"Maister Jamieson," exclaimed Marget, with great solemnity, "ma hert'sdesire is to look at David a minister, and if the Almichty spayellow me tohear ma only bairn open his mooth in the Evangel, I wud hae naethingmair to ask ... but I doot sair it canna be managed."

Domsie had got all he asked, and he rose inside his strength.

"If David Howe disna get to college, then he's the first scholarI've lost in Drumtochty ... ye 'ill manage his keep and sic like?"

"Nae fear o' that," for Whinnie was warming, "tho' I haena a steek(stitch) o' recent claithes for four decades. But what aboot his fees andither ootgaeins?"

"There's ae man in the parish can pay Pemberton's fees without missinga penny, and I'll warrant he 'ill dae it."

"Are ye meanin' Drumsheugh?" exclaimed Whinnie, "for ye 'ill never get apenny piece oot o' him. Did ye no hear hoo the Frees wiled him intaetheir kirk, Sabbath past a week, when Netherton's sister's son fraeEdinboro' wes preaching the missionary sermon, expectin' a note, andif he didna change a shillin' at the public-hoose and pit in apenny. Sall, he's a lad Drumsheugh; a'm thinking ye may save yirjourney, Dominie."

But Marget looked away from her into the past, and her eyes had atender light. "He hed the best hert in the pairish aince."