‘Ye are an early visitor, my man,’ his mother said, in surprise.  ’What’s brocht ye here at sic a time?’

‘Is Liz here?’ he inquired, with a quick glance round the kitchen.

‘Liz!  No.’

In her surprise at this unexpected question, Mrs. Hepburn paused, with the lid of the broth-pot in her hand, looking wonderingly into her son’s face.

‘What gars ye ask that?’

‘I heard she was in Glasgow, that’s why,’ Walter answered cautiously.  ‘Where’s the old man?  Not working, surely?’

‘Ay; he’s turned over a new leaf for three days, workin’ orra at Stevenson’s; they’re short o’ men the noo.  He’ll be in to his denner the noo.  Wull ye tak’ a bite wi’ us?  It’s lang since ye broke breid in this hoose.’

‘I don’t mind if I do,’ replied Walter, laying off his hat and drawing the arm-chair up to the fire.  ’So you have never seen Liz?  The person that saw her must have made a mistake.’

‘Wha was’t?’

’A lady.  You don’t know her.  Have you never heard anything about her at all, then?’

‘No’ a cheep.  She’s in London, they say—­the folk that pretend to ken a’thing.  I’m sure I’m no’ carin’.’

’And my father’s really working this week?  Oh, mother, if only he would keep steady, it would make all the difference.  You look better yourself, too.  Are you not far better without drink?’

‘Maybe.  We’ve made a paction, onyway, for a week, till we see,’ said Mrs. Hepburn, with a slow smile.  ’The way o’t was this.  We fell oot wan day, an’ he cuist up to me that I couldna keep frae’t, an’ I jist says, says I, “Ye canna keep frae’t yersel’,” an’ it’s for spite we’re no’ touchin’t.  I dinna think mysel’ he’ll staun’ oot past Seterday.’

Walter could not forbear a melancholy smile.

‘It’s not a very high motive, but better spite than no motive at all,’ he answered.  ‘D’ye think, mother, that Liz can be in Glasgow?’

‘Hoo should I ken?  There’s yer faither’s fit on the stair, an’ the tatties no’ ready, but they’ll be saft in a jiffy.  He canna wait a meenit for his meat.  As I say, he thinks it should be walkin’ doon the stair to meet him.  Ay, my man, it’s you I’m on.’

She made a great clatter with knives and spoons on the table, and then made a rush to pour the water off the potatoes.

‘Hulloa, Wat, what’s up?’ inquired the old man, as genuinely surprised as his wife had been to see his son.

‘I heard Liz was in Glasgow, and I came to see if she was here,’ answered Walter.  ’So you’re working again?  I must say work agrees with you, father; you look a different man.’

‘Oh, I’m no’ past wark.  If I like, I can dae my darg wi’ ony man,’ he replied rather ironically.  ’Pit oot the kale, Leezbeth, or we’ll be burnt to daith.  Are ye slack yersel’ that ye can come ower here at wan o’clock in the day?’

‘I’m slacker than I was,’ said Walter, ‘but I can’t complain, either.’