t?" returned the librarian, who always repelled first
approaches, in which he was only like Thomas himself, and many other
worthy people, both Scotch and English.

"A stranger sud aye be welcomed to onybody's hoose."

"I didna ken it was your hoose."

"Ow na. It's no my hoose. It's the Lord's hoose. But a smile frae the
servan'-lass that opens the door's something till a man that gangs to
ony hoose for the first time, ye ken," returned Thomas, who, like many
men of rough address, was instantly put upon his good behaviour by the
exhibition of like roughness in another.

This answer disarmed Cupples. He looked up into Thomas's face, and saw
first a massive chin; then a firmly closed mouth; then a nose, straight
as a Greek's, but bulky and of a rough texture; then two keen grey
eyes, and lastly a big square forehead supported by the two pedestals
of high cheek bones--the whole looking as if it had been hewn out of
his professional granite, or rather as if the look of the granite had
passed into the face that was so constantly bent over it fashioning the
stubborn substance to the yet more stubborn human will. And Cupples not
only liked the face, but felt that he was in the presence of one of the
higher natures of the world--made to command, or rather, which is far
better, to influence. Before he had time to reply, however, Thomas
resumed:

"Ye hae had a heap o' tribble, I doobt, wi' that laddie, Alec Forbes."

"Naething mair nor was nateral," answered Cupples.

"He's a fine crater, though. I ken that weel. Is he come back, do ye
think?"

"What do ye mean? He's lyin' in's bed, quaiet eneuch, puir fallow!"

"Is he come back to the fold?"

"Nae to the missionars, I'm thinkin'."

"Dinna anger me. Ye're nae sae ignorant as ye wad pass for. Ye ken weel
eneuch what I mean. What care I for the missionars mair nor ony ither
o' the Lord's fowk, 'cep that they're mair like his fowk nor ony ither
that I hae seen?"

"Sic like's Robert Bruce, for a sample."

Thomas stopped as if he had struck against a stone wall, and went back
on his track.

"What I want to ken is whether Alec unnerstans yet that the prodigal's
aye ill aff; and--"

"Na," interrupted Cupples. "He's never been cawed to the swine yet. Nor
he sudna be, sae lang's I had a saxpence to halve wi' him."

"Ye're no richt, frien', _there_. The suner a prodigal comes to the
swine the better!"

"Ay; that's what you richteous elder brithers think. I ken that wee