Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, June 9, 1895, Page 19

THE OMAIIA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, JUNE 9, 1895, CHAPTER XXI. THE WATERS OF THE WELL OF BETH- LEHEM THAT I8 BESIDE THE GA'T With that a kind of madness came over me and took possession of my body. I cannot account for it or excuse it, save that the sun had stricken me unawares and moldered my head. 1 remember saying over and over to myself these words that 1 had often heard my father read as he took the Book: O, that one would give me to drink of the well of Bethelchem that is beside the gate.” So I rTose out of the lair where I was, took off my shoes and stockings, and went down to the water side. Ken Water is very low at that season, and looking over 1 could see the fish lying in the black pools with their noses up stream, waiting for a spate to run into the shallows of the burns. I declare that had not my mind been set on the well house 1 should have stripped there and then for a plunge after them. So I waded the river, wading to my middle in the clear warm pogl. 1 think It was surely the only time that man ever waded Ken to get a drink of water. When [ ‘reached the further nearer to my mother—I lay for on the bank overcome with' the slde—the long time water and the sun. I was plainly to be seen from the house, and, had the sentinel so much as looked my way, I could not have escaped his notice. But no one came near me or stirred me in any way. Then [ ‘aroused my- self and betook me through the thick woods that lie on the side toward the Clachan of St. John. The wood here is composed of great oaks, the finest, as all allow, in Gal- loway, of which that in which my brother Sandy was afterward often concealed, 1s but one. Underneath was a thick growth of hazel and birch. The whole makes cover of the densest, through which no trooper could ride and no eye pierce. S0 1 was here up on well-kenned ground Every tree stem 1 knew by touch of hand and I.ad creeped info every hidie hole that would hold a squirrel. Times without num- ber had Sandy and I playel at hide-and-seek in these woods. And there, at the back of ono of the great trees, was where we had fought because that he had called me ‘‘puny crowl.”” Whereat 1 bit him in the thumb till it bled grievously to teach him not to call names, and also more generally for the good of his soul w all this came back to me, and it med that Sandy and T were again playing arly had 1 eried out the seek aye, and would have done it, too, s at hiding, ing signal but for the little rattle of arms when the sontry turncd sharp at the corner of the house, with a click of his heels and a jingle The house of Earlstoun stands very near the water edge, with nothing shont it save the green hawthorn studded worpft on the one hand and the thick wood on the other. 1 lay a long while watching the house, to geo if I could discover any one ab the win- dows, but not even a lounging soldier could 1 seo anywhere, except the clinking loon who kept the guard. But once Jean Ham- flton, Sandy’s wife, came to the window, and of his spurs. once her little daughter, Alison, shook a tablecloth over the sash—a sight which chegred me greatly, for by it I knew that there were still folk that ate a meal of meat within the towers of Earlstoun, But more and more the desire for the swest well water of the gateway tower came to me as I lay, parched with thirst and the yoarning for home things. It seemed that ho_wine of sunny France, no golden juice of Zeres, could ever be one-half so sweet as the water of that Earlstoun well, “that is Dbeside the g Aye, and I declare T had grappled with the sentry for it, but that T had the remnants of some sense left about me, which told me that 0 1 should only bring destruction upon my- gelt and on others that were even more dear to me. Presently 1 hoard the volce of a serving Tass calling from within the court yard, and at the sound the sentry listened and waited. He looked this way and that round the cor- ners. He stood in the shade of the archways and wiped his brow. Then he leaned his musket against the wall and went within, T thought to myself, “It is now or never, for he has gone to the kitchen for a bite and sup, and will be out-again in a moment, lest his captain should return and find that he has left his post.” So with that T made a rush swiftly round the corner and entered the well house. For a moment only, as I ran, was I bathed in the hot sunshine, then drenched again In the cool darkness of the tower. There is a buckot and chaln which are used to wrap up the great dipper over the windlass. There I3 = b > = “Lord! S farm by (he acre. elso a little dipper which onz may let down by a rope when only a drink or a little household water {s needed, and there is no gervitor at hand to turn the handle. This Jast 1 let down, and In a moment after T was draining netar from the cup, for which I had risked so much. And ail I could do when [ got it was ouly to sip a little and let the rest run back agzaln into the well, while, like the refrain of a weary song, over and over the words ran inmy mind, “O that one would give me of the water of well of Dethlabem that fs beside the gat Thon, liko the far-away vhice that calls one out of & drezis, I heard the sentry re- turning to bis post. Quite clearly T dis- cerned him lifting his musket. shifiing it from one side to the other, and so rosuming his trai 1 heard evorything, indeed, with & kind of acuteness boyond the natural. Yot all the while I was wholly without senso of danger. 