of four, who waded every stream unless more than knee deep, the rest
following in straggling, picturesque procession over the moor and
across the stepping stones. Before we started, Marget came out and
arranged George's white silken hood upon the coffin with roses in
its folds.

She swept us into one brief flush of gratitude, from Domsie to
Posty.

"Neeburs, ye were a' his freends, and he wanted ye tae ken hoo yir
trust wes mickle help tae him in his battle."

There was a stir within us, and it came to birth in Drumsheugh of
all men:

"Marget Hoo, this is no the day for mony words, but there's juist ae
heart in Drumtochty, and it's sair."

No one spoke to Domsie as we went down the cart track, with the ripe
corn standing on either side, but he beckoned Chalmers to walk with
him.

"Ye hae heard him speak o' me, then, Maister Jamieson?"

"Ay, oftentimes, and he said once that ye were hard driven, but that
ye had trampled Satan under yir feet."

"He didna tell ye all, for if it hadna been for George Howe I wudna
been worth callin' a man this day. One night when he was workin'
hard for his honours examination and his disease was heavy upon him,