Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, March 30, 1902, Page 16

THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, MARCH 3 (Copyright, 3801, by 8 R. Orookett.) CHAPTER XII. Ordination. ‘As may well be supposed, John bad much bn his mind during these days of suspense. He rode his horse everywhere, quastioned, cross-questioned, followed fajse clues til they tallea off into nothing or ended Inm absolute culs-de-sac. Dut nothing came of it. The girls had, so far as their friends’ knowledge wag concerned, absotutely diwap- peared. Yot old Davld @lendenning would bave no communication made to the au- thorities, Neither was thelr father's heart bitter against them, He took no aecount of anything. He would stick at nothing. He was thelr father and he would love them to the end. “If only I could tell them gae—I wad be happy,” he sald, “but I'm thinkin’ they ken At—eapecially Fairlle. He stood on the top of the watch tower with the fatted calf bleating In the wood- yard beneath, and he looked across that great and terrible widerness, on the otber side of which are «ins of orimson and scarlet and pleasures ljke to the purple of Tyre, and great famines and swine troughs and prodigals returning and unreturning. a4 Is most convenlent tor you!" “The deeds are here,” sald the father, mindful of the motto who adviees strik- ing befaro the cooling of the from. “Mr. M. Crosty has drawn them up. The mt-} ter has his approval and sanction. I as- sure you there s pothing unfalr or um- and in the arrangement. Shail I ring the bell for Grierson and Faithful to wit- ness the papers for us. There are duplicate agreements which shall remain, the one in | your possession and the other in mins” | At the conclusion, as Grierson went out | and John Glendonwyn was putting the docu- | ment in his pocket. Rupert entered, and | the slightest glance of intelligence passed between him and his father—a lift of the eyebrows, an inclination of the head—ques~ tion asked and answered, with a simple- hearted third party busily signing papers | and none the wiser. . . . . The ordination passed over without any hiteh. All went smoothly. There was, however, on in the proceedings of the day. At the close | of the sajemn ordination servise, when the assembled presbytery was shaking hands with the newly ordalned minister of the jarring pote SR .CrockettS i /’.? ity, tender and pensive, was the note of John Glendonwyn's early ministry in Gower and the dave when he exercised it are still unforgotten upon Solway side. ““No, an easy maa in turn, sald one of his heritors. “1 wud like to see him malr blythesome,” ald an elder; “to my mind he is ower sober for so yoyng a map." But when these opraiseful commentings came to his ears the young minister was abssed and ashamed, knowing that his gra ity was but the burden of ‘care which he carried since the disappearance of Ka'e and Falirlie Glendenning. together with the knowledge that his brother was in some way privy to the matter. Johm went little to Castle Gower, but his fither came over often and sat in the single armchair, staring in the lo gaps of silence at the carpetless floor of the study. He did not, however, again repeat his offer of furnishing the manse, nor had he paid any of the Interest due to John on his mother's property. (The narrative as given by the first nar- rator, which the editur has hitherto founded upon, now appreaches an event so strange in itself, and so far-reaching in its con- All the same, it was a weary time for all concerned. Meantime Rupert's foot grew quickly better, and he plunged more and maro deeply Ipto such djssipations as the his errand at his leleure. But Duncan only shook his head silently and appeared to meditate on something that he could scarce bring himself to utter. At last he took his courage in his hand and began. “Muleter John," he sald, “things are sore wrong at Castle Gower." “How, they, Dumcan?® 1 sald. “Is my father worwe In health or is thers a quarrel betwixt him and Rupert?’ For, indeed, at that time 1 was never done thinking of my brother. He had been growing wilder and ever wilder. Many a night bad I heard the galloping of his horse Bravo he passed the manse, riding home from Drumfern or other of his haunts. He would send a view balloe up to my window it he saw a light, calling on me for a hypo- critical dog to come down and give him a stirrup eup. Onee or twice I did go down | to speak with him, but to e little pur- pose that on one ecossion he lashed me across the face with his riding whip, so that 1 carried the mark with me to the puipit for three several Sabbath days “Malster Rupert,” orfed Duncan Grierson, growing instantly violently agitated, ' there 1s nae quarrel betwixt Maister Rupert and the laird. a preached to us this day frae the pulpit. But I couldna bide to see things gaun on #s they are doin' withoot speakin’. And gin I hae dune wrang. “To be plain, then, I think there is a conspiracy between my malster, Gregory Glendonwyn, and his son! And, auld as I am, and great ainner as I hae been, canpa atand still and see the innooent suf: fer for the gulity.' country and the neighboring towns a forded Oconsionally Rupert would be a couple of daye from heome, and once it was the afte 1 would to God there were— | en it it were to the shedding of | the Lord. wha sees the heart, pardon me| | ben to the parlor whaur mupert was Iy’ wi' the doctor attendin' him-—-and indeed | this muckle 1s true, he badna moved frae the week afore. “A' this time Maister Rupert had sald but little, but whiles lauched and whiles written what letters the malster bade him | —maist of them that I saw to & Miss Cars- law up aboot Greenoch, a rich leddy, that | Gregory Glendonwyn was awfu' pressu’ on iM‘Ilur Rupert to mairry. Indeed, I often heard them at it—ding-dingin' till every | minute I expectit to Wear the soond o' ‘lhe candlestioks fleein’ at Malster Rupert's {held. For your faither was ever a quick man in his tempers and il to withstand, | “But after yae nicht when Tammas | Fatthtull and me waited ootside the door ready to gang in, thinkin' every minute that there wad be bluidshed atween them; there was nae mair word o' Miss Carslaw for a while, Malster Rupert gat his ankle- bane broken, and after that the man | Warner was never oot o' the hoose—noo | closeted wi' the Jaird and noo colloguin' wi* Maister Rupert in the parlor. The young man lay on his sofa and lauched malstly, as it @' the {1l he had brocht on innocent lasses and on his aln hoose had been but as the cream o' a jest to him. blood. | “Weel, Maister John, it wasna lang afore “Sit down, Griersom, and tell me what the lalrd and Malster Rupert and the doc. you mean," I bade him. tor atween them had persuaded the auld “I cannot &it, sir,” sald the old man, man, Davvid Glendenning, dozoned and standing before me, all trembling, “and stupld wi' grief as he was, that it could be that's God's truth, as muckle as what ye|no ither than you that had rinned aft wi* his lasses. They had a letter or twa o yours that they had gotten I ken na how. But they had them or made them, and sae they sent auld Davvid aff to Edinburgh to find ye, and by the time that he came back they had time to cover a' their track: ae that nane wad ken whaur the lasses had gane unto this day. “The laird, too, gaed awa' for three days. And when he cam' hame a weary man he was—aged and lookin' maist ready moon of the third day before he returned. On_ this oceasion Gregory Glendonwyn had grown fretfully anxious. He could not stay indoors, but with & gun over his shoulder, though it was the middle ef July, haunted the edges on the plantations and rugged poinfs from which he could obtain a view of the various roads leading west and north from Castle Gower. To John, however, his manner was com- pletely altered. He was unwearledly kind to his younger son and his influence, to- gether with Dr. Augustus Caesar's good offices, soon smoothed all difficulties out of the way of John's settlement. The day of the ordination was fixed and John en- gaged with what zeal he could muster in the preparation of his trial discourses. Tue night before the ordination Gregory Glgndonwyn sept for his younger son to his study and upon his entrance luvited him to take a chalr. “l bave a bard thing to open to you, John," he sald. “It is difficult at any time for @ father 46 humble himeelf to his son— pecullarly hard in my case, in that I am consclous that many times and for long periods 1 bave been far from doing you Jusiice.” “If ever that has been John, “I have forgottem (t.