1 thought hew oxcollent a jost it would be to shout out suldenly when be came near, to soe him jump; and but for for the remembrance of wy mother, 1 pro- test I bhad done it, too. But there I lay on the margin of the well, as at the first I had flung myself down, boot heel every time had he but peeped round the corner. But he had been so often within the well house during his time on guard that he mever once glanced my way. Also, he was fdently elevated by what he had gotten within the house from the serving maid, whatever that might have been It was strange to hear his step waxing and waning as he came and went. He paced from the well house to the great gate, and from thence to the corner of the tower. Back again he came to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock. Once he took the butt of his musket and gave the door, within which I lay, a sharp fling to. Lucklly it opened from without, 8o that the hasp caught as it came, ‘and 1 was shut within. So there I lay, without power to move, all that day, and no one came near me till late in the gloaming. For it was the custom of the Earlstoun to draw the water for the day in the early morning, and that for the night uses after the horces were suppered at bedtime. My head seemed to swell to so great a size that it filled the well house, and was preseed against the roof. Anon it grew wizened and small, waxing and waning as I sickened and the shoots of pain ran around my brows. At last T heard a foot come slowly down the turrent stair and out at the door. Through the courtyard I heard it come to- ward me, and something sang in my heart, theugh I could have given no great reason therefor. Softly the door of the and one came in, g wellhouse opened ing a little cry at so nearly stumbling over me. But no power had 1 to move nor speak, even though it had been Clavers -himself who came. My visitor gently and lightly shut the door and knelt at my head. “William ! said a voice, and T seemed in my phantasy to be runnng about among the flowers as a child again 1 opened my eyes, and lo! it was Maisie of the Duchrae—she that had been so kind to me, and the wonler of seeing her in my swn house of Earlstoun, where the garrison was abiding, was a better incitement than brandy of France. But there was no time for speech, ing me further within, she bent pered - William, T will go and bring your mother. The soldiers may not be long away!" So she roso to go out, with her pail full of water, for which she had come. Yet, ere she went, she laid her hand upon my brow, and murmured very low, lest the sentry should hear: “My poor lad!" Only that, but it was a thing which was mightily sweet to me. Nor was she long gone before she returned with my mother. They had called the sentry in to his meal and supplied him with some- what to drink. They had had the garrison long enough with them to teach them that all_soldiers are great trenchermen and can right nobly “claw a bicker” and ‘“toon a stoup” with any man. s0, pull- and whis- CHAPTER XXII THE WELL HOUSE OF EARLSTOUN. So as soon as he was snugly housed with the servant lass the two women came to me where I sat at the back of the door of the well house. Chiefly I wanted to hear what it might be that brought Maisie of the Du- chrae so far from home at the house of the Zarlstoun. It seemed to betoken some ill befallen my good friends by the Grenock waterside. But my mother stooped down and put her arms about me. She wonld have taken me up to the west garret under the rigging, where, she said, none of the soldiers had ever been, but there I would in nowise g0, for well I knew that 80 soon as she had me there, and a_dozen soldiers between me and a dash for liberty, she would forthwith want me out again. Then our next idea was that T should go to the wattled platform on the oak, to which Sandy resorted, but I had fallen into a violent horror of shaking and hot flushes alternated with deadly cold, so that to bide night and day in the covert of a tree looked like my death. At last Maisio Lennox, who had a fine eye for places of coneealment in the old days when we two used to play at “Bogle-about- the-stacks' at the Duchrae, cast an eye up at the roof of the well house. “I declare, I think there is a chamber up there,” she sald, and stood a moment con- sidering. “Give me an case up,” she sald quietly to my mother. She did everything quietly. “How can there be such a place and I not know it?"" sald my mother. “Have I not been about the place this thirty years?" But Maisio thought otherwise of it, and wthout more ado she set her little feet in the nicks of the stones, which were rough set, like a chimuey. Then putting her palm flat above her she pushed an iron-ringed trap door open, lifted herself level with it, and so disappeared from our view. We could hear her grouping above us, and sometimes little stones fell tinkling Into the well. So we remained be- neath, walting for her report, and I hoped that 1t must not be long, for I feel that soon I must He down and die, so terrible was the tightness about my head. “There is a chamber here” she cricd at last. “It is low in the rigging and part of the roof Is broken toward the trees, but the tvy hides It, and the hole caunot be seen from the house. “The very place! Well done, young lass!" sald my mother, much pleased, though she had not found it herself. Maisle looked over the edge. “Glve me your hand,” she sald Now there s this curious thing about this lass ever since she was in short coats, that she not only knew her owa mind in every circumstance, but also compelled the minds of everyone else. At that moment it seemed as natural that I should obey her, and also for my mother to assist her, as If sho had been a queen commanding obe- dience. Yet she hardly ever spoke above her breath, and always rather as if she were venturing a suggestion, This is not what any one can ever learn. It is a nat- ural gift. Now thero is my brother Sandy. He has a commanding way with him cer- tainly. He gets himself obeyed. But at what an expenditure of breath. You can hear him at Parskeoch telling the lass to put on the porridge pot, and he cannot get his feet wet and need a change of stockings without the Ardock folk over the hill hear- Ing all about it But I am telling of the well hou “Give me your hand,” said the lass Maiste down from the trap door. It is a strange thing that I nover dreamed of disobeying. 