* *

An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed,
passed through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now
M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to his enemy.

"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to
say--"

The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.

"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon
wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us."

The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone.
But the little man pursued him.

"I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
he!"

"Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On Saturday,
as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty."

"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--" and the little
man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.

At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're comin'
along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie us if we
dinna bring yo' home wi' us."

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire
first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you."

The Master faltered a moment.

"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice. "Yo'
should, lad."

The boy made a gesture of dissent.

"I canna," he said petulantly.

"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
after."

As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
emptiness:

"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he! he! I mind it as
if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
don't succeed, why, try, try again--he! he!"

* * * * *

Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached