ayed the
utterance of that which was in her heart. But perhaps Mrs Hume did not
need to be told in words, for she gave silently the sympathy which was
needed, all the same, and her friend was comforted and strengthened by
it.

"Yes," said she, "I am coming back again in the spring. It is more like
home here among you all than any other place is likely to be now; and
John will ay be coming and going, whatever he may at last decide to do."

Perhaps the silence of the minister as to John's new intentions and
plans implied a doubt in his mind as to their wisdom. Mrs Beaton was
silent also with regard to them, refusing to admit to herself or to him,
that her son needed to have his sense and wisdom defended.

But they loved John dearly in the manse, and trusted him entirely, as
his mother saw with a glad heart. So her visit ended happily, and no
trace of anxiety or regret was visible in her face when John met her at
her journey's end.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

"The very rod,
If we but kiss it as the stroke descendeth,
Distilleth oil to allay the inflicted smart."

And so their new life began, and long before the first month was over,
Mrs Beaton was apparently as content with the state of affairs as could
well be desired. She had no trouble as to household matters, and sat
with her book or her needle at one side of the table, while her son sat
with his books and his papers at the other side, very much as they had
done during those evenings which John had spent at home in Nethermuir.

Robert Hume lived in the same house, and their meals were served
together. But Robert pursued his college work in his own room, and only
came as a visitor to Mrs Beaton's parlour when his books were put
aside. John still spent several hours daily in Mr Swinton's office,
and all the rest of the time he was busy also with his college work. To
see her son content, was enough for Mrs Beaton.

To give the history of one day would be giving the history of nearly all
the days of the winter, except as the Sabbath made a break among them,
Robin was reasonably industrious, but he could not be expected to
satisfy himself with the unbroken routine into which John readily fell.
He had his own companions and his amusements, and their meals were
enlivened by his cheerful accounts of all that was happening in the
world around them. At his books Robert did fairly well, but he was not
likely to overwork himself.

They heard often from Mar