1 put out my hand, and in a trice I was up beside her. My mother followed us and we looked {ahout. It was a little room and had long been given over to the birds. 1 marvelled that in our ventwous youth Sandy and I bad not lighted wpon it, but I knew the reason to be that we had an unwholesome dread of the well, haying been told a story about a little boy who tumbled into it in the act of disobedience, and so was drowned. { We heard also what had become of him | aftarward, which discouraged us from the task of exploration. but a sergeant's guard that were left to! keep the castle. Today all these men, except the sentry, were down drinking in the change house in the clachan, and not till about midnight would- they come roaring home. She also told me what I much yearned to | know, that the duchrae had atelast been turned out, and old Anton had betaken him- self to the hills. Maisie, his daughter, had coms to the neighborhood with Margaret Wil- son of Glenvernock, the bright little lass from the Shireside that I had seen during my sofourn in Balmaghie. Maragaret Wilson had friends Garpleside. ver at the Very good to the farm of Bogue on the hill folk they were, though in good enough repute with the yment up til this present time. From > Maisie Lennox had come up t to tell my mothe self and my cousin all that sh Wat. Then knew of m: because the two women loved to talk the one to the othe at the Earlstoun sho had abode ever since, and there 1 found he So in the well house I remained day by | day in safety The chamber over the well was a fine place for prayer and mediation. At first I | thought that each turn of the sentry would | surely bring him up to the trapdoor with sword and musket polnted at me little comfort in my lodgimg. But gradually by my falling to the praying and by the gradual action of time and us I minded the coming and going of the soldlers no more than those of the doves that came in to see me at the broken part of the roof, and went out agala with a wild flutter of their wings. and 1 had I minded me that I had heard Mr. Peden say at the Conventicle that “the prayers of the saints are like to a fire which at first but ere all be clear light and gives off only smoke and heat done breaketh out into a comfortable home. These were times of great peace, when the soldiers and the young lairds that rode with them for the horsemanship part of it went oft on their excursions and came not back till late at eventide, with many of the Glenkens wives' chukies swinging, head down, at their saddle bows. The well house was a stralt place, but my mother had gotten one of our, retainers to place there a little truckle bedstead and bed- ding, so that I was none 5o evilly bestowed. This man whom she had perforce to trust was not one of our ancients, but only a man you sufter not with. the saint to your end as a man of wrath Now this I thought to be an ili-timed say- ing when I had ridden at Airsmoss while Sandy was braw and snug in the lowlands of Holland, disputing in Master Brackel's cham- | ber. with Rob Hamilton, her brother, con- | cerning declarations and protests. ““As for m went on, liking the sound | of her own volce, “thal is, for my corps, I care not gin it were cast up to the heaven and keppit upon iron graips, so that my soul | had peace! “I think that T would even be content to lie at the bottom of this well it T might have peace! sad I, for the spirlt within me was | jangled. and easily set on edgs Wil her corncrake, Crying. “William, Williem,” she said, tear | greatly you are yet in the bond of Iniquity! 1 do but waste my tithe with you!" Saying which, sho J6t herself down on the vell edge, lifted her Pails and was gone In a little came Matsfé Lennox with other two buckets. The <fentinel, if he thought at all, must have set ts down for wonirous | clean folk about Earlgtonn during these days; but all passed cft edsily, and no notice was taken. Then, when Malsi¢ came, it was a qulet joy to great har, for shp was a friend—yes, as David to Jonathan—exceeding pleasant to me. As [ have sald, I am not a man to take the eyes of women, ‘Andlnever looked to be loved by a woman othér than my mother But for all that I likei'to think about love, and to picture what manher of man he should be to whom Masie Lennox would let all her heart to go Every night she eame in briskly, laughing ot baving to pull herself up into the well chamber, and ever with some other story of cheer to tell me. “Ken ye what little Jock said this day?" she asked ere she was well over. I told her that I knew not, but was eager to hear, for that I ever counted Jock the best bairn in all the coupe “It was at dinner,” she sald, taking a great dish from under her apron, “and I minded that when you were with us at the Duchrae you kept a great crying for burn- trout. These being served for a first course, 1 watched for a time when the servants were taken up at the chamber end with their serv- and yet come / “SOFTLY THE DOOR OF Tk 1E WELL HOUSE OPENED.” that had but recently come into the country and taken service with us. He had been a soldier, and had even served in her majesty’s guards, but, being a Covenanter at heart, had left the service at the peril of his life and come north. His name was Patrick Laing, and he came of decent folk over about Nithsdale. He was In high favor with the garrison because of his feats of strength, but he had to keep carefully out of the sight of Tom Dalzyell, Grier of Lag, and the old officers, who remembered him in the days when he was a sergeant with the king's colors. Also he was the only man who could keep steeks with John Scarlet at the sword play, and I longed to see him try a bout with Wat of Lochinvar himself. Oiten at night I had converse with him, when the soldiers were uot returned and it was safe for him to come and see me. Here I lay long with the low