* Kirk of Scotland, now their friend ana brother, two white-haired old men belong= ing to the congregation, Adam Gilchrist of The proud old man silently bowed his| Arbigland and Ephraim Gray of Chryston, head and then relapsed into %o prolonged came forward., The first Damed held a @ silence that John waiched him with some’| paper in his hand which he asked permis- anxiety. | slon of the reverend presbytery to read. ““The matter is this,” he sald at length. “Some high-fiylng nonsense about non- “You sald when we spoke together that | intrusion,” murmured Gregory Glendogwyn, when you entered upon the living which I | who knew the mas But Dr. Caesar, on his have taken some pains to seeure and keep | own ground of the church courts, feared no open for you, you would expect me, through | man alive, and courteously made way for & lawyer, to make count and reckon!ng with you for your mother's fortune, prin- oipal and interest. Now, I do not conceal from you that this, though not, of course, impossible, would at the present moment be exceedingly embarrassing to me. You will remember that the care and handling of it was left entirely to me, ¥ had full power to employ it as I thought best. Now, & few months ago there came a sudden and overwhelming ocall upen me—a call which required to be met at once If the hondr of our house was to be preserved. At the moment there was only one fund upon which I could draw. “I admit that I sunk a portion of that forttme which should have beem yours to avert the threateneq disgrace—your dfs- grace as well as mine. Now, what I ask of you is that you should sllow the money ‘which I have expended to remain as a first charge upon the estate, 1 am adyised that such a coul 1s perfeotly legal. You will recelve your income as certaloly And at as high an interest as on any other security, and you will have the satisfaction of having Mfted a great load of sorrow from your father's heart,” John Glemdonwyn, without & moment's hesitation, took his father's nand. greed!” he sald. “I will do all you wish in the matter. I have neither wish nor need to take the capital of my mother's fortune out of your bands. “And as to the interest—that shall be , father,” sald fenced s of the elders’ seat, round which the preshytery were grouped. “We will gladly bear you on any matter touching the justice and legality of the ac- tion upon which we are engaged,” he said. Then Adam Gllchrist, in tke name of those who had elgned the paper and ad-' hered to him, declared that, while protest- | ing agalnst the right of any man to present another .to the charge of a congregation of Christian people, they wished to add that they had uo objoction of any sort ta the | young man who had this day been settled among them. Then he put the paper in John's hande This was one of the &1l too humerous | signs that It was blowing up for the storm, | and though the presbytery of Gower was, by | a very large majority, moderate, there were men in certaln of its constituent parishes | who would not either be intimidated or | sllenced. On the Sabbath which followed the day | of ordination Dr. Augustus Caesar preached | in the parish of Gower and, according to | custom, introduced his young friend, John Glendonwyn, to the people. His daughter | accompanjed him, bis wife being, of course, | too delicate to bear the fatigue. So It/ chanced that during the service of Intro- duction John and Veroniea sat side by side | in the manss seat—an event which wis unl- versully held to have in it something notably prophetic. That night Jobn slépt in his own manse. Thers was little furniture fn it, for his father, though most kindly affected to him | and full of promises, had as yet paid him no portion of the arrcars of his fortune. | | For 60 Years “ Moreover, he could hope to recetve no sti- Hon"‘ » || pend for a considerable time. 8o a kitchen Quality with it mecessary utensils, a little bed- room for Babby Lockbart, his old murse | (who had {nsisted on coming to the manse | to “attend to her bairn, noo he had grown lato a brew minlster o the gospel bedroom for himself furnished with wash- | and and cemp bed, and a study, in which | Wil Glendenning had put up some beok- | shelves, and a plsin kitchen table of deal | to write ou, formed all the furnished reoms which Gower manse was destined to con~ bas been the watch- word of BLATZ BEER taln for many a day. The packing boxes in which Jobn's books arrived from Edmn- MILWAUKER burgh were pressed for mdditional seais, The best. materials || one of which the young minister helped obtatnable are at the || nimself to whenever he had a visitor. command of the most skilled brew masters. The system of hrewing is original and abso- lutely in advance of any other f{n (he BLATZ MALT-VIVINE (Non-Intoxieant) Tonte. Druggivts or atrect. His father had udeed offered him a com- plete “‘plenishing” from the wide chambers of Castle Gower, but John