Which of the little black figures running on in front of the car was the mother’s treasure?  Henry was up to as many pranks as ever, but now he had a quiet friend to restrain him, and his mother and the parish were very glad of it.

“Dear mistress, thon’s a settled wee fellow, thon McGregor:  he’s the quare wise guide for we’er ain wichel.”  Thus spoke Jack Dunn when the holidays drew near an end.  “Fleech him to come back.”

“There is no need to urge him, Jack,” replied his mistress, smiling; “he is very anxious to visit us again.”

“Weel-a-weel, ma’am, I never tould you how Master Henry blew up the sexton wi’ his crackers, twa nights afore he went to school—­”

“Never, Jack!”

“Na, na!  Jack wadna be for vexin’ you an’ his reverence.  Master Henry an’ Mat, the herd, let off fireworks outside the sexton’s door, an’ him an’ the wife, an’ the sisters an’ the grannie jumpin’ out o’ their beds, an’ runnin’ about the house, thinkin’ the Judgment Day was come, an’ maybe that the Old Enemy was come for them—­”

“Oh, Jack, hush; how terrible!  Think what you are saying.”

“Nae word o’ lie, mistress.  The sexton was in a quare rage, an’ the grannie lay for three weeks wi’ the scare.  It was hushed up becase there isna a soul in the parish wad like to annoy his reverence.  But whist—­not a word out o’ your mouth!  Our wean has got thon ither wee comrade to steady him now.”

McGregor did steady Henry.  They fished Gartan Lough; they boated, they shot over the mountains, they skated on the same lovely expanse of lake, and they heard, in the marshes each Easter the whirring bleat of the snipe.  This was the history of school and college vacations for many years.  Then first love came—­society was sought for; the neighbouring clergy and their families came to Gartan Rectory; young couples wandered blissfully in the fairest scenes in all the world.  The friends loved the same sweet maiden, and she deceived them both, and married a ponderous rector, possessed of six hundred per annum, the very year they left old Trinity!  They were firmer friends than ever, yet that sweet false one was never mentioned between them.  In a reverently-veiled corner in each heart, however, still dwelt a dear ideal which the false beloved had not been able to destroy.

Then events crowded upon Mrs. Archer.  The Rector died, and she left her old home; and her son and his friend went into the army, Henry as sub., Malcolm as surgeon.

At the commencement of the story, Malcolm was assuring the mother that he would stand by Henry in all dangers—­under all circumstances whatever.

“You will hear of the 5th Fusiliers favourably, I am sure,” said he lightly, trying to calm her agitation.

“Henry is so rash and ardent,” she returned.

“And I am a cool, quiet fellow, ma’am.  Oh, you may trust me—­I’ll have an eye to him.”