fever or ague that had taken me after Airsmoss, but because I was within my own country, and within cry of my mother and Malsle Lennox, ) minded not so much as one might think. My mother came not often, for she was closely watched, in her Incomings and out- goings, but every eventide Maisie Lennox brought me what she could lay her hands upon for my support. As 1 grew whole we had much merriment when she told me of the straits she was often in to get away without betraying the object of her solicitude. The two eldest of my brother Sandy's bairns were a boy and a girl of 7 and 8, and in a house where the soldiers took the most and the best there was sometimes but scant fare for the younger folk, Now, none of the serving folk, or even of the family, knew that I was in the neighbor- hood, saving only my mother, Maisie of the Duchrae and Patrick Laing. To tell more to risk a discovery, which meant not than a tow rope for my neck, and that speedily. Of all Sandy's bairns little Jock was the worst, and of him Malsie had many stories to tell me, making merry when she brought me my plece in the twilight. “I was getting a terrible name for a great eater,” she sald. “It was but this day at dinner that Jock cried out, ‘Whatna funny It's gotten twa wings, but only chuckle hen! ing, and the bairns were noses in their plates. “Then, when none observed, I whipped the most part of your dainty platterful of fish underneath my apron and sat very still and innocent, picking at my plate. “Soon little Jock looked up. O, mither. mither,’ he cried, ‘wull ye please to look a Auntie Maisie, she has eaten the hale kane of trootses, while we were suppin’ our broth.’ “At that there was great wonderment, and all the children came about, expecting to see me come to some hurt by so mighty a meal. “ “Tell me,’ cried Jock, belng ever the fore- most, ‘how far doon the platter has gotten. Are ye sure It Is not sticking somewhere by the road?' “All the time I sat with the score of burn- trout on my lap, covered by my apron, and it was only by pretending that I had burned myself that I got them at last out of the room." With such tales she pleased me, winning my heart all the while, and causing me to forget my weakness, and to think not long the night when I lay awake listening to the piets and the hoolets crying about me in the ancient woods of Earlstoun. CHAPTER XXIIT, BULL OF EARLSTOUN'S COMING. It was about this time that Sandy came bome. It may seem from this history that we agreed not over well together. But after all it was as brothers may disagree among themselves, though they are banded stoutly enough ggainst all the world beside. It made us love one another more that we were mostly separate; and so when Sandy came home this time and took up his old lodging in the tree, it was certainly much heartsomer at the Earistoun. For among other things our mother mostly went to carry him his meals of meat, taking with her Jean Hamilton, Sandy’s wife, thus leaving only Maisie Len- nox to bring me my portion to the well- house. But often in the gloaming Sandy himself came climbing up by the ivy on the outside of the well tower and let his great body down through the narrow broken lattice in the tiles, and in that narrow chamber we cheered one another with talk. This I liked well enough so long as he spoke of Gronin- busy with their THE HOME- ae leg!" for 1 had hidden the other on my lap for you. That caused much merriment, for wo all laughed to think of a chuckle hop- ping and standing upon but one leg. But be- cause Cornet Gllehrist was thero we had all to laugh somewhat carefully, and pass the matter off with a jest.” ““On another occasion,” said Maisie, “when Ralf o dozen egggs couid not be found, little Jock cried out, ‘The ae-legged chuckled wull bo olockin’ them!' Aud this caused more mer- riment. Such tales as those Maisle Lennox told me in the quiet of the gloaming when I was still In the well house chamber, and only the drip, drip of the water at the bottom came to us. It was strange for me to lie there and hoar her kind voice tolling me humorsome tales of what had befallen that day, Jean Hamilton, Sandy's wife, came but once to see me, and gave me much religious advice. She was ever a great woman for expericaces, and one of those who de- sired that all should be exactly of her pat- tern, which I saw no hope of—nor yet greatly desirod. “My lite is all ein," she would say, were but to peel the bark off a kail ¢ and eat, T sin In the dolng of It! “That would show a great want of sense at any gate, gin yo could get better meat to j 1 think uo one had been in the place since | the joiners left it, for the shavings yet lay in the corner, among all that the birds and the wild bees ud brought to st alnce. My mother stayed beside me while Malsio went to bring me a hot drink, for the shud- meh as trowbling thoroughty to from where g e L dering grew upon me, and I began to have fierco pains 1o my back and legs. My mother told me that soldlers had beea o way over In the - arhive euat!” 1 replied, for the woman's yatter, yat- ter easily vexed me, belog weak. Also, I wished greatly for bher to be gone, and for Maisle or my mother to come to me, And agaln she eald (for she was a good wainan, but the troublesome kind that do more 1l than good, at least when one is tired and canpot ascape them), “William, 1 fear you bave never the grip o' the gen and the Low countries, but mot o well when he began to deafen me with his bick- erings about the United Socleties—how there was one Patrick Laing, a man of flerce and determined nature, that could not company with other than himself; how Mr. Linning wrestled with the malcontents, and ~ how he himself was of so great honor and consideration among them that they had put off even so great a thing as & general meeting that he might have time to come from Edinburgh to attend it. And how, at the peril of his lite, he did it One night, while Yie was in the