Part 94 (1/2)

And I cam to believe 'at he wad mak you a good man at last. O father, it's been my dream waukin' an' sleepin' to hae you back to me an'

grannie, an' mamma, an' the Father o' 's a', an' Jesus Christ that's done a'thing for 's. An' noo ye maun pray to G.o.d, father. Ye will pray to G.o.d to haud a grip o' ye--willna ye, father?'

'I will, I will, Robert. But I've been an awfu' sinner. I believe I was the death o' yer mother, laddie.'

Some closet of memory was opened; a spring of old tenderness gushed up in his heart; at some window of the past the face of his dead wife looked out: the old man broke into a great cry, and sobbed and wept bitterly. Robert said no more, but wept with him.

Henceforward the father clung to his son like a child. The heart of Falconer turned to his Father in heaven with speechless thanksgiving.

The ideal of his dreams was beginning to dawn, and his life was new-born.

For a few days Robert took Andrew about to see those of his old friends who were left, and the kindness with which they all received him, moved Andrew's heart not a little. Every one who saw him seemed to feel that he or she had a share in the redeeming duty of the son. Robert was in their eyes like a heavenly messenger, whom they were bound to aid; for here was the possessed of demons clothed and in his right mind.

Therefore they overwhelmed both father and son with kindness. Especially at John Lammie's was he received with a perfection of hospitality; as if that had been the father's house to which he had returned from his prodigal wanderings.

The good old farmer begged that they would stay with him for a few days.

'I hae sae mony wee things to luik efter at Rothieden, afore we gang,'

said Robert.

'Weel, lea' yer father here. We s' tak guid care o' 'im, I promise ye.'

'There's only ae difficulty. I believe ye are my father's frien', Mr.

Lammie, as ye hae been mine, and G.o.d bless ye; sae I'll jist tell you the trowth, what for I canna lea' him. I'm no sure eneuch yet that he could withstan' temptation. It's the drink ye ken. It's months sin' he's tasted it; but--ye ken weel eneuch--the temptation's awfu'. Sin' ever I got him back, I haena tasted ae mou'fu' o' onything that cud be ca'd strong drink mysel', an' as lang 's he lives, not ae drap shall cross my lips--no to save my life.'

'Robert,' said Mr. Lammie, giving him his hand with solemnity, 'I sweir by G.o.d that he shanna see, smell, taste, nor touch drink in this hoose.

There's but twa boatles o' whusky, i' the shape o' drink, i' the hoose; an' gin ye say 'at he sall bide, I'll gang and mak them an' the midden weel acquant.'

Andrew was pleased at the proposal. Robert too was pleased that his father should be free of him for a while. It was arranged for three days. Half-an-hour after, Robert came upon Mr. Lammie emptying the two bottles of whisky into the dunghill in the farmyard.

He returned with glad heart to Rothieden. It did not take him long to arrange his grandmother's little affairs. He had already made up his mind about her house and furniture. He rang the bell one morning for Betty.

'Hae ye ony siller laid up, Betty?'

'Ay. I hae feifteen poun' i' the savin's bank.'

'An' what do ye think o' doin'?'

'I'll get a bit roomy, an' tak in was.h.i.+n'.

'Weel, I'll tell ye what I wad like ye to do. Ye ken Mistress Elshender?'

'Fine that. An' a verra dacent body she is.'

'Weel, gin ye like, ye can haud this hoose, an' a' 'at's in't, jist as it is, till the day o' yer deith. And ye'll aye keep it in order, an'

the ga'le-room ready for me at ony time I may happen to come in upo'

ye in want o' a nicht's quarters. But I wad like ye, gin ye hae nae objections, to tak Mistress Elshender to bide wi' ye. She's turnin' some frail noo, and I'm unner great obligation to her Sandy, ye ken.'

'Ay, weel that. He learnt ye to fiddle, Robert--I hoombly beg your pardon, sir, Mister Robert.'