The Half-Hearted

urse. Its head is far inland in a place of mountain solitudes, but its mouth is all but on the lip of the sea, and salt breezes fight with the flying winds of th

e one great dwelling-place in the vale. But it is a dwelling and a little more, for the home of the real lords of the land is many miles farther up the stream, in the moorland house of Etterick, where the Avelin is a burn, and the hills hang sharply over its sourc

e peak of his cap, and two very keen grey eyes peered out into the mist. He was driving with tight rein, for the mare was fresh and the road had awkward slopes and corners; but none the less he was dreaming, thinking pleasant thoughts, and

arp at the sight of a

"where on earth have you come from

a big topcoat with a quaint-fashioned wide-awake hat on his head. In ill weather al

sped a mittened hand and looked into his companion's face. T

smuir, and unless the Lord protects him he will be in Avelin water ere he gets home. Whisky and a Glenavelin road never agree, Lewie, as I who have mended the fool's head a dozen times should know. But I thought you would never come, and was prepared to ride in the next baker's van." The Doctor spoke with the pure English and high norther

ill I got out of my depth and was gravely corrected. It's the most hospitable place on earth, this, but I thought it a pity to waste a really fine hunger on the in

eproof. Dinner to Doctor Gracey was a serious ceremony, and invitations should not be s

oly. "She once cuffed my ears the month I stayed with

But physically she is my superior and I live in terror."

tly round an ugly turn. "There's the mist going off the top

d it is the Little Muneraw. Ar

"This is my own countryside, and I fan

tulate you on. We old fogies in this desert place have been often seeing

ery simple, and I had every chance. Some day I will go out and do the same

d no chances is the rule of w

it is what you would call the crucial moment in my life. I am going in for politics, as I always intende

m beneath the flaps of his hat. "I neve

since I gave up trying to m

d make a spoon or spoil a horn. Later I declared you would make the spoon. I still k

ancy spoon, but not useful. I f

e has been too easy for you, a great deal too easy. You want a little of the salt and iron of the world. You are too clever ever to be conceited,

ened, as it always did eith

cure for a man with sufficient money and no

ef is that he be conscious of his danger, and on the watch against i

from my home because

to waste. You Haystouns are high-strung, finicking people, on whom idleness sits badly. Also you are the last

father the young man

when he died. I find so few people who re

he was least fitted. I do not know if he had altogether a happy time. He lost interest in things, and grew shy and rather irritable. He

my mo

ur birth, Lewie, and after that he grew morose and retiring. I speak about these things from the point of view of my profession, and I fancy it is

achan of sorts in the glen, where a kirk steeple in a grove of trees proclaimed civilization. A shepherd passed them with a couple of dogs, striding wi

usto. He sucks his pipe of an evening with a zest which the man who lies on his back all day smoking knows nothing about. So, too, the labourer who hoes turnips for one and sixpence the day. They know the arduousness of life, which is a lesson we must all learn sooner or later. You people who have been coddled and petted must learn it, too; and for you i

from the seat and with a dexterous twitch of his whip curled

ring your brother some day and we'll go and fish the Midburn.

ked the Doctor. "I had heard of that performance.

m was up a bit. The boy was fishing, wading pretty deep, and in turning round to stare at me he

e Doctor, incredulously. "You have got t

knew its business-that was all." An

d down and stood shaking the rain from his hat and collar. He watched the young man till, with a skilful turn, he had entered E