midst of his recital, the mighty vgice of him sounding out upon the right brought the sentry from his corner, who listened, but could not under- stand whence came ' the sounds. Presently the soldler called his comrade, and the pair of them stole to the Joor of the well house, where I had lain so long in safety. Sandy was in the heat of his discourse and I sit- ting against the chamber wall in my knee breeches and with a plaid about e, lsten- ing at my ease. For ‘long immunity had made us both carelgss., “At Darmead, that well-keuned place, we bad it,” Sandy was saying, his great limbs xtended half ‘way across the floor as he lay on the bare boards, &nd told his story; “it was & great day of glorious witnessing and contesting. No two of ws thought the same thing. Each had his own say-away and his own reasous, and never'a minister to over- ride us. Indeed, since Ritchie lay down at | the ticking of the watch in your pocket or | wo were l-cond the water. B with foned when he comes across on as he spoke thus, the broad his great knee, the trap door in the floor slowly lifted up, and through the aperture came the head of a soldier, even that of the sentry of the night, with whose footfalls I had grown so familiar that I minded them no more than and Dblattered and on his 2 beating Tha man our heart in the daytime. od even more surprised thas | and for a long moment he abode king at Sandy reclining on the foor. And Sandy looked back at him with his | Jaw dropped and his mouth open. 1 could have laughed at another time, for they were | both great red men with beards, and their | faces were very near one another, like | those of yokels that grin at each other emulously out of the horse collars on the turbulent day at the Clachan falr—which is on the eve of t. John, in the time of mid summer. Then suddenly Sandy snatched an un- lighted lantern and brought it down on the soldier's lead, which went down through the trap door like Jack-out-of-the-box being shut down again ak the skylight for it, William, cried. “I'll e'en gang doon an’ see this loon wants!" So, snatching a sword that lay upon the boards by his side, Sandy went head first down the trap after his man. I heard him fall mightily upon the two soldiers who had the keeping of the house that night, which was a great blessing for him and for me. In that narrow place he gripped them both with the first claucht of his great arms, and dadded their heads together, exhorting them all the time to repent and think on their evil ways. “Wad ye, and another tried to get at weapons ‘round the narrow edge of the well curb; and I heard one after another of their tools clatter down the masonry of the well, and plump into the water at the bottom. The men were in thelr heavy marching gear, being ready at all times for the coming of Clavers, who was a great man for discipline, and very particular that the soldiers should always be properly equipped whenever it should please him to arrive. And because he was a great man for night marches and sudden surprises, the men took great pains with thelr accoutre- ments. “Can 1 help you, thrcugh the hole, “Bids ye whaur ye are, man. I can man- age the hullions fine! Wad ye, then? Stan’ up there back to back, or I'll gle ye anither daub on the kerb that may leave some o' your harns stickin’ to it. Noo' I'll put the rope roon ye, an' ease ye doon to ‘a braw and caller spot!” Ilooked down the trap and saw Sandy rov- ing the spare coil of well rope round and reund his two prisoners. He had their hands close to their sides, and whenever one of them opened his mouth Sandy gave his head a knock with his open hand that drove him silent again, clapping his teeth together like castinets from Spain. As soon as he had this completed to his satisfaction he lifted the bucket from the hook and began to lower the men down the shaft, slinging them by the bellyband of his majesty's regimental breeches to the rope. The men cried out to ask him if he meant to drown them “Na, na, droon nane” said Sandy. “Thero's but three feet o' water in the well. Jut ye'll be fine and caller doon there a'nicht, * gin ye as muckle as ory afore the mor- @ heard o' Sandy still then, vermin,” he cried as one him_ with their Sandy 1 eried down row's sunrise—weel, ye h Gordon o' the Earlstoun And this, indeed, feared the men greatly, for he was celebrated for his strength and daring all athwart the country, and es- pecially among the soldiers and common peo- ple, who, as is well known, are talking cf feats never done of strength This being completed, he brought me down from my loft and took me in the house to bid the women folk farewell. They erled out with fear when he told them what he had done as a noble jest, and how he had bound tha soldiers and put them in the well bottom. But my mother cried out, “It is the begin- ning of the erd, O, Sandy. Why could you not have been content with scarin’ them? “It was our lives or theirs, mither,” sald Sandy. “Had they gotten room to put steel into me_your first born son waa hae been at the well ‘bottom, wi’ his heid doon an’ his mouth open, and your second dangling in a hempen collar in" the grass market. The eggs are all in one basket now, mitber!" “‘Haste ye, away!" cried she, “lest they break lowse and come and find ye here!” “They hae somewhat better fense than to break lowse this nicht,” said Sandy. “I'm gaun nane to tak the heather withoot my supper.” So he sat him down on man at ease and well conte Jean, fetch the plates,” he said to his it’s graund to be hungry and ken o' the settle like a Maisie Lennox stood quietly by, but I could see that she liked not the turn of affairs, nor the way that Sandy had of driving all things before him. “Haste ye, young lass at the word she went Hamllton. “‘Whither gang ye?" our mother said to us, as we made ready to flee. “Mind and be canna' wi' that laddie, Sandy, for he has been il and needs care and 'tendance to this day.” And it pleased me to see that Malsie Len- nox looked pale and anxious when she came near me. But no word spoke she. “‘Na, mither, I'll na tell ye whaur we gang, for ye micht be put to the question, and then ye can say ye dinna ken wi' a guid con- science.” I got a word with Maisie at the stair foot as she went up to bring some plaid or ke chief down that our mother insisted I should tako with me. “Malsle,” I sald, “ye'll no forget me, will ye? But she would give no great satisfaction. ““There are so many gay things in my life to gar me forget a friend!" was all she said, * he said to her, and quietly to help.Jean but she looked down and pulled at her apron “Nay, but tell me, my lassie, will ye think every day o' the lad ye nursed in the wellhoose chamber?” our mother s crying on me,” she said; “let me go, William" (though indeed, I was not touching her). 