everything that brought discredit upon
it gave him deepest pain; everything that tended to raise its moral
tone was, to him, a personal favour and joy.

Sometimes his task had seemed impossible; sometimes he doubted his
ability to be of any use; but on this bright Sabbath morning a new
accession of hope had made him unusually happy. His eyes rested upon
the sun-bathed hilltops with a deep peace. Those enduring hills had
always been of great comfort to the watchman. As he saw the dense
forests change into fields of grain, they seemed the one immutable
feature in his surroundings and served as a familiar landmark to a
puzzled traveller.

"I will lift up mine eyes into the hills, from whence cometh mine aid,"
he quoted softly.

A brisk step sounded upon the stony road above; the old man did not
hear, his lips were still moving, his eyes still fixed in a happy
reverie upon the far-off horizon.

Collie arose slowly as a figure approached the gate. He was too well
versed in canine etiquette to bark at his master's oldest friend, but
he felt he should mark his approach in some way. He went forward with
waving tail and respectfully lowered head, uttering a gruff ejaculation
which could scarcely be called a bark and yet served as a form of
greeting.

The newcomer paused at the gate. "Aye, Duncan, ye're waitin'," he said.

Duncan Polite's friend was as unlike him as a Lowland Scot can be
unlike a Highlander, which is granting a very wide difference indeed.
He was short and thick-set, with energy and force speaking from every
limb of his well-knit frame. In spite of his near approach to
three-score-and-ten, he was erect and brisk, and, although he always
carried a stick, it was more for the purpose of emphasising his
forcible arguments than as a support for advancing age.

A stern, upright man was Andrew Johnstone, a terror to evil-doers and
so prone to carry out all the law and the prophets by physical force
that he had earned, among the irreverent youth of the community, the
name of "Splinterin' Andra."

The deep friendship between him and the gentle, poetic Duncan McDonald
was as strange as it was lasting; for, though they seemed not to
possess one characteristic in common, not once in all their long years
of comradeship had their allegiance waned.

At the sight of him, Duncan Polite started up in a bewildered fashion.

"Oh, and it will be you, Andra," he said, "Oh yes, yes, it will be time
to be going, ind