Pondering these thoughts, I slowly dressed and went downstairs to breakfast; but so wrapped up was I in reflection, and engrossed in legal procedure and probable eventualities, that when Betty appeared with my bacon and egg I could scarcely reconcile myself to my surroundings or at once realise my whereabouts. Fortunately she didn't notice my preoccupied air, otherwise my firm's long, blue, tax-looking letter would again have been blamed and execrated; nor did she make any attempt to pick up the thread-ends of our conversation regarding the regilding of the old frames. I wondered at this, as the conditions were propitious; and Betty, as a rule, follows up the trail of a crack as surely and consistently as a weasel follows a hare.

'Joe's in the back-kitchen brushin' your boots,' she said, as she handed me the morning papers; and I sighed with relief in the knowledge that Boyes's liquid was likely, for the time being at least, to remain on his shop shelf. 'Puir sowl, he's quite pleased when I ask him to do ocht for you,' she continued. 'Yesterday, withoot bein' bid, he got oot yin o' your suits o' claes an' pressed it wi' my big smoothin' ern on the kitchen table, an' he's made sic a job o't as wud be a credit to ony whip-the-cat. He has learned mair than drillin' in the airmy, I tell ye.'

'I believe that, Betty,' I said. 'The service is often a capital schoolmaster. But it was very good of him to look to my clothes. I'll not forget him for that.'

'Oh, mercy me, Maister Weelum, dinna you gi'e him ocht! He wad be black affronted an' terribly displeased if ye offered him money. No, no, it's neither wisdom nor charity to gi'e to Joe, for he's made mair siller lately than he kens hoo to tak' care o'. I can tell ye he cam' hame this time wi' a weel-filled pouch, an' for the first week o' six workin' days he did mak' it spin!'

'Spin, Betty? How in the world did he contrive to make money spin in Thornhill?' I asked.

'Haith, if ye had only seen him ye wadna need to ask. Ahem, spin! Ay, Joe can not only mak' the money spin, but he spins himsel', an' he mak's every yin spin that'll sit wi' him. But mebbe I'm gaun ower quick. Did ye no' ken that Joe tak's a dram?'

'No, Betty, I did not; and, as he's a brother of Nathan's, I'm surprised to know it.'

'Oh, weel, but it's juist possible that I'm wrangin' Joe noo. He's what I wad ca' a regular drammer—tak's his gless o' beer every day—ye ken; but aince a year, an' for a while efter he comes back, he gangs fairly ower the soore baith wi' drinkin' himsel' an' treatin' ithers. Ye ken he then has siller galore among his fingers, an' wi' Joe, as wi' the rest o' folk, "the fu' cup's no' easy carried." Last year he had a gey time o't; spent a lot, an' grudged it terribly when it was a' gane. Nathan canna be bothered wi' 'im in his thochtlessness. A' he says is "Benjy's a fule." He ca's him Benjy because he's the youngest o' the family. Ay, that's a' he says. But somewey I'm sorry for Joe, an' I'm aye ceevil an' nice to him. An', what think ye, Maister Weelum? He has signed the pledge to please me, 'at has he, an' he hasna touched a drap for nearly three weeks. It's wonderfu' what a bit word will do, if it's spoken in season.'

'Yes, Betty, that is so,' I said meditatively; 'that is so. It is very good of you to interest yourself in Joe. I'm sure he'll bless your name every day.'

'Imphm! I've nae doot he does; in fact, I'm sure he does;' and a queer smile broke over Betty's face. 'Ay, he blesses my name, sure enough; he's a Hebron, ye ken. The Hebrons never say much, but they look a tremendous lot, an' Joe's been lookin' at me lately as if he was blessin' me. The fact is, he's sairly off his usual. He has a queer cowed look I never saw before. Oh, the man's no' weel, an' I'm sure he blames me for it. This mornin', when he cam' doon, he was lookin' fair meeserable, an' I asked him, in a kindly, sympathetic wey, how he was feelin', an' said he, "Middlin', Betty; very middlin'. It's a very stiff job this I've tackled. I've been teetotal for twenty days, an' I've saved as much as'll buy me an oak coffin; an', Betty, if I'm teetotal for other twenty days, by the Lord Harry I'll need it!" An', d'ye ken, Maister Weelum, he was sae fa'en-away-lookin' that, though I kenned it was plantin' wi' ae haun an' pu'in up wi' the ither, I gaed away an' poured him oot a wee drap, juist a jimp gless, an' then I gi'ed him your buits to brush, an' he started to whussle like a mavis.'

Betty's face was quite serious when she was telling me this, and when I looked into her kindly, concerned eyes, and thought of Joe's patient misery, I began to laugh, and I laughed till the breakfast crockery rattled. She looked at me in wonderment, and, lifting the teapot, she made for the door.

'Excuse me, Betty, and pardon my levity,' I said; 'but just one moment'——

'Oh, I'll excuse ye,' she said, as she halted. 'There's nocht I like better mysel' than a guid laugh, but it maun be at something funny; an' if it's Joe you're laughin' at, he was far frae funny this mornin', I tell ye.'

'I can well understand that, Betty; but I was going to say'——

'Maister Weelum, excuse me interruptin' ye, but do ye believe in ghosts?'

'Do I believe in ghosts? Certainly not. Why do ye ask?'

'Weel, I'm gled to hear ye dinna believe in them. I say wi' you; but Joe's juist been tellin' me that he met a leddy this mornin' on the public street that he could sweer died twenty-fower years bygane. So what mak' ye o' that?'

'Oh Betty, Joe's most surely talking nonsense. Where did you say he met the lady?'

'Haith, Joe'll no' alloo it's nonsense. He's very positive aboot it. His story to me was that he cam' suddenly on her gaun roon Harper's corner, an' he was so frichtened an' surprised that a' gumption left him, an' he couldna look efter her either to mak' sure o' her or to see where she was gaun. He was as white as a sheet when he cam' in to me, an' between the fricht an' the lang want o' his dram, he was in sic a state that I'm sure the Lord will coont me justified in gi'en him a mouthfu'. What I telt ye before was only half the truth, an' noo ye ken a'.'

I don't know Joe very well. Since he came home I have had few opportunities of meeting him and analysing him; but when Betty was talking he was very vividly flung on the screen, so to speak, and a possible trait in his character occurred to me.

'Betty,' I said, 'don't you think that Joe has just worked up his ghost story and feigned excitement and agitation, knowing you had spirits in the house, and that in the peculiar circumstances you would produce the bottle?'

'No, no, I dinna think that. Joe's a Hebron, as I've said, an' the Hebrons ha'e neither the cleverness to think a thing like that oot nor the guile to carry it through. No, no, Maister Weelum; Joe met the leddy, whaever she may be, richt enough. I'm quite sure aboot that pairt o't; but of coorse he's wrang aboot the burial. It's been some yin very like her, an' Joe's juist mistaken. Had this happened when he was as I ha'e seen him I wad never ha'e gi'en it a thocht; but this mornin'—weel, the man was—was ower sober to be healthy.'

'As you say, he's just made a mistake, Betty. At best, Joe's a mysterious individual; these annual disappearances are remarkable. Have you yet learned exactly where he goes?'

Her alert ear detected a cessation of brushing and whistling, and she walked quietly to the door, keeked past it, and then gently turned the handle. 'He has finished your buits,' she said, 'an' he's gettin' Nathan's Sabbath-day yins doon frae the shelf to gi'e them a rub. Do I ken where he gangs? Ay, I do. For a lang time I jaloused; but last nicht he telt me a' aboot it, an', as it turns oot, I havena been very far frae the mark. His wife has a wee temperance hotel—a temperance yin—she kens Joe!—in a toon ca'd Brighton. She can manage a' richt hersel' in the dull pairt o' the year, but she's forced to get Joe in the busy time to gi'e her a haun wi' the fires an' the luggage an' siclike. She was only aince here, an' we didna see much o' her; but frae the little I did see I wad tak' her to be a fell purposefu' woman, mair cut oot for fechtin' in a toon than settlin' doon to the quiet, humdrum life o' Thornhill. Joe in the airmy wad dootless be a' richt, but oot o't an' hangin' aboot here wi' a decent pension he wad juist be an impossibility. I was kind o' sorry for her when she was here. She had never been in this pairt before, an' she didna tak' very kindly to it. She couldna understaun what we said, an' we were in the same fix when she spoke. The first nicht she was in this hoose Nathan, for Joe's sake, tried to ca' the crack wi' her; but it gied him a sair heid, so he juist smiled an' noddit to her efter that. She put twae months in here, an' then she went away on her ain. First she kept lodgers; then she took this wee hotel, an' by a' accoonts she's doin' weel. But it's a queer, queer life for baith o' them. Never a letter passes between them, an' Joe seldom mentions her name. When he cam' back this time I asked him if his wife wasna vexed to pairt wi' him when the time cam' for him to leave, an' he said he didna ken, for he didna see her. "Ye didna see her!" said I. "Hoo was that?" "Oh," said he, "she was busy at her wark up the stairs, so I cried to her that I was away, an' she cried back, 'Right you are, Joe; so long till next July,' and that was a'." Imphm! isn't that a queer state o' maitters, Maister Weelum? Mind you, I dinna a'thegither blame her. I ken the Hebrons. They're a queer, quate family. Ye never can tell what they're thinkin'. I've the best o' them—ay, the best—an' I often shut my een an' thank God for Nathan; but if he had marrit ony ither woman—I mean a woman wha didna ken him as I do, or mak' allowances as I can, an' though she had been an angel frae heaven—she wad ha'e been as meeserable as I am happy. Ay, it was lang, lang before I understood Nathan, an' the kennin' o' him was a dreich job, but it was worth it a'. Ye see, the Hebrons havena got the faculty o' expressin' their feelin's. They may be pleased or angry—it's a' yin—they never let on in their speech, but they show it in their actions; at least my Nathan does, an' my impression is that Joe's wife—Sally her name is—doesna ken Joe yet. He'll no' ha'e met her half-road, as it were, an' gi'en her a chance o' gettin' to the bedrock, an' she tak's his quateness for indifference; an' the upshot is, as ye see, that for the best pairt o' a year she's as happy in Brighton as he is in Thornhill, an' for the rest they put up wi' yin anither for the sake o' the siller their united efforts bring in. Ay, it's a queer world for some folk. But I'm deavin' ye. Joe'll be oot o' a job, too, an' to keep him richt I maun keep him workin' the day;' and she bustled off to encourage Joe in well-doing.