1 was turning away disappointed with no word_more, but she snatched my hand that had fallen to my side, pressed it a moment to her breast, and then fled upstairs like a young roe. So, laden with wrappings, Sandy and I took our way over the moor, making through our own oak wood, which is the largest in Galloway, and out by Blawquhairn and Gordonstoun upon the moor of Bogue—a wet and marshy place, save in'the height of the dry season. Sandy was for making for a hold that he bad near the lonely, wind- swept loch of Knockman, which lies at a burn head near the top of a hill of heather and bent. But as we came to the breast of the Windy Brae I began to feel my weak- ness, and a cold sweat began to drip from me “Sandy,” #ald 1 to my brother, taking him by the hand lest he should go too fast for me, “I fear I shall be a trouble to you, Leave me, T pray you, at Gordiestoun to tak’ my chanee, and hie you to the heather. It'll may be no be a hanging matter wi' me, ony gate." “Hear t!ll bim, sald Sandy, “leave him! I'll leave the laddie nane. The man doesna breathe that Sanquhar and Airsmoss are no eneuch to draw the thrapple o', were it the chancellor, himsel'!" He bent and took me on his back, “There, na, 1s that comfortable?” he said, and away Lo strode with me as though he had been a glant, “Man, ye need a bow o' meal to ribs,” he cried, making light of the “Ye are no heavier than a lamb in poke-neuk o' a plaid.” 1 think he was sorry for stirring me from the well chambar, and the thought made me like him better than I had manned to do for some time. And Indeed my welght seemed no more to him than that of a motherless suckling to a shepherd on the hill when he steps home- ward at the close of the day. It is a great thing to be strong. If only Sandy had had the knack of gentleness with it he had been & great man. As it was, he was only the bull of Earlstoun We went in our flight over the benty fell toward Milnmark, but holding more down to the right toward the Garpel burn, where there are many dens and fastnesses, and where the covenant folk had often companied your load the | of offices Garpel and stride across, the water dashing about his legs as he waded through, taking, as was his wont, no thought of an easy way or of keeping of himself dry, but just going on_ramstam (11l he had won clear. Then he brushed through a little wood of oak and hagel. I folt the rough twigs in my | face. Climbing a steep brae, Sandy set me | down at the end of a house with some bits about It, and a pleasant, homely smell of cows. But, saving these, there were | none of the other signs of a farm town about well It, but rather a brisk cleanliness and ordered neatness. Sandy went to the door and knocked, and In a little while one answered at the south most of the windows. Then a whispered word was given and taken. Tho door was | opened and we went into the dark house. | A sweet-faced old lady in the narrow pas sage, gowned even at this time of night with | some precision, took me by the arm. She held a candle aloft fn her hand “Come awa’, laddle,” she sald. @ shanna dasses o' the Linn yet | Duncan's pantry,’ that has | emall store of vitual in it. But ye shall bido is night wi' Jean Gordon o' the Shirmers that has still some spunk in her yet, though try the unkindly awhile, nor yet folks say that she died o' love thirty years syne. Hoot, silly folk, Jean Gordon could hao gotten & man ony time had she been antin’ yin." We were indeed at Jean Gordon's famous cot by the side of the bonny Garpel burn; and {t was not long till she had me cosey In bed, and Sandy, to whom all weathers and heedings were alike, away to his hiding in the Cleuch beneath, where some of his soclety men were that night holding a meeting for prayer. The cottage almost from my window began the precipitous descent. So that it the alarm were suddenly given there was at least a chance of flinging myselt out of the window and dropping into the tangled sides of the Linn of Garpel. The thought of the comfort in Jean's cot made me the more willing to take the risk, for 1 knew well that if 1 had to venture the damps and chills of the glen without any shelter after my illness it would sat on the brink of a glen, and p and fare but poorly with me. So all that night | I listened to the murmur of the water be- | neath, dashing about the great rocks in the | channel But there was none other sound, and to this sweet, sequestered spot came none to seek us. Here in the fastnesses of the Garpel Sandy and 1 abode many days, and though the glen was searched, and patrol parties more than once came our way, none of them approached near the fastness of thickets where in the daytime we were hidden. And at night, in all safety, I betook me to the cottage of Jean Gordon. Her story had been a =ad one, but she made little of it now, though it was well known to all the country side. The Lord has taken away the sting of pain out of my life,” she said. “I was but a lass when I came to the Garpel, thinking my heart broken. Once I loved a braw lad, bonny to look upon, and he loved me, or I was the more deceived. Lindsay was his name. Doubtless ye have heard the common tale. He slichted my love and left me with- out a word. Waes me, but the very lift turned black when I Lear it, and I cried out on the lars. But belief came slowly to me. The loch is very near to the Shirmers wh then 1 dwelled, and the tower window looks down into the black deeps from among the ivy bushes on the wall. My thoughts dwelt on the short and easy road to p But praise His marvelous name, 1 saw another way. So I built me this bit house lere, on the bonny birk-grown sides o' the Garpel, and e'en came my ways here.” Ye'll sune get a man, for ye're bonny! Never fash your thumb for Lindsay!" said my kin, Il get nae man, T threepit to them What one schlichtet shall never be given to another.’ So forty year have I bidden here, and heard little but the mavis sing and the cushie complain. Think weel o' yersel, Wil- lie, 1ad, for ye are the first man body that has ever bidden the nicht within Jean's wa's Sandy, great as he thinks himself', can take the Linn side for ‘it. He is seasoned like the red tod o' the hills, but ye are shilpit and silly, boy William, #0 ye had best bide wi' auld Jean when ye can. There's few in Gallowa’ daur meddle wi' puir Jean, for she is kin to John Graham of Claverhouse him- ', and the erne’s cousin Is uo a canny bird to meddle wi'." So again 1 had fallen on my feet, as has ever been my fortune with women; though alas, that I should confess it, chiefly be- cause of my weakuess, and with the elder sert of them., ¢ Here after a day or two there came to Jean Gordon, my hostess of the night sea- son, a letter from Sandy's wife, Jean Ham- ilton, with sad news. It was Intended for my brother, but according to the custom of these days, it was not so addressed, for the transmission of such letters was too danger- ous at that time. “Dear mistress,” so it fan, ‘“your letter a1d yield great satisfaction to me, and now I have good words to tell you. The Lord is doing great things for me. Colvin and Clavers (Cornel) have put us out of all we have, 50 that we know not where to go. “I'am at present in a cot house. Oh, blessed cottage! As oon as my enemies began to roar againgt me, so quickly came my kind Lord to me and did take my part. He made the enemles to favor me, and He gave me Kindly welcome to this cottage. “Well may T eay that bis yoke Is easy and His burden light. “‘Dear Mistress Jean, pralse God in my behalf, and cause all that love Him to praise Him on my behalf. T fear that I miscarry under His kind hand. ““Colvin is reigning here like a prince, get- ting ‘his honor' at every word. But he hath not been rude to them. He gave me leave to take out all that I had. What matters suffering after all! But, oh! the sad fallings away of some! I cannot give a full account of them. “I have nothing to write on but a stone by the waterside, and know not how soon the enemy may be upon me. I entreat you to send me your advice what to do. The enemy said to me that 1 should not get to stay in Galloway gin I went not to thelr kirk. “They said I should not even stay in Scot- land, for they would pursue me to the far end of ft, but I should be forced to go to thelr church. The persecution Is great. There are many familles that are going to leave their houses and go out of the land. Gin you have not sent my former letter, let it not now go, but send this as quickly as you can. I fear our friends will be much concerned. I have written that he may not venture to come home. I entreat that you will write that to him and close mine within yours. I have not backed his. Send me all your news. Remember me to all friends. 1 desire to be minded to them. “I rest, in haste, your loving friend and aervant, JANET HAMILTON.” Now, I declare that this letter made me think better than ever before of Sandy's wife, for I am not gifted with appropriate reflece tions in the writing of letters myself, but very greatly do I admire the accomplishment. She was in time of peace greatly closed up within herself, but in the time of extrusion and suffering, her narrow heart came out. Notwithstanding the writing desk of stone by the waterside, the letter was well written, but the great number of words which had been blurred and corrected as to their speiling cvealed the turmoll and anxiety of the writer. I have kept it before me as I write this history, so that I might give it ex- actly. Thus we learned that Sandy's side of the house was safe; but what of our mother and Maisle Lennox? “Jean says nothing" sald Sandy, when I told him. “'Good news Is no news!" And truly this was an easy thing for him to say, who had heard news about Lis own; but Jean Gordon sent to her sister's sou at Barscobe for word, but could hear nothing, save that the Earlstoun ladies had been put out of thelr house without insult or in- jury, and had gone away, no man kn whither. So with this in the meantime we were rost os might Helghty, teighty."” said Jean Gordon of the Shirmers, coming in to me with a plece one morning as soon as she heard that I was awake. he silly folks sy that I cam’ awa her to dee for love. Weel, I hae loeved forty year in Jean's eot o' the Garpel and I'm no dead yet. I wat no! I cam’ here to get oot o' tho men's road there's my sister ower by at Barscobe, has been muckl the better o' a man, has she no? Never sure whether he would come hame sober and w conditioned from kirk or market. In the obliged to content as we togeth 1 was afrald to think what should come to my sickness when the cold shelves of the rock by the Dass of the Holy Linn would be my bed instead of the comfortable blankets length on Alrsmoss to rest him, there is no minister that could. But I hear of & young man, Renwick, that is now with Mr. Brackel of Leewarden, that will scare some of the of the wellhouse. And, truth to tell, I was not llluuu -I\y I:.n:luf for his l‘a‘n"‘: ness in compelling exchange, W) t | him down the slesp bank