rly and anxiously, and with a purpose. For one had
a Jock, and another had a Tam, and a third had a Jock and a Tam and a
Sandy as well, who were all pushing up fast, and who had their own bread
to win. And it was "whiles no' just that easy to get work the laddies
were fit for, or which was fit for them."

"And you've done weel out there yourself, sir."

"And was it land ye were on?"

"Oh, man! it's the land I would like."

"And is the cold as bad as folk have whiles said: and the heat in
summer?"

"And would there be a chance for the laddies out there? Would they be
made welcome if they were to pack their kists and go?"

Mr Hadden answered all questions kindly and fully, making no such rosy
picture of life in America as some wandering lecturers on the subject
had been doing of late through all the countryside. Yes, there was good
land, and there was plenty of it, and in some places it was cheap. A
man could get good land and time to pay it in, and when it was paid for
it belonged to him and his forever. Yes, of course they would have
taxes to pay and roads to keep up, and all that. And they would have to
work, hard at first, and they would _always_ have to work if they were
to succeed. They would be welcome there, no fear of that. No
well-doing lad from Auld Scotland but would find work and friends, and a
home of his own after a while, in that free country. Would they like
it? Scotch folk mostly liked it. One that would do well at home would
be able to do far better for himself out there. And some who had failed
to do anything at home, had succeeded there. It was not a country where
gold grew on the trees, as some would like; but no man need be afraid to
go there if he had a will to work--and so on for a long time; and so
close grew the crowd and so eager the questioning, there was some danger
that the solemnity of the occasion might be forgotten in the growing
interest, for more people were coming in by twos and threes, and not one
of them all but was glad of a word with the minister's son.

In the meantime the minister was standing beside the dead master of the
house, with his hand resting on the bowed head of poor Allison Bain.
She had lifted her face once, when the first sound of his kind voice had
reached her ear--a face weary and worn, and utterly woebegone. But kind
as voice and words were, they had no power to reach her in the darkness
and solitariness of that hour. Her face was laid down