"Oh, I ken weel that George is gaein' to leave us; but it's no
because the Almichty is jealous o' him or me, no likely. It cam' to
me last nicht that He needs my laddie for some grand wark in the
ither world, and that's hoo George has his bukes brocht oot tae the
garden and studies a' the day. He wants to be ready for his kingdom,
just as he trachled in the bit schule o' Drumtochty for Edinboro'. I
hoped he wud hae been a minister o' Christ's Gospel here, but he
'ill be judge over many cities yonder. A'm no denyin', Kirsty, that
it's a trial, but I hae licht on it, and naethin' but gude thochts
o' the Almichty."

Drumtochty understood that Kirsty had dealt faithfully with Marget
for pride and presumption, but all we heard was, "Losh keep us a'."

When Marget came out and sat down beside her son, her face was
shining. Then she saw the open window.

"I didna ken."

"Never mind, mither, there's nae secrets atween us, and it gar'd my
heart leap to hear ye speak up like yon for God, and to know yir
content. Div ye mind the nicht I called for ye, mother, and ye gave
me the Gospel aboot God?"

Marget slipped her hand into George's, and he let his head rest on
her shoulder. The likeness flashed upon me in that moment, the
earnest deep-set grey eyes, the clean-cut firm jaw, and the tender
mobile lips, that blend of apparent austerity and underlying romance
that make the pathos of a Scottish face.