real a grief as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own
aching heart and devoted himself to comforting the mourners at
Kenmuir.

In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly
neglected his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to
rebuke him. At times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind.
David, however, was too deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note
the change.

The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its
ice-fetters; and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.

In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the
kitchen, contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when
the door of the house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull
raised himself on to the sill and growled, and David hurried past
the window making for Kenmuir. M'Adam watched the passing
figure indifferently; then with an angry oath sprang to the window.

"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on
the pane. "Tax' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear
it aff ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me
black coat, new last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it."

He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.

"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though
ye've no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too
big for yer am boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a