and there among a kind o' folk, he has need to be watchfu'
and to use his privileges when he has the opportunity."

"We a' need to be watchful."

"Ay, do we, as ye say. But there are folk for whom ower-muckle
prosperity's nae benefit."

"There's few o' us been tried wi' ower-muckle prosperity of late, I'm
thinkin'. And as for John, if a' tales be true, he has had his share o'
the ither thing in his day."

"Weel, I hae been hearin' that John Beaton has had a measure o'
prosperity since he was here afore, and if it's good for him it will
bide wi' him. He kens Him that sent it, and who has His e'e on him."

"Ay, ay; it's as ye say. But prosperity or no prosperity, I'm no' feart
for John."

"Weel, I canna just say that I'm feart for him mysel'. Gin he is ane o'
His ain, the Lord will keep a grip o' him, dootless. It's no' that I'm
feart, but he has never taken the richt stand among us, as ye ken. And
ye ken also wha says, `Come oot from among them and be ye separate.' He
ay comes to the kirk when he's here. But we've nae richt hold on him.
And where he gaes, or what he does at ither places, wha kens? I hae ay
fear o' folk that are `neither cauld nor het.'"

Fortunately the friends had reached the spot where their ways parted,
and Peter, being slow of speech, had not his answer ready, so Saunners
went home content at having said his say, and more content still at
having had the last word.

All this time John Beaton was striding about the lanes in the darkness,
as much at a loss as his friend, Saunners Crombie, as to what had
happened to him. He had not got the length of thinking about it yet.
He was just "dazed-like," as the schoolmistress would have said--
confused, perplexed, bewildered, getting only a glimpse of what might be
the cause of it all, and the consequences.

If he had known--if it had come into his mind, that the sorrowful eyes
which were looking at him out of the darkness--the soft, brown eyes,
like Crummie's, which had met his first on the hilltop, might have power
over him to make or to undo, as other eyes had wrought good or evil in
the lives of other men, he would have laughed at the thought and scorned
it.

He had had a long day of it. Since three in the morning he had walked
the thirty miles that lay between Nethermuir and Aberdeen, to say
nothing of the rumble in Peter Gilchrist's cart to the Stanin' Stanes,
and the walk home again with little Marjorie in his arms. No wonder
t