clean eneuch efter what I've come throu
sin' I drappit frae the window-sill i' the ga'le-room. But jist len' me
yer plaid, an' I'll sleep upo' the rug here as gin I war i' Paradees.
An' faith, sae I am, Robert. Ye maun gang to yer bed some time the nicht
forby (besides), or ye winna be fit for yer wark the morn. Ye can jist
gie me a kick, an' I'll be up afore ye can gie me anither.'

Their supper arrived from below, and, each on one side of the fire,
they ate the porridge, conversing all the while about old times--for
the youngest life has its old times, its golden age--and old
adventures,--Dooble Sanny, Betty, &c., &c. There were but two subjects
which Robert avoided--Miss St. John and the Bonnie Leddy. Shargar was at
length deposited upon the little bit of hearthrug which adorned rather
than enriched the room, with Robert's plaid of shepherd tartan around
him, and an Ainsworth's dictionary under his head for a pillow.

'Man, I fin' mysel' jist like a muckle colley (sheep-dog),' he said.
'Whan I close my een, I'm no sure 'at I'm no i' the inside o' yer auld
luckie-daiddie's kilt. The Lord preserve me frae ever sic a fricht again
as yer grannie an' Betty gae me the nicht they fand me in 't! I dinna
believe it's in natur' to hae sic a fricht twise in ae lifetime. Sae
I'll fa' asleep at ance, an' say nae mair--but as muckle o' my prayers
as I can min' upo' noo 'at grannie's no at my lug.'

'Haud yer impidence, an' yer tongue thegither,' said Robert. 'Min' 'at
my grannie's been the best frien' ye ever had.'

''Cep' my ain mither,' returned Shargar, with a sleepy doggedness in his
tone.

During their conference, Ericson had been slumbering. Robert had visited
him from time to time, but he had not awaked. As soon as Shargar was
disposed of, he took his candle and sat down by him. He grew more
uneasy. Robert guessed that the candle was the cause, and put it out.
Ericson was quieter. So Robert sat in the dark.

But the rain had now ceased. Some upper wind had swept the clouds from
the sky, and the whole world of stars was radiant over the earth and its
griefs.

'O God, where art thou?' he said in his heart, and went to his own room
to look out.

There was no curtain, and the blind had not been drawn down, therefore
the earth looked in at the storm-window. The sea neither glimmered nor
shone. It lay across the horizon like a low level cloud, out of which
came a moaning. Was this moaning all of the earth, or was there t