‘An’ what was that ye said aboot Liz, that she was here in Glesca?  Weel, if she is, she’s never lookit near.  It’s gentry bairns we hae, Leezbeth; let’s be thankfu’ for them.’

This mild sarcasm did not greatly affect Walter, he was too familiar with it.

’I heard she had been seen, but perhaps it was a mistake.  It must have been, or she would surely have come here.  You are working at Stevenson’s, mother says; will it be permanent?’

‘I’ll see.  It depends on hoo I feel,’ replied the old man complacently.  ‘I’ve been in waur places, an’ the gaffer’s very slack.  He disna work a ten-hoors’ day ony mair than the rest o’s.’

‘Though you are paid for it, I suppose?’ said Walter.

‘Ay, but naebody but a born fule will kill himsel’ unless he’s made dae’t,’ was the reply.

’I wouldn’t keep a man who didn’t do a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage, nor would you,’ said Walter.  ’I believe that nobody would make more tyrannical masters than working men themselves, just as women who have been servants themselves make the most exacting mistresses.’

‘This is Capital speakin’ noo, Leezbeth,’ said his father very sarcastically.  ‘It’s kind o’ amusin’.  We’re the twa sides, as it were—­Capital and Labour.  Ye’ve no’ been lang o’ forgettin’ whaur ye sprang frae, my man.’

Walter’s father had been a skilful workman in his day, with an intelligence above the average; had he kept from drink, there is no doubt he would have risen from the ranks.  Even yet gleams of the old spirit which had often displayed itself at workmen’s meetings and demonstrations would occasionally shine forth.  Walter was thankful to see it, and after spending a comparatively pleasant hour with them, he went his way with a lighter and happier feeling about them than he had experienced for many a day.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXX.

TOO LATE!

George Fordyce was listening to a maternal lecture the morning after a dance, at which he had been distributing his attentions very freely among the most attractive of the young ladies present.  The breakfast was nearly an hour late, and mother and son partook of it alone, Mr. Fordyce being in London on business, and the fair Julia not yet out of bed.

‘It’s all your nonsense, mother,’ said George imperturbably.  ’I didn’t pay special court to anybody except Clara.  She was the best dancer in the room and very nearly the handsomest girl.’

‘You should have pity on Clara, my dear,’ his mother said indulgently.  ’You know she is fond of you; she can’t hide it, poor thing, and it is a shame to pay her too much attention in public, when it can’t come to anything.’

‘I can’t help it if girls will be silly,’ was the complacent reply.  ’Clara is all very well as a cousin, but I’d like more spirit in a wife.’