of fear o' her life every time that she heard the s00nd o' his volee roarin’ in the yaird, to ken what was erossin’ him, and {n what fettlo the fairly goffered at sald, “yince bitten, twice shy. o' man--nesty, the edges. “Na, na she 1 hae eneuch saucy, ill-flavored charactors, @ on ye, yo can tell as casy as em be In the hoose as gin he had wi' halt a nc gin yin o' t been a tod! And am 1 not a man, Aunty Jean?' I asked, for indeed she had been very kind to me. ‘Hoot, a laddle I& no a man; nae beard like bristles, nae luntin', stinkin' pipes and a skin like my lady's—thai's noa man. By my sk hose and shoe strings, gin I get as muckle as the wind o' yin atween me and the Bogue road, 1 steek baitn the inner and the coter doors to keep awa' the waff o' the breek. Foul fa' them.” This ma’e me laugh, indeed, but after all ft did not please me greatly to hear that I wao taken for less than a man. “Now, there's Sandy,” she went on, fof she loved to talk, “he's a great, sensele urdy o' a craitur. Yet he could get a' the wives he wants by just tod aff the hill and takin' yin ablow his oxter. An' the pulr bit bleatin’ hizzle wad think she likit it. Lord, some folks tak' a man as they tak’ & farm by the acre. But no me no me. Na 1 1 waur thinkin' o' men, the bonny ticht lad, is the lad for me; the lad wi' the cockade intiln his bonnet an' a leg weel shapit; neither bowed out like pit props, nor yet bent in like a cooper ridin' on the riggin’ o' a barrel."” But what for did yo no tak' yin?"" I said, speaking through the door of the spence as she moved about the house, ordering the por« coming doon like a ridge making and keeping an eye on the hen's meat as well It eased my heavy thought to hear the heartsome clip of Ner tongue, for all the world like a tallor's shears, brisker when it comes to the selvage. So when Jean Gordon got In sight of the end of her sentence, she snipped out her words with a glibness beyond any Gordon that ever I heard of. For the Gordons are, according to proverh, slow peos ple with their tongues, as they say by two and two at the canny hour of e'e But not our aunt Jean of Jean's Wa's by the Garpel burn I's a strange thing,” she through the hall and door at an' me can crack like twa wives that hae gotten their men oot o' the hearin’. My Iad, I fear ye are yin in the bin’ that creep into women’s hearts because they are vexed for ye. Ye hae sic inmocent ways. Oh, I doot na but iU's the guile o' ye, but it was ever sae “Mony sald, looking me, “‘that you a mewlin', peuterin’ body has had success wi' the weeman folk. They think it's a peety that he should be so innocent, an’ they tak' baud o' the craitur, just to keep off tha designin’ weeman. Oh, I'm far frae denyin' that we are a pack o' slly craiturs. A'thing that wears willycoats; no yin muckle to better anither! “‘But, aboot yoursel’, Aunty Jean," I ven tured, in order to stir her to reckless speech, which was like fox hunting to me, “Wha? Me? Certes! I got the stoor oot o' me e'en braw an’' early. I got it by be. times, as the lairds tak’ their mornin’ o French brandy. When Tam Lindsay gaed oft wi' his fleein’ flagarie o' a muckle-tochered Crawford lass, I vowed that I wad hae dune wi' men. An' so I had! “Whenever a loon cam' breeks, and a hingin' look craitur that meant courtin’, faith, 1 juist set tho dowgs on the scullion. T keep It a fear- some tyke on purpose, wi' a jaw ontill him here in his best n the e'e o' the like Jonah's whale. Aye, aye, mony's the braw lad that has gane doon that brae wi' Auld Null ruggin’ an’ reevin’ at the hinders lands o' him—bonny to see!" “Did ye think, as ye waftched them gang, that it was Lindsay, Aunty Jean?" I asked, for, indeed, her well going talk easel my leart in toe midst of so many (roubles, For 1 declare theso thirty years in Scotland, and especially in Glenkens, folk had aimost forgotien the way o lauglh. “Na, na, callant,” so she would say to me in return, “I never blamed him sair ava’, Tam Lindsay was never sair fashed wi' sense the days o' his life—at least no to hurt nim, one man nor yersel' as yin micht say. It was the Crawford woman and her weel feathered nest that led Lim awa’ Iike a bit cuddio wi a carrot afore his nose. But I'll never deny the rany that she was clever, for she tock the cretur's size at the first look as neat as if she had been measurin’ him for a suit o' claex. She did what 1 never did, or my name had been Jean Lindsay this day. lie Lord In His merey be thankit continually that it is what it is, and that 1 hae nae auld Jotard grumphin’ and snortin' at the chimney lug. She cuitled Tam Lindsay an' flairded bim an’ spak’ him fair, till the poor fathom o' pump water thocht himsel’ the brawest lal in braid Scotland. Faith, I wadna sae be- mean me to get the king oot o' Whitehall— wha they tell me s no that {ll to get, gin yin had the chance and in muckle the same way as Tam Lindsay. O, what a set o' blind, brainless, handless, guid-for-nacthings are men!" “It was with that ye began, Aunty Jean, 1 sald. “Aye, an’ T shall end wi' it noo," she an- swered. “I'm no theology learned, but it looks terribly like as if the rib story were gye near the truth, for the poorest o' weemen can mak' a great muckle oot o' a very little, an’ the best o' men are sair troubled wi' a salr want. 1 misdoot that Aydam maun hae missed mair nor the rib when he waukened.” (To be Continued.) PASTING DISEASES WEAKEN WONDERe flly because thoy weaken you slowly, gradu: ally. Do not allow this wasto of body to make you apoor, flabby, Immature man.1ealth, strength wnd vigor is for you whother you bo rich or poor, The Grent Hudyan Is to be had only from the Huds son Medical Institute. This wonderful dlscovery was mude by the speciallsts of the old famous Hud- son Medleal Institute. It is tho strongest and moat powertul vitalizer made. It i3 50 powerful that it I simply wondorful how harmlessitfs. 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