ledgment of his obligations. It was
observed that he manifested a peculiar eagerness when through any
stray channel intelligence was received in the valley of the sayings
and doings in the world outside. Nothing was thought of this until one
day the passing pedler brought the startling news that the Lord
Protector was dead. The family were at breakfast in the kitchen of the
old house when this tardy representative of the herald Mercury
arrived, and, in reply to the customary inquiry as to the news he
carried, announced the aforesaid fact. Wilson was alive to its
significance with a curious wakefulness.

"It's braw tidings ye bring the day, man," he stammered with evident
concern, and with an effort to hide his nervousness.

"Yes, the old man's dead," said the pedler, with an air of consequence
commensurate with his message. "I reckon," he added, "Oliver's son
Richard will be Protector now."

"A sairy carle, that same Richard," answered Wilson; "I wot th' young
Charles 'ul soon come by his ain, and then ilka ane amang us 'ul see a
bonnie war-day. We've playt at shinty lang eneugh. Braw news,
man--braw news that the corbie's deid."

Wilson had never before been heard to say so much or to speak so
vehemently. He got up from the table in his nervousness, and walked
aimlessly across the floor.

"Why are you poapan about," asked Angus, in amazement; "snowkin like a
pig at a sow?"

At this the sinister light in Wilson's eyes that had been held in
check hitherto seemed at once to flash out, and he turned hotly upon
his master, as though to retort sneer for sneer. But, checking
himself, he took up his bonnet and made for the door.

"Don't look at me like that," Angus called after him, "or, maybe I'll
clash the door in thy face."

Wilson had gone by this time, and turning to his sons, Angus
continued,--

"Did you see how the waistrel snirpt up his nose when the pedler said
Cromwell was dead?"

It was obvious that something more was soon to be made known relative
to their farm servant. The pedler had no difficulty in coming to the
conclusion that Wilson was some secret spy, some disguised enemy of
the Commonwealth, and perhaps some Fifth Monarchy man, and a rank
Papist to boot. Mrs. Ray's serene face was unruffled; she was sure the
poor man meant no harm. Ralph was silent, as usual, but he looked
troubled, and getting up from the table soon afterwards he followed
the man whom he had brought under his father's roof, a