was firm in the faith of “doiug for himselt,” and felt him. self happler as he lay down that night in hig bare apsrtment with the stars Jooking in through the blindless windows than he Bad been since the strange disappearance of lttle Fairlie and ber sister Kate, John Glendonwyn did not begin his minis try with any remarkable manifestation of power, but he gradually gave proof of consclentious readiness to 4o the best that in him lay for his peopte. His pulpit work was excellent and profitable from the first. VAL BLATZ BREWING CO., MILWAUKEE. || OMAHA 1413 Douglas 8t Tel. 1081, to his conogregation, he began to restudy with them the plain gospel teachlngs in a series of discourses which was lang memor- able in Gower. These might be called Qirect searchings for the word of iruth, and to & comgregetion sated with half-held platitudes and jpectous commonplaces thelr new minister's earsest, streavous reaching out after higher things came al- most with the foree of & revelation. In this fashion Jehn Giendonwyn n # folk for himself in the parish of Gower. Nor was it only on Babbaths that he 4id L.v—v‘.'(:.orflm«wm ¥ A the two delegates to ascend to the little | |an unseen hand Beavy on my spirit. Frankly ackmowledging bis inexperience | my gyeat astonishment that Duncan Grier- “THE FERRY HOUSE RESTED CURIOUSLY LONESOME, AVOIDED BY DECENT TRAVELERS, FORBIDDING IN EXTERNAL ASPROT.” Rheumatism -« Neuralgia Ages Are Conquered by Swanson's *‘G-DROPS If you are suffering from Rheumatism or Neuralgia, you should get a bottle of Swanson's “5:-DROPS” at once and give it a trial. It is an internal and external remedy w! has never failed to cure these ailments, no matter how long standing or how severe the cases may be. 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More than one original narrative is appended to the history connected with the events of this period, and in particular John Glendonwyn himself has been Induced to tell the story ot the night of the 18th of November, 1842, in his own words). CHAPTER XHI. The Cloud-Breaking. (Being Johm Glendonwyn's first narra- tive.) I am asked in the Interests of those who shall come after me to put on record all that I know of the grievous and terrible events of that evening ever memorable to me, and I trust not to be forgotteu by my descendants, the day of November 18, of the year 1842. It was well nigh six months since that other day, when, lo the city of Edinburgh, 1 had been Informed of the complete dis- appearance of my dear Falrlie Glerdenning, tegether with that of her sister, Kate, whose fate seemed to be mixed with hers In a common mystery. During those months 1 judge that no young man had grown older more gquickly than I, God was busy, \ndeed, with me in these days, and I went about my business with But on the Sabbath day, betng the 1Tth of November, my spirit scemed at last to have broken its way out into a peace to which it had Tong been a stranger. Walk- ing, a8 my custom was, in the kirkyard in the early morhing, I watched the sum rise out of a black bank of clouds, which, however, presently dispersed and vanished, leaving the blonde stubble flelds white with early rime, the turnips paled a littts from their deep sea-green, and such an inde- cribable crisp luxury of breathing in the air that T gave thanks to God, | took courage. I had chosen for my text that day the words of the psalmist, “My meditation of him shall be sweet.” And for the first time in the parish of Gower I spoke with. out note. 1t was strange to me, ignorant as yet that in the emallest degree I posseased that gift of speech which moves folks' hearts, to note the hush which fell on the congrega- tion, to mark how, slowly and unknown to themselves, they bent forward in thelr eeats, and how as often as the speaker paused they leaned back with a universal sigh which was to me as unexpected as it was memorable and impressive. 