ou and Cargill will put it through between
you."

They began to talk about those weariful small holdings, and I ceased to
listen. We left the dining-room and drifted to the library, where a
fire tried to dispel the gloom of the weather. There was a feeling of
deadly depression abroad, so that, for all its awkwardness, I would
really have preferred the former Caerlaverock dinner. The Prime
Minister was whispering to his host. I heard him say something about
there being "the devil of a lot of explaining" before him.

Vennard and Cargill came last to the library, arm-in-arm as before.

"I should count it a greater honour," Vennard was saying, "to sweeten
the lot of one toiler in England than to add a million miles to our
territory. While one English household falls below the minimum scale
of civic wellbeing, all talk of Empire is sin and folly." "Excellent!"
said Mr. Cargill. Then I knew for certain that at last peace had
descended upon the vexed tents of Israel.

THE SHORTER CATECHISM

(Revised Version)

When I was young and herdit sheep
I read auld tales o' Wallace wight;
My heid was fou o' sangs and threip
O' folk that feared nae mortal might.
But noo I'm auld, and weel I ken
We're made alike o' gowd and mire;
There's saft bits in the stievest men,
The bairnliest's got a spunk o' fire.

Sae hearken to me, lads,
It's truth that I tell:
There's nae man a' courage--
I ken by mysel'.

I've been an elder forty year:
I've tried to keep the narrow way:
I've walked afore the Lord in fear:
I've never missed the kirk a day.
I've read the Bible in and oot,
(I ken the feck o't clean by hert).
But, still and on, I sair misdoot
I'm better noo than at the stert.

Sae hearken to me, lads,
It's truth I maintain:
Man's works are but rags, for
I ken by my ain.

I hae a name for decent trade:
I'll wager a' the countryside
Wad sweer nae trustier man was made,
The ford to soom, the bent to bide.
But when it comes to coupin' horse,
I'm just like a' that e'er was born;
I fling my heels and tak' my course;
I'd sell the minister the morn.

Sae hearken to me, lads,
It's truth that I tell:
There's nae man deid honest--
I ken by mysel'.

III

THE LEMNIAN

He pushed the matted locks from his brow as he peered into the mist.
His hair was thick with salt, and his eyes smarted from the greenwood
fire on the poop. The four slaves