labouring man had discovered a difficulty, perhaps a fault, in one
of his favourite poems, which had never suggested itself to him. He
soon satisfied himself, however, by coming to the conclusion that
the poet had not cared about the matter at all, having had no
further intention in the poem than Hugh himself had found in it,
namely, witchery and loveliness. But it seemed to the young student
a wonderful fact, that the intercourse which was denied him in the
laird's family, simply from their utter incapacity of yielding it,
should be afforded him in the family of a man who had followed the
plough himself once, perhaps did so still, having risen only to be
the overseer and superior assistant of labourers. He certainly
felt, on his way home, much more reconciled to the prospect of his
sojourn at Turriepuffit, than he would have thought it possible he
ever should.

David lingered a few moments, looking up at the stars, before he
re-entered his cottage. When he rejoined his wife and child, he
found the Bible already open on the table for their evening
devotions. I will close this chapter, as I began the first, with
something like his prayer. David's prayers were characteristic of
the whole man; but they also partook, in far more than ordinary, of
the mood of the moment. His last occupation had been star-gazing:

"O thou, wha keeps the stars alicht, an' our souls burnin' wi' a
licht aboon that o' the stars, grant that they may shine afore thee
as the stars for ever and ever. An' as thou hauds the stars burnin'
a' the nicht, whan there's no man to see, so haud thou the licht
burnin' in our souls, whan we see neither thee nor it, but are
buried in the grave o' sleep an' forgetfu'ness. Be thou by us, even
as a mother sits by the bedside o' her ailin' wean a' the lang