“The birthright we hold
Shall never be sold,
But sacred maintained to our graves;
And before we comply
We will gallantly die,
For we will not, we will not be slaves—­brave boys! 
For we will not, we will not be slaves.”

In the meantime Semple, fuming and ejaculating, was making his way slowly home.  It was a dark night, and the road full of treacherous soft places, fatal to that spotless condition of hose and shoes which was one of his weak points.  However, before he had gone very far, he was overtaken by his son Neil, now a very staid and stately gentleman, holding under the government a high legal position in the investigation of the disputed New-Hampshire grants.

He listened respectfully to his father’s animadversions on the folly of the Van Heemskirks; but he was thinking mainly of the first news told him,—­the early return of Katherine.  He was conscious that he still loved Katherine, and that he still hated Hyde.  As they approached the house, the elder saw the gleam of a candle through the drawn blind; and he asked querulously, “What’s your mother doing wi’ a candle at this hour, I wonder?”

“She’ll be sewing or reading, father.”

“Hoots! she should aye mak’ the wark and the hour suit.  There’s spinning and knitting for the night-time.  Wi’ soldiers quartered to the right hand and the left hand, and a civil war staring us in the face, it’s neither tallow nor wax we’ll hae to spare.”

He was climbing the pipe-clayed steps as he spoke, and in a few minutes was standing face to face with the offender.  Madam Semple was reading and, as her husband opened the parlour door, she lifted her eyes from her book, and let them calmly rest upon him.

[Illustration:  “I am reading the Word”]

“Fire-light and candle-light, baith, Janet!  A fair illumination, and nae ither thing but bad news for it.”

“It is for reading the Word, Elder.”

“For the night season, meditation, Janet, meditation;” and he lifted the extinguisher, and put out the candle.  “Meditate on what you hae read.  The Word will bide a deal o’ thinking about.  You’ll hae heard the ill news?”

“I heard naething ill.”

“Didna Neil tell you?”

“Anent what?”

“The closing o’ the king’s customs.”

“Ay, Neil told me.”

“Weel?”

“Weel, since you ask me, I say it was gude news.”

“Noo, Janet, we’ll hae to come to an understanding.  If I hae swithered in my loyalty before, I’ll do sae nae mair.  From this hour, me and my house will serve King George.  I’ll hae nae treason done in it, nor said; no, nor even thocht o’.”

“You’ll be a vera Samson o’ strength, and a vera Solomon o’ wisdom, if you keep the hands and the tongues and the thochts o’ this house.  Whiles, you canna vera weel keep the door o’ your ain mouth, gudeman.  What’s come o’er you, at a’?”

“I’m surely master in my ain house, Janet.”