ttered
criticism that "that tongue o' the auld leddy's could ding a' the
Luckenbooths--aye, and the West Bow as weel." However, once subjected,
she proved a kindly and a willing slave. I have, however, my suspicions
that in these days Mr. Pathrick McGrier, ex-janitor of the Latin
classroom, had but a poor time of it so far as the preparation of his
meals went, and as to housekeeping she was simply not there.

For she slept now under the stairs in a lair she had rigged up for
herself, which she said was "rale comfortable," but certainly to the
unaccustomed had an air of great stuffiness.

But I need not write at large what, after all, is no unique experience.
One night, upon my grandmother's pressing invitation, I walked out on
Bruntsfield Links, and kicked stones into the golfers' holes for
something to do. It was full moon, I remember, and away to the north the
city slept while St. Giles jangled fitfully. I had come there to be away
from the little white house, where Irma was passing through the first
peril of great waters which makes women's faces different ever after--a
few harder, most softer, none ever the same.

Ten times I came near, stumbling on the short turf, my feet numb and
uncertain beneath me, my limbs flageolating, and my heart rent with a
man's helplessness. I called upon God as I had not done in my life
before. I had been like many men--so long as I could help myself, I saw
no great reason for troubling the Almighty who had already so much on
His hands. But now I could do nothing. I had an appalling sense of
impotence. So I remembered that He was All-powerful, and just because I
had never asked anything with true fervour before, He would the more
surely give this to me. So at least I argued as I prayed.

And, sure enough, the very next time I coasted the northern shore of the
Meadows, as near as I dared, there came one running towards me, clear
in the moonlight--Mistress Pathrick it was and no other.

"A laddie--a fine laddie!" she panted, waving both her hands in her
enthusiasm.

"And Irma?" I cried, for that did not interest me at that moment, no,
not a pennyworth.

"A bhoy--as foine a bhoy----"

"Tell me, how is Irma?" I shouted--"quick!"

"Wud turn the scale at eleven, divil a ounce less----"

"Woman, tell me how is my wife!" I thundered, lifting up my hands, "or
I'll twist your foolish neck!"

"Keep us!" said Mrs. Pathrick, "why, how should she be? Did ye expect
she would be up and ba