r
side of the Row! Fine-looking man, isn't he?"

Brian, looking up eagerly, fancied he must be mistaken for the only
passenger in sight was a very tall man of remarkably benign aspect,
middle-aged, yet venerable--or perhaps better described by the word
"devotional-looking," pervaded too by a certain majesty of calmness
which seemed scarcely suited to his character of public agitator.
The clean-shaven and somewhat rugged face was unmistakably that of a
Scotchman, the thick waves of tawny hair overshadowing the wide brow,
and the clear golden-brown eyes showed Brian at once that this could be
no other than the father of his ideal.

In the meantime, Raeburn, having caught sight of his daughter, slowly
crossed the road, and coming noiselessly up to her, suddenly took hold
of the book she was reading, and with laughter in his eyes, said, in a
peremptory voice:

"Five shillings to pay, if you please, miss!"

Erica, who had been absorbed in the poem, looked up in dismay; then
seeing who had spoken, she began to laugh.

"What a horrible fright you gave me, father! But do look at this, it's
the loveliest thing in the world. I've just got to the 'very strong man
Kwasind.' I think he's a little like you!"

Raeburn, though no very great lover of poetry, took the book and read a
few lines.

"Long they lived in peace together, Spake with naked hearts together,
Pondering much and much contriving How the tribes of men might prosper."

"Good! That will do very well for you and me, little one. I'm ready to
be your Kwasind. What's the price of the thing? Four and sixpence! Too
much for a luxury. It must wait till our ship comes in."

He put down the book, and they moved on together, but had not gone many
paces before they were stopped by a most miserable-looking beggar child.
Brian standing now outside the shop, saw and heard all that passed.

Raeburn was evidently investigating the case, Erica, a little impatient
of the interruption, was remonstrating.

"I thought you never gave to beggars, and I am sure that harrowing story
is made up."

"Very likely," replied the father, "but the hunger is real, and I know
well enough what hunger is. What have you here?" he added, indicating
the paper bag which Erica held.

"Scones," she said, unwillingly.

"That will do," he said, taking them from her and giving them to the
child. "He is too young to be anything but the victim of another's
laziness. There! Sit down and eat them while