and
the pleasant light and warmth. Besides, Janet was his oldest confidant
and friend--a friend that had never failed him in any of his boyish
troubles or youthful scrapes.

It gave her pleasure enough for a while to watch him eat, but when he
pushed aside the bird and stretched out his hand for the raspberry
dainties, she said, "Now talk a bit, my lad. If others hae wared money
on you, I hae wared love, an' I want to ken whether you are going to
college, or whether you are going to Lunnon amang the proud, fause
Englishers?"

"I am going to London, Janet."

"Whatna for?"

"I am not sure that I have any call to be a minister, Janet--it is a
solemn charge."

"Then why not ask for a sure call? There is nae key to God's council
chamber that I ken of."

"Mary wants me to go to London."

"Ech, sirs! Sets Deacon Moir's dochter to send a lad a wrang road. I
wouldna hae thocht wi' her bringing up she could hae swithered for a
moment--but it's the auld, auld story; where the deil canna go by
himsel' he sends a woman. And David Lockerby will tyne his inheritance