The hard little laugh which accompanied these apparently heartless words did not in the least deceive Gladys, and, looking up from the lacing of her boots, she flashed a glance of quick sympathy upon the girl’s face, which expressed more than any words.

‘They’re surely very ill-kinded,’ was Abel Graham’s comment, in rather a surprised tone.  Liz had given him more information about her people in five minutes than Walter had done in the two years he had been with him.  The difference between the two was, that while sharing the bitterness of their home sorrows, the one found a certain relief in telling the worst, the other shut it in his heart, a grief to be brooded over, till all life seemed tinged and poisoned by its degradation.

‘Oh, it’s drink,’ she said carelessly,—­’the same auld story.  Everything sooms awa’ in whisky; they’ll soom awa’ theirsel’s some day wi’d, that’s wan comfort.  I’m sure that’s wan thing Wat an’ me’s no’ likely to meddle wi’.  We’ve seen ower muckle o’ the misery o’ drink.  It’ll never be my ruin, onyway.  Are ye ready, Gladys?’

‘In a minute, just my hat and gloves,’ Gladys answered, and again retired.

‘I say, sir, d’ye no’ think ye should raise Wat’s wages?  I had twa things to say to ye the nicht, an’ I’ve said them.  Ye needna fash to flyte; I’m no’ feared.  If ye are a rich man, as they say, ye’re waur than oor auld yin, for he haunds oot the siller as lang as it lasts.’

‘You are a very impudent young woman,’ said Abel Graham, ’and not a fit companion for my niece.  I can’t let her go out with you.’

‘Oh, she’s gaun the nicht, whether you let her or no’,’ was the calm answer.  ’And as to being impident, some folk ca’s the truth impidence, because they’re no’ accustomed to it.  But aboot Wat, ye ken as weel as me, ye micht seek east an’ west through Glesca an’ no’ get sic anither.  He’s ower honest.  You raise his wages, or he’ll quit, if I should seek a place for him mysel’.’

The calm self-assertion of Liz, which had something almost queenly in it, compelled the respect of the old man, and he even smiled a little across the table to the chair where she sat quite at her ease, delivering herself of these remarkably plain statements.  In his inmost soul he even enjoyed them, and felt a trifle sorry when Gladys appeared, ready to go.  Liz sprang up at once, and favoured the old miser with a gracious nod by way of farewell.

‘Guid-nicht to ye, then, an’ mind what I’ve said.  I was in deid earnest, an’ I’m richt, as ye’ll maybe live to prove.  An’ mind that there’s ower wee a pickle angels in Glesca for the ither kind, and we’d better tak’ care o’ what we hae.’

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

EDGED TOOLS.

‘Noo, whaur wad ye like to gang?’ inquired Liz, as they shut the outer door behind them.

’Anywhere; it is pleasant to be out, only the air is not very good here.  Do you think it is?’