About two miles from the cottage was a small inn and dramshop familiarly known as Daft Jamie's. The nominal proprietor was James McAllister, but the house was kept by his wife; for, many years before, McAllister had been so badly injured in a drunken brawl that he had never fully recovered his reason, and had ever since borne the name of Daft Jamie. This was a place of resort for all the idlers of the neighborhood, who came here to gossip and drink and empty their pockets into Mrs. McAllister's money-drawer. Rab well knew the road to this place, but since he had brought his family to his brother's house he had kept away from it.

One evening late in autumn Robert Murdoch failed to come home as usual. As the evening advanced Jeannie's fears fast deepened into certainty; but she concealed her anxiety as well as she could and endeavored to appear cheerful.

Wullie had no fears concerning his brother. He sat down near the fire, preparing to doze until Rab should return; but before he was lost in slumber Jeannie broke the silence by remarking that the night was dark, and it was a long way to Daft Jamie's.

"What puts Daft Jamie's into your heid?" said Wullie. "Surely Rab is no there. He is crackin' wi' Donald McPherson or some o' the neebors. Dinna worry yoursel'. Gang to your bed, and I'll wait for Rab."

But Jeannie did not go to bed. She resumed her work and relapsed into silence.

Again Wullie settled himself into an easy posture and succeeded in falling asleep. The unhappy wife still listened for the footsteps of her husband, but all the sound she heard was the heavy breathing of the weary man in the chimney-corner. After another hour had passed she again roused the sleeper.

"I am right sorry to disturb you," she said, "but I am worried about Rab. Would you be sa kind as to gang and look for him?"

"Ay, I will gang, to please you," said he, putting on his bonnet and going out into the darkness. It was now late. As he passed the neighbors' houses one after another, he found only darkness and silence. The inmates were wrapped in slumber. Rab was not there. He kept on till he saw the light of Daft Jamie's. As he approached the house he heard loud laughing. He opened the door and beheld with astonishment his brother, who had always been as lithe as a willow, performing sundry feats for the amusement of the company. Rab was so much engaged that he did not notice the entrance of the new-comer.

"Gude save us!" exclaimed one of the company, "if here isna honest Wullie! I would liefer see the de'il himsel' in this place."

Wullie walked straight to his brother. "It is time all honest folk were at hame," said he.

Robert looked at him a moment, hardly knowing whether to be angry or to yield and feel foolish.

"Can a man no hae a bit o' merriment but ye maun come spierin' aboot after him?" he asked.

"Come hame. Dinna stop here makin' a gowk o' yoursel'," said Wullie in an undertone. "I could hide my face wi' very shame to see your foolish pranks to mak sport for these idle haverals."

Rab went home, but he was much displeased. He did not like the idea of his free moral agency being interfered with. He remained silent and sullen. When the Sabbath came he refused to accompany Wullie to church. Wullie remonstrated, but to no purpose. "Then ye can mind the bairns, and let your wife gang," he added.

"She can gang if she likes," Rab replied.

The day passed wearily to Robert Murdoch. He felt as one always feels when he is wilfully drifting from the right. To Wullie the day and means of grace had not been without profit. Ever since his brother came to live with him he had been debating with his conscience whether he ought to have family worship. That day he made up his mind to act on the side of duty. When the time for rest drew near, the time when so many of those honest, devout sons of Scotland bowed before the King of kings, Wullie took down the Bible he had so often read in private, and read aloud. Then he knelt in prayer, and one more altar was set up for the worship of God. Short and simple, yet touching, was the prayer of honest Wullie. Especially did he pray that they all might be delivered from the power of the tempter. After he arose from his knees he remarked to Robert,

"Ye dinna mind when our faither kept the fire o' devotion burning on sic an altar as I hae this night set up, but I mind it weel; and I mind, mairover, that God's fury is to be poured out on the families that call not on his name; so I hae made up my mind that, come what will, I will daily raise my voice in praise to God, to whom I owe every good thing I possess."

