awa' i' the het pairts ye spak o'," said the
woman: "gien ye hadna ta'en the milk, ye wad hae gi'en me a sair hert."

"Eh, gudewife, it wad hae gi'en me ane to think I had!" returned Donal.
"The Lord gie ye back yer sodger laddie safe an' soon'! Maybe I'll hae
to gang efter 'im, sodger mysel'."

"Na, na, that wadna do. Ye're a scholar--that's easy to see, for a'
ye're sae plain spoken. It dis a body's hert guid to hear a man 'at
un'erstan's things say them plain oot i' the tongue his mither taucht
him. Sic a ane 'ill gang straucht till's makker, an' fin' a'thing
there hame-like. Lord, I wuss minnisters wad speyk like ither fowk!"

"Ye wad sair please my mither sayin' that," remarked Donal. "Ye maun be
jist sic anither as her!"

"Weel, come in, an' sit ye doon oot o' the sin, an' hae something to
ait."

"Na, I'll tak nae mair frae ye the day, an' I thank ye," replied Donal;
"I canna weel bide."

"What for no?"

"It's no sae muckle 'at I'm in a hurry as 'at I maun be duin'."

"Whaur are ye b'un' for, gien a body may speir?"

"I'm gaein' to seek--no my fortin, but my daily breid. Gien I spak as
a richt man, I wad say I was gaein' to luik for the wark set me. I'm
feart to say that straucht oot; I haena won sae far as that yet. I
winna du naething though 'at he wadna hae me du. I daur to say
that--sae be I un'erstan'. My mither says the day 'ill come whan I'll
care for naething but his wull."

"Yer mither 'ill be Janet Grant, I'm thinkin'! There canna be twa sic
in ae country-side!"

"Ye're i' the richt," answered Donal. "Ken ye my mither?"

"I hae seen her; an' to see her 's to ken her."

"Ay, gien wha sees her be sic like 's hersel'."

"I canna preten' to that; but she's weel kent throu' a' the country for
a God-fearin' wuman.--An' whaur 'll ye be for the noo?"

"I'm jist upo' the tramp, luikin' for wark."

"An' what may ye be pleast to ca' wark?"

"Ow, jist the communication o' what I hae the un'erstan'in' o'."

"Aweel, gien ye'll condescen' to advice frae an auld wife, I'll gie ye
a bit wi' ye: tak na ilka lass ye see for a born angel. Misdoobt her a
wee to begin wi'. Hing up yer jeedgment o' her a wee. Luik to the
moo' an' the e'en o' her."

"I thank ye," said Donal, with a smile, in which the woman spied the
sadness; "I'm no like to need the advice."

She looked at him pitifully, and paused.

"Gien ye come this gait again," she said, "ye'll no gang by my door?"

"I wull no," repl