hat he was a little upset, he told himself. He was tired, and it was
time he was in his bed. So with a glance at the moon which was showing
her face from behind a cloud--she had a queer look, he thought--he
turned homeward.

He stepped lightly, and opened the door softly, lest his mother should
be disturbed so late. A foolish thought of his, since he knew that "his
very step had music in't" to her ears.

"Well, John?" said she, as he paused a moment at her door. And when he
did not answer at once, she asked, "Is it well with you, John?"

"Surely, mother. Why should you ask?"

"And they were glad to see you at the manse?"

"Oh! yes, mother. They're ay kind, as ye ken."

"Ay, they're ay kind. And did you see--Allison Bain?"

"Allison Bain!" repeated John, dazed-like still. "Ay, I saw her--at the
Stanin' Stanes, as I told you."

"Yes, you told me. And all's well with you, John?"

"Surely, mother," repeated John, a little impatiently. "What should ail
me?" And then he added, "I'm tired with my long tramp, and I'll away to
my bed. Good-night, mother."

He touched with his strong, young fingers the wrinkled hand that lay on
the coverlid, and the touch said more to her than a kiss or a caress
would have said to some mothers.

"Sleep sound!" said she.

But the charm did not work, for when daylight came he had not closed his
eyes.

CHAPTER NINE.

"The honest man, howe'er so poor,
Is king of men for a' that."

John Beaton's father had been John Beaton also, and so had _his_ father
before him. The first John had farmed a three-cornered nook of land,
which had found a place among the grey stones scattered closely over a
certain part of the high coast that looks down upon one of the narrow
bays setting in from the North Sea.

He must have been a strong man, this John, for on this bit of land he
lived and laboured for sixty years and more, and on it he brought up,
and then sent out, to make a place for themselves, in their own, or in
other land's, five strong sons and four fair daughters. And he had so
brought them up that never, as long as he lived, did he, or any one
else, hear aught of son or daughter to cause him to bow his good grey
head before the face of man.

One son, neither the eldest nor the youngest, stayed near home. First
he had broken stones on one of the great highways which they were
stretching through Scotland about that time. Then he learned to cut and
dress the grey g