only, counted wisdom and knowledge.

"He's a gey clever laddie," he had said once to Maggie, "and gien he gets
his een open i' the coorse o' the life he's hardly yet ta'en hand o', he'll
doobtless see something; but he disna ken yet that there's onything rael to
be seen, ootside or inside o' him!" When he heard that he was going to
study divinity, he shook his head, and was silent.

"I'm jist hame frae peyin him a short veesit," Mrs. Blatherwick went on. "I
cam hame but twa nichts ago. He's lodged wi' a dacent widow in Arthur
Street, in a flat up a lang stane stair that gangs roun and roun till ye
come there, and syne gangs past the door and up again. She taks in han' to
luik efter his claes, and sees to the washin o' them, and does her best to
hand him tidy; but Jeamie was aye that partic'lar aboot his appearance! And
that's a guid thing, special in a minister, wha has to set an example! I
was sair pleased wi' the auld body."

There was one in the Edinburgh lodging, however, of whom Mrs. Blatherwick
had but a glimpse, and of whom, therefore, she had made no mention to her
husband any more than now to Maggie MacLear; indeed, she had taken so
little notice of her that she could hardly be said to have seen her at all
--a girl of about sixteen, who did far more for the comfort of her aunt's
two lodgers than she who reaped all the advantage. If Mrs. Blatherwick had
let her eyes rest upon her but for a moment, she would probably have
looked again; and might have discovered that she was both a good-looking
and graceful little creature, with blue eyes, and hair as nearly black as
that kind of hair, both fine and plentiful, ever is. She might then have
discovered as well a certain look of earnestness and service that would at
first have attracted her for its own sake, and then repelled her for
James's; for she would assuredly have read in it what she would have