1 had gone down 1nto the vestry and was there setiing my papers in order before go- ing up to the mapse (where, as 1 knew, old Babby Lockkart would be laying out a frugal meal), when I heard a knock come to the door—no Infrequent thing in a Scots parish in which is geperally some passing Samaritan urgent to pour ofl into the wounds made by & man's own conscious failures But wheo I called, “Come in,” it was to son, our old butler at Castle Gower, entered with his well-accustomed gesture of saluta- tion, a movement full at once of dignity and respect. I held out my hand to him and he took it cordially, then for & moment he did not speak in answer to my greeting, but stood helding my hand with & kind of wonder on his face. “Whence came ¥ be “surely never out o' the mirk pit o' the auld Glen- donwyns. OF else with a great deliverance have these things been made plals to you from oa high. Yince on a day hae T been feared that the auld black malignant blood his work. Soom there was not one hearth from north to south where he was not wel- . His simple kindiliness and sym- took them by the heart In ome %0 “Grave beyond bis years' they led him. But those sparklings of humor, too, were mot wanting, without which no map pught (9 be & minister. A swest grav- was in 1 hae served the Glendonwyns five-and-Rfty years and seen il day and guld day in the bouse of Castle Gower, but “The innocent suffering? 1 cried. “A conspiracy to do them wrcng? What do vou mean. Grierson? Surely you do not speak of your master?" “Deed am 1 that, sir—even of Gregory Glendonwyn, whom I have served for fitiy- five year and never kenned to do the thing that was dishonorable. Hard he has aye been. hard with men, hard with the mither that brought ye Into the world, and speclally hard wi' you, his son, that might have been to him for a pride and a glori- fying."" “Ah, Grierson,” said I, clapping him on the shoulder, “you were ever over-partial to me. Do not be afraid. In the I Tua my father will not do me an injustice.” But the old man held up his hands to stop me. “No, no," he cried, “‘that I know, also, or at least something of it. mwoney tn the world were at stake it wou'd not make this shame the less. It is in matter of the disappearance of the Kate and Fairlle Glendenning, that I bave come to you." I do pot disguise that I had to lay my hand on the window sill to steady myself before I could take in his words. “Well—what of them?”’ I said, at last. ““Speak out, man, make haste “Matster John,” sald Duncan Grierson, bending down his white head like a man ashamed and overcome, “I can bear it no longer. That's the fact. The nicht that they were lost it was my band that voked the hores. It was me that gied the letter inttl the lassie’s hand at the schule. 1t was me, Duncan Grierson, that trysted wi' Kate Glendeaning ahint her her's wood- ¥ d—r nd where are the girls? 1 gerly. *Na: though I hae a guess,” he answered, in- finitely to my disappointment. “My work was dune when I gaed the retns up Into the hands o' him that was to drive at the cross roads of Bennangower.' “And who drove? Was it my brother?" I erled. “I never belleved greatly in his lamenes, The old butier shook his head. “Into whose hands, then? quickly!" I almost shouted. “Into the hands of Gregory Glendonwyn, cried ea- Tell me dropped into the chair which I bad set for him at his first entering Wk SRR S . It was thus I became aware of the strange domestic event which shapes all my history, which has caused me to write this for the information of the excellent man who, at my request and that of others of my family, has spent so much time in putting together the materials which my- self and others have intrusted to him But to return to Duncan Grierson. The old man sat and sobbed because of the breaking of his faith in the wan who all bis life long had been as an idol to him, “God forgle me!" he moaned. “I kenned Do more than the dead that go down to sllence what I was doing. Saunders Greg, the coachman, had been sent to Drumfern on some message for young Malster Rupert, wanted sae prompt. For ya maun ken that Englishman Warner, the mew Kilgour doctor, is Dever oot o' the place. He is band-fast wi* Maister Rupert, and I hae heard some gye queer talks atween him and the laird, too. ““Then, on the mext day, began the dirgle ower the paroch—'Maister John—him that was to be the mimister—has wiled away Davvid Olendennin's lass, and her ver yin that thocht his meditation sweet!” 1 bade the old man sit down and lell me But ready to bresk doon the auld waa's my malster Gregory ordered me to ta' him Dbegloning to slant up out of But if all the| that 1 ken no more than you—! your father!” groaned the old butler, and | and when the carrfage was wanted in a hurry I bethocht me that It was some matter o' doctors or medicine that was | sister has gaen wi' her for company!’ Then | cam' the auld man himself to Castle Gower for the grave. But Maister Rupert he Lord—1I declare it gles aird creeps juist to hear him—whiles wi' that saft-spoken squint- eyed doctor but malr aften by himsel'— lauchin, lauchin'—and jil-done deeds, or maybes the green grass ower them by thix time for ocht I ken. “But what Iwant ye to do is juist fhis —an ye will ta’ the word o' an auld servant | against your ain kith and kin. “Tak’' your beast wi' ye, and when ye are oft the ground o' Ephraim Grey, turn | your horses' heed and ride straight and { canny for the change-hoose at the Ferry o' the. Slake. Rupert, your brither, gaed awa’ this mornin’ early. Your falther rade alt yestereen, and I heard the yin tell the! ‘tither that they were to meet ‘to set things finally to richte at the Change-noose o' the Corse o' Slakes.' Dootless there's some will be on the watch for you, sir. And I ken this—that your faither's main fear is that you, Maister John, will get on the track o' the lasses. “‘We must keep an eye upon John!' heard Gregory Glendonwyn say. “But Rupert cries, “Nonsense—Sir In- nogencio is all for his parish and good works now. We have nothing to fear from him!" “ ‘Do not be so sure—Johu has more wit than you credit him with!' says the laird, shaking his head. “‘A fig for his wit! cries Master Ru- pert; ‘the cream of the thing is that bhis money will tide us over till—till—' “Till 1 have put right what you put so far wrong, my poor foolish lad!' answers the laird. And he looks fondly at bim, as he never did &' bis lite at you." Now 1 own that it was hard for me to be told by a servadt how my own father ever hated me and loved my brother, yet {1 minded it not long. For I had many things to do other than brooding upon the chilly affections of my kinsfolk, be they ever so coldrife “Well, Griereon,” 1 made answer. I will go—come what will of it. And I shall de- mand to be told where the girls are. But tion, mor yet Do not be afraid. without that.” 80, somewhat comforted, Grieson took his way through among the tombstones and s0 out upon the white road, leaving me to | digest as best I might one of the sirangest | commentaries ever made upon & discours | preached from the text. My meditation of Him shall be sweet.” | And 1 wondered if David, the psalmist, | ever sang these word after the matter of Uriah the Hittite. And if the sweetness of the meditation were not in & moment made bitter by the thought of the man whom he | had set in the forefront of the battle where ! it was hottest upon Rabboth Ammon. So at | least wae it gall and wormwood to me to think that through me sorrow and shame | had come to the house of David Glenden~ ning compromise you, old friend. I can bring them to book | CHAPTER XIV. On the Corse of Siakes, (Being John Glendonwyn's Narrative Con- tinued.) Of the evening service, which according im public advertisement, I conducted that night in the Chryston barn, there remains to me no more than a haze of faces, and | the memory of a man speaking many words | mechanically, the meaning of which he | scarce knew. |1 stood ready for the attempt when 1 | rose to preach. For I had ridden my bors | Peden the Prophet, over, and stabled him in | the Chryston stables, where he was at the | time luxuriating in his feed of corn and | ruminating on jogging comfortably bome | with me to the manse. It was strange, rough-shod riding over the | face of the moorland, as Peden picked his | way among the water-worn stones, Orion e cast and I will not reveal the source of my informa- ; Quaranteed Oure or Money Refunded. VARIGOBELE., (55, tre el e antiyes oy oed i ted veins, and all sorences he Master imanhood semetimes comes from Variceesls of Stricture, in- ol diseases often result from polson: tainte in ¢he and mental decline frequently fellew loss of man! Extablahed |£m s Slvars care tha olecs as wal ta therouere” of aay kind I e ity "Ther L o Giae e Tan SIS _ERties Lagn) SRmTaetg e ovis R taieed ,ome treatment is successful. Address JOHN TILLOTSON, M. D., 1.3 Tilletson Building, 84 Dearhora Street, CHICAGQ. ra —— — R, the Pleiads wisped together in the zenith. I had many mingled thoughs of bitter and eweet, of my father and brother, who had set a snare for myself and done Injustice to Falrlie Glendenning. Yet when I thought of her there came such a gush of sweet into the bitter that it seemed that I was none other than a knight golng forth with sword and lance to bring back his well- beloved out of captivity. It was, I think, somewhere about an hour atter midnight that T discerned across the waste over which I had beer riding steadily & glimmering, uncertain light, which I took to be none other than that from the lone- some little ale house