e'll tell me if he's needing my
help. God bless him and keep him this day--and forever and ay."

Then John came in and they had their tea, and spoke about other things,
about the visit she had had in the afternoon from little Marjorie, whom
Allison Bain had carried in her arms to see her, as she often did, and
of how the child was growing stronger every day. And then they agreed
together that little Annie Thorn, who had been coming in to help Mrs
Beaton all these years, should come now to stay always, because it would
be better in many ways for both mistress and maid. They spoke of other
things besides; but it must be acknowledged that John said little, and
was not so ready with assent or with response as he was wont to be when
his mother had anything to say to him.

After a time they fell into silence for a little, and then John said:

"I have something to tell you, mother."

"Is it good news, John?" said his mother with a little flutter at her
heart.

"Part of it is good, surely. As for the rest--that may be good or bad,
as you shall take it."

"I'm waiting, John."

For John's head had drooped on his hand, and he sat thinking.

"And you're a wee anxious? But there is no occasion, mother dear. I
have good news. I meant to tell you the night I came home. I could
hardly wait till I got home to tell you. I dinna ken how I put it off,"
added John hurriedly. "Mother, did you ever hear my father speak of a
good turn he once did to one David Cunningham, a long time ago it must
have been?"

"No. He wasna one who was in the way of telling o' the good turns he
did, as ye ken. But I mind the name of Cunningham."

"This must have been before your day. Maybe a good while before it."
And John went on to tell the story of his father's timely help to a
foolish lad, and of the debt which the man wished to pay, according to
his friend's desire, to those who came after him. And when he had told
all he knew about it, and how the money which his father had given had
been increasing during all these years till it had become a sum so large
that the interest alone would keep his mother in comfort for the rest of
her life, his mother only said softly:

"Well, John?" as though the something which he had had to say was still
to be told.

"Well, mother, I think it is your turn now. Wasna that grand of my
father?"

"It was like him. And is this David Cunningham able to spare all that
money? It would be an ill thin