Jeannie, who had often in her hours of trouble turned her thoughts towards God, heartily assented to this arrangement. But Rab said to himself, "What is the need o' sic an ado?" He felt that the breath of piety in his home was a constant rebuke to his wilful course, and it vexed him. Truly, "the way of the transgressor is hard."

But Rab's resentment gradually wore away, and the little household had nearly regained its wonted cheerfulness when, in a few weeks, Rab was again absent.

"I wonder what is keeping Rab," said Jeannie, as they sat down to supper without him. Wullie was as anxious as herself; for when the demon of drink has once entered a household, one never knows at what moment shame, or a worse thing, may come to the door.

As the candle burned low, and the evening was far advanced, Wullie arose and took his bonnet and plaid. "The night is cold, and it is o'er late. I will go and seek Rab. Something has gone wrang, or he would be here."

"He said ye werena to come again," was sobbed out by Jeannie, rather than spoken.

"I canna bide this suspense, and it is my duty to go. We are each our brother's keeper."

It was a still, cold night. The stars shone brightly, and the crusted snow sparkled in the moonlight. Wullie drew his plaid closely about him and strode forth in the direction of Daft Jamie's. He knew by the remark that greeted his ear on the former occasion that his presence was not regarded as desirable, so he slipped in very quietly. There was Mrs. McAllister, who was anxious to shut up for the night, and Rab with his boon companion Donald McPherson. When Wullie entered, Donald was vainly endeavoring to induce Rab to go home.

"Hands off," said Wullie, coming quickly forward; "I'll tak care o' him mysel'. He has had mair o' your care than is gude for him." Then, turning to the landlady and addressing her, he said, "Ye s'ould be mair careful hoo ye deal oot your foul whiskey."

He raised his brother to his feet, put his bonnet on his head, drew him to the door, and turned his face towards home. He took him by the arm and led him along as fast as possible. Jeannie had sat there anxiously waiting their return. They laid the scarcely conscious man in his bed, and then with aching hearts sought their own pillows, where at length tardy sleep came to relieve exhausted nature.

Robert awoke next morning too late to go to his work in time. His head ached; he felt angry with himself and angry with others. His wife bore his ill-humor with patience, and that annoyed him. Little Jamie noticed the change in his father. "What ails ye, faither, that ye dinna smile to wee Jamie?" he asked.

"Faither has a sair heid; rin awa and play by yoursel'," said the father.

Jeannie prepared a nice dinner, and she tried to wear a smile, but failed; for in her heart she felt that thick darkness hung over her future.

When honest Wullie returned from his work that evening his face was very grave. Thought had been active all day. Had he been too lenient with his brother when he was young and under his care? Had he failed to impress his mind with Bible truths? What was the cause of his intemperance? and why his aversion to vital piety? These and similar questions had troubled him all day. So while Rob had a "sair heid," Wullie had a sair heart. He took his Bible and read long to himself. Once, some large tears fell on the book. Rab saw them, and his heart was softened. He had never before seen tears in his brother's eyes. He moved uneasily about the room, and spoke pleasantly to his family. He even felt so nearly penitent as to listen patiently to the reading of the Scriptures, and to a lengthy prayer wherein were some allusions to his own shortcomings, for Wullie carried all his troubles to the throne of grace. So he besought the Lord, who is a present help in trouble, to draw near to his household, and to deliver them from the snare of the fowler; he entreated that, if Satan desired to have any of them, the blessed Master might pray for them as he did for Peter of old, and plead their poor prayers before the throne of mercy, and that delivering power might be felt in all their hearts.

The next day Rab was himself again. He went to his work, and came home at the usual time. He had thought a good deal during the day. He was ashamed of his weakness, and he had resolved to let strong drink alone. He told Wullie that he would never have to go again to Daft Jamie's to bring him home; and he promised Jeannie that he would drink no more. Jeannie rejoiced to hear him say so, although she knew a promise is more easily made than kept.

But Rab kept his resolution. He worked steadily all the next year. He attended church, and seemed anxious to do right. Hope sprang up in the hearts of his wife and brother. Wullie felt sure that God had heard his prayers. And God had heard them. But human strength, at best, is weak; and there was to be one more trial, the hardest and the last.