on the Corse of Slakes, whither T was bound. The Ferry house rested curfously lone. some, avolded by decent travelers, beetle- browed and forbidding in external mspect and infelix o repute—like some evil woman, old, imbittered and no longer able to spread her nets in the sight of any bird, but ever brooding on the days when nets were full and green-goose catching was an easy trade, S0 the place apeared to me, as I urged Peden forward toward the light. A fine new highway indeed passed in front of the house, carrying straight forward between it and the sea, but I was approaching the Ferry house from the moor behind, and in that direction the windows are hut little raised above the moss. There was no sou! moving anywhere, yet when T found the stable, lo! there was a beast already there, champing at his man- ger, ‘Then, by dint of groping, I found a foed of oats in the corn chest, which I gave to Peden. For I knew mot what was before me, mor what strange ways I might need to traverse ere the morning. This business finished, to be yet more torehanded, I turned the key of the stable and put It in my pocket. My ca¥e being so uncommon and my de- sire to ind the lost maldens so overwhelm- ing, 1 did not consider it beneath me to le down on my belly and take a look through the windows of the hut to see what I could soy within. But the interior of the kitchen being lit only by the red firé, which glowed, rather than burned, on the hearth, I could cn'y| dimly perceive a dark figure shrouded n & great cloak, which now and then cast a faggot of peat upon the ‘greisoch’ of rcd embers. ten, as her appearance advertised her to be. Beside the kitchen there was another| *I am seeking my brother—stand aside chamber or “ben-the-heose” at the other |l sald, briefly. end of the Ferry house, but & mewspapsr| B0 1 opemed the door, and there before darkened its little foot-square of window,! me, playiug a tune to himself upon a small swung back and forth, as if the owner had crossed his legs and was sitting very mych at his ease. But the more I looked, acting the spy for Fairlie's sake, as I would not have done for any other cause, the more d'd I becomo convinced that my brother, Rupert, was within, The swinging boot was a small and varnished one. and I could think of no other save Rupert who would be likely to carry such a cavalier accountrement to tho Corse of Slakes. At that moment a horse nelghing from the stable, caused the varnished boot to disappear if in the direction of the door. 1 recognized the sound also, being quick to distingulsh the characteristic noises of animals. The neigh was obvi- ously my brother's black Bravo making acqualntance with the dappled patriarch of Glenluce, my good Peden, the Prophet. After that there was no longer any doubt about the matter. Grierson had not been mistaken, Opening the outer door of the hut and bending my head I passed into the smoky interior. An old woman sprang to her teet with more agllity than a mishapen back and features wrinkled and smoke-dried might have betokened, “Eh, Malster Gregory,” she cried, “what's brocht ye back already frae Hamish preserve us a'—what's come o' the—' But before she had time to finlsh her sentence—upon which so much depended— she bad recognized from my height and appearance that I could not be Gregory Glendonwyn. “A minister!"” she cried, “and what, rev- erend sir, micht yo be seekin' at the change hoose o' the Corse o' Slakes this Sabbath nicht?" 1 had, however, no wish to waste time upon ber, so I did not answer, but pushed on in the direction of the ‘bem room,’ oc- cupled by the wearer of the varnished rid- ing boots. The old woman, for-all her infirmitles, was at the door before me. “Na,” she cried, “in there ye shalina gang till ye hae telled me your errand ™™ But I put her aside with as little force as was possible, considering that she clusg to me rather lMke a cat with nine lives than a woman well past the three-scors and and even the chimney which I squinted|and dainty flute, was my brother, Rupert down was too parrow to reveal more of the Glendopwyn. booted occupant than one foot, which (To Be Continued.) Is an ordeal which all ECOMING =72 indescribable fear, f A MOTHER ;.- the pain and horror of child-birth., The thought of the suffering and danger in store for her, robs the expectant mether of all pleasant anticipations of the coming event, and casts over her a shadow of gloom which cannot be shaken off. 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