rightening
with satisfaction. Then a cloud came over his brow--for was he not
rejoicing in iniquity? At least he was rejoicing in coming shame.

"Hoo cud it hae been," he asked after a brief pause, "that Bruce didna
fa' upo' this, as weel's you, Mr Cupples, or didna scart it oot?"

"'Cause 'twas written in Latin. The body hadna the wit to misdoobt the
contents o' 't. It said naething _till_ him, and he never thoucht it
cud say onything _aboot_ him."

"It's a fine thing to be a scholar, Mr Cupples."

"Ay, whiles."

"They say the Miss Cowies are great scholars."

"Verra likly.--But there's ae thing mair I wad put ye up till. Can ye
tell the day o' the month that ye gaed hame wi' yer prayin' frien'?"

"It was the nicht o' a special prayer-meetin' for the state o'
Glamerton. I can fin' oot the date frae the kirk-buiks. What am I to do
wi' 't whan I hae't, sir?"

"Gang to the bank the body deals wi', and spier whether a note beirin'
the nummer o' thae figures was paid intil 't upo' the Monday followin'
that Sunday, and wha paid it. They'll tell ye that at ance."

But for various reasons, which it is needless to give in this history,
Thomas was compelled to postpone the execution of his project. And
Robert went on buying and selling and getting gain, all unaware of the
pit he had digged for himself.

CHAPTER LXXXIV.

One Sunday morning Mr Cupples was returning from church with Alec.

"Ye likit the sermon the day, Mr Cupples."

"What gars ye think that?"

"I saw ye takin' notes a' the time."

"Gleg-eed mole!" said Mr Cupples. "Luik at the notes as ye ca' them."

"Eh! it's a sang!" exclaimed Alec with delight.

"What cud gar ye think I likit sic havers? The crater was preachin'
till's ain shaidow. And he pat me into sic an unchristian temper o'
dislike to him and a' the concern, that I ran to my city o' refuge. I
never gang to the kirk wi'oot it--I mean my pocket-buik. And I tried to
gie birth till a sang, the quhilk, like Jove, I conceived i' my heid
last nicht."

"Lat me luik at it," said Alec, eagerly.

"Na, ye wadna mak' either rhyme or rizzon o' 't as it stan's. I'll read
it to ye."

"Come and sit doon, than, on the ither side o' the dyke."

A dyke in Scotland is an earthen fence--to my prejudiced mind, the
ideal of fences; because, for one thing, it never keeps anybody out.
And not to speak of the wild bees' bykes in them, with their
inexpressible honey, like that of Mount Hymettus--