"It's weel on till a towmon (twelvemonth) that ye hae had neither bite
nor sup aneath my heumble riggin-tree (rooftree), and as that was the
upmak for the interest, I maun pay ye the tane seein' ye winna accep'
o' the tither. I hae jist brocht ye ten poun' to pit i' yer ain pooch
i' the meantime."

Annie could hardly believe her ears. Could she be the rightful owner of
such untold wealth? Without giving her time to say anything, however,
Bruce went on, still holding in his hand the dirty bunch of one-pound
notes.

"But I'm thinkin' the best way o' disposin' o' 't wad be to lat me put
it to the lave o' the prencipal. Sae I'll jist tak it to the bank as I
gang back. I canna gie ye onything for 't, 'cause that wad be brakin'
the law against compoon interest, but I can mak' it up some ither gait,
ye ken."

But Annie had been too much pleased at the prospect of possession to
let the money go so easily.

"I hae plenty o' ways o' spen'in' 't," she said, "withoot wastry. Sae
I'll jist tak' it mysel', and thank ye, Mr Bruce."

She rose and took the notes from Bruce's unwilling hand. He was on the
point of replacing them in his trowsers-pocket and refusing to give
them up, when her promptitude rescued them. Discomfiture was manifest
in his reluctant eyes, and the little tug of retraction with which he
loosed his hold upon the notes. He went home mortified, and
poverty-stricken, but yet having gained a step towards a further end.

Annie begged Mrs Forbes to take the money.

"I have no use for it, ma'am. An old gown of yours makes as good a
frock for me as I can ever want to have."

But Mrs Forbes would not even take charge of the money--partly from the
pride of beneficence, partly from the fear of involving it in her own
straits. So that Annie, having provided herself with a few necessaries,
felt free to spend the rest as she would. How she longed for Tibbie
Dyster! But not having her, she went to Thomas Crann, and offered the
money to him.

"'Deed no, lassie! I winna lay a finger upo' 't. Lay't by till ye want
it yersel'."

"Dinna ye ken somebody that wants't mair nor me, Thomas?"

Now Thomas had just been reading a few words spoken, according to
Matthew, the tax-gatherer, by the King of Men, declaring the perfection
of God to consist in his giving good things to all alike, whether they
love him or not. And when Annie asked the question, he remembered the
passage and Peter Peterson together. But he could not trust