The fold was far up the mountains, but the sheep knew the shepherd’s voice, and the peculiar bark of his dog; they answered them gladly, and were soon safely and warmly housed.  Then David and Keeper slowly took their way homeward, for the steep, rocky hills were not easy walking for an old man in the late gloaming.

Passing a wild cairn of immense stones, Keeper suddenly began to bark furiously, and a tall, slight figure leaped from their shelter, raised a stick, and would have struck the dog if David had not called out, “Never strie a sheep-dog, mon!  The bestie willna harm ye.”

The stranger then came forward; asked David if there was any cottage near where he could rest all night, said that he had come out for a day’s fishing, had got separated from his companions, lost his way and was hungry and worn out.

David looked him steadily in the face and read aright the nervous manner and assumed indifference.  However, hospitality is a sacred tradition among Scotch mountaineers, whoever, or whatever the young man was, David acknowledged his weariness and hunger as sufficient claim upon his oaten cake and his embers.

It was evident in a few moments that Mr. Semple was not used to the hills.  David’s long, firm walk was beyond the young man’s efforts; he stumbled frequently in the descent, the springy step necessary when they came to the heather distressed him; he was almost afraid of the gullies David took without a thought.  These things the old man noted, and they weighed far more with him than all the boastful tongue could say.

The cottage was soon reached—­a very humble one—­only “a but and a ben,” with small windows, and a thatched roof; but Scotland has reared great men in such cottages, and no one could say that it was not clean and cheerful.  The fire burnt brightly upon the white hearthstone, and a little round deal table stood before it.  Upon this table were oaten cakes and Ayreshire cheese and new milk, and by its side sat a young man reading.

“Archie, here is a strange gentleman I found up at Donald’s cairn.”

The two youths exchanged looks and disliked each other.  Yet Archie Scott rose, laid aside his book, and courteously offered his seat by the fire.  The stranger took it, eat heartily of the simple meal, joined decently in their solemn worship, and was soon fast asleep in Archie’s bed.  Then the old man and his son sat down and curtly exchanged their opinions.

“I don’t like yon lad, fayther, and I more than distrust his being aught o’ a gentleman.”

David smoked steadily a few minutes ere he replied: 

“He’s eat and drank and knelt wi’ us, Archie, and it’s nane o’ our duty to judge him.”

When Archie spoke again it was of other matters.

“Fayther, I’m sore troubled wi’ MacAllister’s accounts; what wi’ the sheep bills and the timber and the kelp, things look in a mess like.  There is a right way and a wrong way to keep tally of them and I can’t find it out.”