“Then I dinna see ony call to mak a change, deacon.”

“Now, Jenny, you’ve had the last word, sae ye can go to bed wi’ an easy mind.  And, Jenny, woman, dinna let your quarrel wi’ Maggie Launder come between you and honest sleep.  I think that will settle her,” he observed with a pawky smile, as his housekeeper shut the door with unnecessary haste.

Half an hour afterwards, David, mixing another glass of toddy, drew his chair closer to the fire, and said, “Uncle John, I want to speak to you.”

“Speak on, laddie;” but David noticed that even with the permission, cautious curves settled round his uncle’s eyes, and his face assumed that business-like immobility which defied his scrutiny.

“I have had a very serious talk with Robert Leslie; he is thinking of buying Alexander Hastie out.”

“Why not think o’ buying out Robert Napier, or Gavin Campbell, or Clydeside Woolen Works?  A body might as weel think o’ a thousand spindles as think o’ fifty.”

“But he means business.  An aunt, who has lately died in Galloway, has left him L2,000.”

“That isna capital enough to run Sandy Hastie’s mill.”

“He wants me to join him.”

“And how will that help matters?  Twa thousand pounds added to Davie Callendar will be just L2,000.”

“I felt sure you would lend me L2,000; and in that case it would be a great chance for me.  I am very anxious to be—­”

“Your ain maister.”

“Not that altogether, uncle, although you know well the Callendars come of a kind that do not like to serve.  I want to have a chance to make money.”

“How much of your salary have you saved?”

“I have never tried to save anything yet, uncle, but I am going to begin.”

The old man sat silent for a few moments, and then said, “I wont do it, Davie.”

“It is only L2,000, Uncle John.”

“Only L2,000!  Hear the lad!  Did ye ever mak L2,000?  Did ye ever save L2,000?  When ye hae done that ye’ll ne’er put in the adverb, Davie. Only L2,000, indeed!”

“I thought you loved me, uncle.”

“I love no human creature better than you.  Whatna for should I not love you?  You are the only thing left to me o’ the bonnie brave brother who wrapped his colors round him in the Afghan Pass, the brave-hearted lad who died fighting twenty to one.  And you are whiles sae like him that I’m tempted—­na, na, that is a’ byganes.  I will not let you hae the L2,000, that is the business in hand.”

“What for?”

“If you will hear the truth, that second glass o’ whiskey is reason plenty.  I hae taken my ane glass every night for forty years, and I hae ne’er made the ane twa, except New Year’s tide.”

“That is fair nonsense, Uncle John.  There are plenty of men whom you trust for more than L2,000 who can take four glasses for their nightcap always.”

“That may be; I’m no denying it; but what is lawfu’ in some men is sinfu’ in others.”