the door, "faint wi' the cauld!" And at once strong arms lifted the
prostrate form out of the snow and bore it to the warm hearthside.

It was a man--young and handsome. He was well dressed, and his thick
gloves, gaiters and strong boots, together with his warm clothing,
showed him to be not altogether unprovided against the cold whose
unusual potency had overcome him. He had evidently tramped for some
distance in deep snow, and gave proofs of more than one fall into the
drifts.

The men busied themselves in efforts for his restoration. Maggie Jean
produced whiskey, which they administered in small doses; Jock and
Peter drew off the man's sodden boots and socks, and chafed his hands
and feet in the warmth of the fire. Old Davie stood regarding the
stranger attentively during these proceedings.

"It's himsel', I doot," he remarked to Jock at last. "D'ye ken him?"

"Aye, aye," said Jock dispassionately. "I ken him fine. I see him in
the toon last market-day. It's himsel', sure enough!"

"Eh! Puir body!" exclaimed old Davie. "And mayhe the creetur wes on
his wye t' oor still."

"Nae doot o' thot," remarked Peter, while Jock wisely nodded assent.

"No' but what he'd find it gey hard to come up wi't in the sna' and
a'!" added the latter, in a tone of unrestrained congratulation.

They spoke in half-whispers, and never ceased their charitable