Who was Lost and is Found

ul bustle of the Sunday morning, the little commotion of the best gown, the best bonnet, the lace veil taken out of their drawers among the lavender. Nobody but Mrs Ogilvy continued to wear a lace ve

shining, and Sandy tossing his head till every bit of the silver on his harness twinkled in the sun, and Andrew, all in his best, bringing him up with a little dash at the door. And then Mrs Ogilvy would come out, not unconscious and not displeased that the old servants were watching for her, and that the sight of her modest finery was a “ploy” to Janet, who had so few ploys. She would pin a rose on her breast when it was the time of roses, and take a pair of grey gloves out of her drawer, to give them pleasure, with a tender feeling that made the little vanity sweet. The grey gloves were, indeed, her only little adornment, breaking the monotony of the black which she always wore; but Janet loved the lustre of the best black silk, and to stroke it with her hand as she arranged it in the carriage, loath to cover up its sheen with{82} the wrapper

to the wife.” Andrew was conscious that in his prowl for victuals the night before he had spread the n

ttle subdued by Andrew’s looks, “do not

s room, to the door, many times since she parted with him the night before; but had heard no sound, and, hovering there on the threshold, had been afraid to go in, as she so longed to do. What mother would not, after so long an absence, steal in to say again good-night—to see that all was comfortable, plenty of covering on the bed, not too much, just what he wanted; or again, in the morning, to see how he had slept, to recognise his dear face by the morning light, to say God bless him, and God bless him the first morning as the first night of his return? But{84} Mrs Ogilvy was afraid. She went and stood outside the door, trembling, but she had not the courage to go in. She felt that it might anger him—that it might annoy him—that he would not like it. He had been a long time away. He had grown a man almost middle-a

elf that there were no more sacrifices, that there had been One for all, and that all she had to do was but to put God in mind, to keep Him always in mind: that there was her son yonder somewhere out in His world, and maybe forgetting what his duty was. To put God in mind!—as if He did not remember best of all, thinking on them most when they were lost, watching the night when even a mother slumbers and sleeps, and never, never losing sight of them that were His sons before they were mine! What could she

nt you from coming in?” her mistress said, in the sudden impatience of a preoccupied mind, and then softly, “Come in, Janet,” in penitence more sudden still. Janet

Mr Robert brought nae luggage w

s Ogilvy, picking up that excuse, as it were, from the r

et: “no a clean shirt, nor a suit of clot

things in the drawe

e is now. He was shapin’ for a fine figger of a man whe

of the little things that had vexed her among so many others. “Not like my Robbie,” she had breathed{87} to herself, thinking of the slim and graceful boy

been on Andrew’s back for many a day. ’Deed, I just gave it a wash, and plenty of stairc

!” said Mrs Ogilvy, hal

im a suit of Andrew’s: in the first place, his best suit, he has it on: and I

ybe Miss Susie. Miss Susie is not like anybody else; but oh, I would not like her to see him so ill put on! Yet you can never tell, with that ill habit the Edinburgh folk have of coming out t

hey’re wearied,” said Janet, promptly. “They’ll thin

ld have the tea ready, and just say I have—stepped out to see a neighbour, or that I’m away at the manse

, mem—I’m no caring that,” and Jane

h more serious business. The Scottish tongue is full of th

rying, “I fear I’ll have but an ill character to give you—w

to fend for him than he did himsel’, would he ever have been a man o’ weight, as they say he is, in that Auld Licht meetin’ o’ his, and speaking{

s seized with a compunction after she had squeezed it in her own hard but faithful one, which felt like an

rfully, with after a while a laugh. His tone to her had been very different. It had been full of involuntary self-defence, a sort of defiance, as if he felt that at any moment something might be demanded of him, excuse or explanation—or else blame and reproach poured forth upon him. The mother’s heart swelled a little, and yet she smiled. Oh, it was very n

, and with a smile on his face. “I’m very ridiculous, I suppose,” he said, walking to the glas

stood before the glass trying to fold over or modify as best h

e,” he said impatiently, standing with his back towards her

omfort was incompatible. “My dear,” she said, “you will have to go into Edinburgh and get a new outfit. There

d might object to a less fashionable place{91}—for indeed the poor lady was much confused, believing rathe

anything that was warm enough. I’ve not been in the way of sending to Poole for my clothes.” He laughed, but it was not th

e you, Robbie,” she sai

d not bear that he should be ridiculous. He confronted her, sitting down opposite, fixing his eyes on her face, as if to forestall any criticism on her part. “I’ve come back as I went away,” he said with defiance. “I had

med, astonished, yet half relieved, to find

r, for you seem very comfortable: and you talk at your ease of a new outfit, while I’v

sh, “and me laying up every penny for you, and rea

gain. You get into a sort of a hack-horse way—just the same round, and neve

bbi

ood for anything. And then if this affair comes up, I may have to cut and run again. Oh, I’ll tell you about it in time! It’s not likely they’ll be after me, with all the loose sweari

er?” she said in a

it blows over I can be sure of nothing—or if any other man turns up. There is a man before whom I would just cut and run too. If he should get wi

ed every change of his face, every movement, ever

t of some revived tradition of respect, “Would you be any the w

is it a man you have wronged? Oh Robbie,

her feelings. “Damn him! damn him! it’s he that h

ing to him. “Oh Robbie, my dear, the Lord be praised! and God

consolation in that, you can take it,” he said: “There’s not much consolation in me, any way.” And then he reached his large hand over the table to her little

those years when there was no one to interfere with her. Glad was she to give up the best place in the house to him, whatever he might please to choose; but it gave her a feeling of disturbance which she could not explain, not being even aware at first what it was that caused it. She did not know where to sit, nor what to do. She could not{95} go back to fetch h