"An' what thoucht ye ye wad du, laddie?" asked Miss Horn gently.

"What but bigg a harbour at Scaurnose for the puir fisher fowk 'at
was like my ain flesh and blude!"

"Weel," rejoined Miss Horn eagerly, "div ye no look upo' that as a
voo to the Almichty--a voo 'at ye're bun' to pay, noo 'at ye ha'e
yer wuss? An' it's no merely 'at ye ha'e the means, but there's no
anither that has the richt; for they're yer ain fowk, 'at ye gaither
rent frae, an 'at's been for mony a generation sattlet upo' yer
lan'--though for the maitter o' the lan', they ha'e had little
mair o' that than the birds o' the rock ha'e ohn feued--an' them
honest fowks wi' wives an' sowls o' their ain! Hoo upo' airth are
ye to du yer duty by them, an' render yer accoont at the last,
gien ye dinna tak till ye yer pooer an' reign? Ilk man 'at 's in
ony sense a king o' men is bun' to reign ower them in that sense.
I ken little aboot things mysel', an' I ha'e no feelin's to guide
me, but I ha'e a wheen cowmon sense, an' that maun jist stan' for
the lave."

A silence followed.

"What for speak na ye, Ma'colm?" said Miss Horn, at length.

"I was jist tryin'," he answered, "to min' upon a twa lines 'at I
cam' upo' the ither day in a buik 'at Maister Graham gied me afore
he gaed awa--'cause I reckon he kent them a' by hert. They say
jist sic like's ye been sayin', mem--gien I cud but min' upo'
them. They're aboot a man 'at aye does the richt gait--made by