Meanwhile the lady sent for David, who was at work in the garden, into no less an audience-chamber than the drawing-room, the revered abode of all the tutelar deities of the house; chief amongst which were the portraits of the laird and herself:  he, plethoric and wrapped in voluminous folds of neckerchief—­she long-necked, and lean, and bare-shouldered.  The original of the latter work of art seated herself in the most important chair in the room; and when David, after carefully wiping the shoes he had already wiped three times on his way up, entered with a respectful but no wise obsequious bow, she ordered him, with the air of an empress, to shut the door.  When he had obeyed, she ordered him, in a similar tone, to be seated; for she sought to mingle condescension and conciliation with severity.

“David,” she then began, “I am informed that ye keep open door to our Mr. Sutherland, and that he spends most forenichts in your company.”

“Weel, mem, it’s verra true,” was all David’s answer.  He sat in an expectant attitude.

“Dawvid, I wonner at ye!” returned Mrs. Glasford, forgetting her dignity, and becoming confidentially remonstrative.  “Here’s a young gentleman o’ talans, wi’ ilka prospeck o’ waggin’ his heid in a poopit some day; an’ ye aid an’ abet him in idlin’ awa’ his time at your chimla-lug, duin’ waur nor naething ava!  I’m surprised at ye, Dawvid.  I thocht ye had mair sense.”

David looked out of his clear, blue, untroubled eyes, upon the ruffled countenance of his mistress, with an almost paternal smile.

“Weel, mem, I maun say I dinna jist think the young man’s in the warst o’ company, when he’s at our ingle-neuk.  An’ for idlin’ o’ his time awa’, it’s weel waurd for himsel’, forby for us, gin holy words binna lees.”

“What do ye mean, Dawvid?” said the lady rather sharply, for she loved no riddles.

“I mean this, mem:  that the young man is jist actin’ the pairt o’ Peter an’ John at the bonny gate o’ the temple, whan they said:  ‘Such as I have, gie I thee;’ an’ gin’ it be more blessed to gie than to receive, as Sant Paul says ‘at the Maister himsel’ said, the young man ‘ill no be the waur aff in’s ain learnin’, that he impairts o’t to them that hunger for’t.”

“Ye mean by this, Dawvid, gin ye could express yersel’ to the pint, ’at the young man, wha’s ower weel paid to instruck my bairns, neglecks them, an’ lays himsel’ oot upo’ ither fowk’s weans, wha hae no richt to ettle aboon the station in which their Maker pat them.”

This was uttered with quite a religious fervour of expostulation; for the lady’s natural indignation at the thought of Meg Elginbrod having lessons from her boys’ tutor, was cowed beneath the quiet steady gaze of the noble-minded peasant father.

“He lays himsel’ oot mair upo’ the ither fowk themsels’ than upo’ their weans, mem; though, nae doubt, my Maggy comes in for a gude share.  But for negleckin’ o’ his duty to you, mem, I’m sure I kenna hoo that can be; for it was only yestreen ‘at the laird himsel’ said to me, ‘at hoo the bairns had never gotten on naething like it wi’ ony ither body.”