lothes.

She died as she had lived, saying not a word when the minister,
thinking it his duty, drew a cruel comparison between her life and her
husband's.

"I got my first glimpse into the real state of affairs in that house,"
the doctor told me one night on the brae, "the day before she died
'You're sure there's no hope for me?' she asked wistfully, and when I
had to tell the truth she sank back on the pillow with a look of joy."

Nanny died with a lie on her lips. "Ay," she said, "Sanders has been a
guid man to me."

CHAPTER XIII

MAKING THE BEST OF IT

Hendry had a way of resuming a conversation where he had left off the
night before. He would revolve a topic in his mind, too, and then
begin aloud, "He's a queer ane," or, "Say ye so?" which was at times
perplexing. With the whole day before them, none of the family was
inclined to waste strength in talk; but one morning when he was blowing
the steam off his porridge, Hendry said, suddenly--

"He's hame again."

The women-folk gave him time to say to whom he was referring, which he
occasionally did as an after-thought. But he began to sup his
porridge, making eyes as it went steaming down his throat.

"I dinna ken wha ye mean," Jess said; while Leeby, who was on her knees
rubbing the hearthstone a bright blue, paused to catch her father's
answer.

"Jeames Geogehan," replied Hendry, with the horn spoon in his mouth.

Leeby turned to Jess for enlightenment.

"Geogehan," repeated Jess; "what, no little Jeames 'at ran awa?"

"Ay, ay, but he's a muckle stoot man noo, an' gey grey."

"Ou, I dinna wonder at that. It's a guid forty year since he ran off."

"I waurant ye couldna say exact hoo lang syne it is?"

Hendry asked this question because Jess was notorious for her memory,
and he gloried in putting it to the test.

"Let's see," she said.

"But wha is he?" asked Leeby. "I never kent nae Geogehans in Thrums."

"Weel, it's forty-one years syne come Michaelmas," said Jess.

"Hoo do ye ken?"

"I ken fine. Ye mind his father had been lickin' 'im, an' he ran awa
in a passion, cryin' oot 'at he would never come back? Ay, then, he
had a pair o' boots on at the time, an' his father ran after 'im an'
took them aff 'im. The boots was the last 'at Davie Mearns made, an'
it's fully ane-an-forty years since Davie fell ower the quarry on the
day o' the hill-market. That settles't. Ay, an' Jeames 'll be turned
fifty noo, for he was comin' on f