Later I consulted with Betty about Murray Monteith's visit, and we arranged to get the south bedroom prepared for his reception. So I wrote him to-day at some length, extending Betty's invitation, and expressing my willingness to accompany him to Nithbank House. After I had finished my letter I perambulated the dining-room round and round, for the day was wet and boisterous, and I could not go out of doors. Bang and Jip, evidently conscious of the fact that a walk was out of the question, were making themselves at home on the hearthrug, and I was just finishing half a mile of carpet-walking when the street door opened, and Nathan's step sounded in the lobby. Betty had gone out on an errand, so I went in to the kitchen.

'Hallo, Nathan!' I said; 'have you got a holiday to-day?'

Nathan looked up at me as he sat down in his arm-chair near the fire. 'I've ta'en yin, Maister Weelum,' he said. 'I've ta'en yin—very much against the grain, though. I'm—I'm no' feelin' very weel, so I thocht I wad juist come hame.'

'You did well to come home, Nathan, and I'm sorry to know you are not up to the mark. You're cold-looking. Do you feel cold?'

'Weel, shivery weys, Maister Weelum; shivery weys. Imphm!—Where's Betty?'

I told him she had gone out on an errand, but would be back presently; and, going into the dining-room, I poured out a glass of brandy and brought it to him. 'Here, Nathan. I know your mind on the liquor question; but put aside your objections and drink this. It will do you good.'

He smiled feebly. 'What would Betty say? Will ye tak' the blame?' he asked.

'Certainly I'll take the blame, or, rather, I should say the credit. Drink it up now, Nathan.'

Joe, who had been splitting firewood in the stick-house, had recognised his brother's voice, and came into the kitchen. 'It is you, Nathan!' he said, in surprise. 'It's no' often we see you wi' a dram-gless in your hand, an' at this time o' day, too. My word, but you're lucky!'

'Ay, Benjy, it is me, an' I am lucky. I daur say ye wad like to chum wi' me the noo. Are—are ye still keepin' the teetotal?'

For a moment Joe looked shamefacedly at Nathan; then truth and honour—outstanding traits of the Hebrons—shone in his eye. 'No,' he said; 'I broke it this mornin'.'

'Ay—imphm! And hoo did you come to do that?' asked Nathan, without looking round.

'Betty tempted me, and I fell.'

'Oh, imphm! Betty gied ye a dram, did she? Weel, Benjy, whatever Betty did was richt. She didna tempt ye, man; she treated ye, that's what she did. Ye'll no' gang far wrang if ye're guided by Betty.—Eh, Maister Weelum?'

He was sitting very near the fire, with his long gnarled fingers spread out for warmth, and he looked up sideways to me when he said this with a look in his blue eyes which told me, more pointedly than words, of his absolute confidence in her good judgment, and the pride he had in the possession of her love.