and Drumsheugh telt me next market that his langidge aifterwards
cudna be printed."

When George came home for the last time, Marget went back and
forward all afternoon from his bedroom to the window, and hid
herself beneath the laburnum to see his face as the cart stood
before the stile. It told her plain what she had feared, and Marget
passed through her Gethsemane with the gold blossoms falling on her
face. When their eyes met, and before she helped him down, mother
and son understood.

"Ye mind what I told ye, o' the Greek mothers, the day I left. Weel,
I wud hae liked to have carried my shield, but it wasna to be, so
I've come home on it." As they went slowly up the garden walk, "I've
got my degree, a double first, mathematics and classics."

"Ye've been a gude soldier, George, and faithfu'."

"Unto death, a'm dootin, mother."

"Na," said Marget, "unto life."

Drumtochty was not a heartening place in sickness, and Marget, who
did not think our thoughts, endured much consolation at her
neighbour's hands. It is said that in cities visitors congratulate a
patient on his good looks, and deluge his family with instances of
recovery. This would have seemed to us shallow and unfeeling,
besides being a "temptin' o' Providence," which might not have
intended to go to extremities, but on a challenge of this kind had
no alternative. Sickness was regarded as a distinction tempered with