which his overtures had been met on the previous afternoon, and his exultation was scarcely less than that of Dick himself when all was easily and speedily settled between them.

"But what he is really to be, I cannot make out," said James, who was quiet and observing by nature. "Sometimes it is one thing, sometimes another."

Well, it is a chance for the poor fellow," replied his father; "he is to be a head man of some sort, and that is more than he could ever have expected to be here. But I warned Thesiger," he added hastily. "If no good comes of it, Thesiger cannot but say I told him the truth from the first."

In the dulness of November at Castle Aird, Dick's promotion and Captain Thesiger's hand in it became quite a prominent topic of conversation during the long unbroken evenings. The trio were unaccompanied by any ladies, having gone down for a fortnight's sport en garçon, and when not out of doors, they found it difficult to make the time pass. Something to talk about, something as to which each could put in his word, was quite a windfall; for Thesiger's accounts of London gaieties and scandals were not interesting to the simple peer and his schoolboy son, and the narrator soon learned to reserve them for a more fitting audience. Accordingly when, after dozing half the evening, the older gentleman would wake up to the recollection that he ought to be doing something towards the enlivenment of the guest, he found it handy to start with, “Dick can break in your dogs at any rate, Thesiger," or something equally suggestive.

It did not very much matter what, Thesiger was ready to take up the theme, and presently James would insert a judicious remark, and they would manage somehow to jog along on their hobby-horse by fits and starts till bedtime came.

Glenfarren assumed quite a familiar aspect by-and-by. Plans were matured, kennels arranged, small details entered into. Under Lord Galt's guiding hand it was decreed that our friend Dick, whose province had seemed at one time to be a vague if imposing one, should finally be appointed to the post of head-gamekeeper, with a dozen or two of men under him. "You will want watchers, you know, on a moor of that size," Lord Galt would decide. "Yours is a very much larger estate than mine here; I find that two | men, just Dick and Hector, can do my work well enough. We don't preserve much, and luckily it is not a poaching district. Where

Glenfarren is, poachers will be as thick as blackberries. All those great moors along the Canal have every facility for the rascals. They can have their boats in waiting, and be off and away directly they are chased. Which of the lakes did you say Glenfarren bordered?"

"'Pon my word, I can't exactly tell. The middle one, I think."

"That's Loch Lochy. Well, you take my advice, and have some good sharp understrappers."

I certainly shall."

"And mind and have them from a distance, or they are safe to have trokings with the people about."

"I'll remember. I shall take them from a tremendous distance."

"Hoo, it need not be so tremendous, only don't have them from the neighbourhood. Have 'em on your side from the first. And as for Dick Netherby, he is a good lad, a very good lad-I don't know what his capacities are-not above the average, I imagine; but he will do better as gamekeeper than farmer, that is one thing I am very sure of. Well, I hope it will answer, with all my heart; and all I have to say about him is, keep Dick in his place, Thesiger, keep him in his place."

"I will," said Thesiger solemnly. "I will."

CHAPTER XI.-"IT SOUNDS LIKE A HUNT-
THE-GOWK."

Now indeed did the Widow Netherby exult
and clap her hands. She could scarce be
prevented from presenting herself in person
at the Castle, to offer her thanks and duty to
the benefactor of her son, and, unmindful
that she had always known for sure that his
merits would be recognised some day, she
scarce could decide whether to attribute his
good fortune more to Providence or to
Captain Thesiger's good - nature.
To go
herself to the Farm with the news was still
more a point of desire; but Dick was per-
emptory.

"Let well alone," he said. "They'll hear fast enough. fast enough. We have no call to blow our own trumpets, and it aye gives me a grue to hear the McClintocks' name. Poor Meg, I'd be fain to hope she has lost conceit of me by this time, though."

If Meg had not, it was no fault of her father's.

"Hae ye heerd the news?" cried he, stamping in hot-foot with it on the tip of his

(1) Shiver.

Ay, it's true, true eneugh," replied the gudewife, whose reproachful accents needed no interpretation. 'It's true eneugh shaking her head-"an' this is a' we getShe stopped, for Meg was by, and not a word to Meg had yet been said.

66

meed of consolation intended to be conveyed in the decision. Could she indeed have felt that perfect confidence in her swain which she would fain have expressed, all might have been well; but Alas, that "but !" She had not doubted Dick when he was poor and needy; but she trembled to think of him as rich and independent. She feared she knew not what. She shrank from the future, she knew not why.

On the very next day it so chanced that young Netherby came point-blank upon the manager as he was hurrying home in the gloaming, and that the two were within speaking distance ere either knew.

"Confoond the darkness," muttered Rob to himself; but with a mighty effort he mastered the disagreeableness of the moment sufficiently to stop and say, " Gudesakes! hoo the days are drawin' in, Dick. I was upon ye ere I kenned ye frae the auld elm-tree.”

"A' we get by haein' onythin' to do wi' a flipperty-flapperty wha's here ae day, an' awa' the neist," interposed Rob hastily. 'Aweel, the like I ne'er heerd. Dick Netherby to be a grand gentleman's heed keeper, wi' a dizen men an' mair aneath him! Hech sirs, there will be a fine stravagin' up an' doon the land, ance they're a' at it thegither! Dick Netherby to be set up like yon! Whae wad hae believed it? It passes me--it passes me. But," continued the farmer after a short meditation, during which he had looked. Dick replied to the salutation suitably. repeatedly at his daughter and at his wife, "An' what's this we hear, this clash o' the the while he drew long labouring breaths, countryside?" proceeded the farmer next, in and rubbed his hands restlessly up and down accents that oscillated ludicrously between his knees. "I'm thinkin' I'll tak' second would-be congratulation and incredulous conthoughts o' yon"-nodding his head. "'Tis tempt. They say you are leavin'? The a queer warld we live in, an' we mun bend wife's been at me to ken if it's true? For ye oor necks to the yoke o' contrairy saircum-ken fowks aye come oor way wi' their havers, stances. Meg, my lass, come here."

Meg came.]

an' she's daft for a bit o' news, gude or ill.”

"She was aye kind to me," said Dick, looking down. "Tell her I knew she would be pleased."

"Pleased? Oo, aye; pleased eneugh. Hum-hey-that's supposin'-it's a' true then, is it?" he demanded point-blank.

Quite true, Mr. McClintock. I am only here now till Captain Thesiger sends for me.” "It's a gran' lift for you, Dick." Dick laughed.

"And it's for certain sure?"

Dick nodded.

"I ken a' aboot it, my girl," said Rob kindly. "A' aboot this lad wha's been coortin' here; an' gif it's yersel' he seeks, an' no your bit siller he's speerin' after, let him come to the front noo an' shaw it. We hae had words, I'll no deny,-leastways there's been words spoken-an' Dick kens my mind; he has naught to do but cast it i' my teeth that I hae misca'ed him, an' nane will be mair blythe to think sae than mysel'. Ay, an' mair, my dawtie, though it's faur to gang, and bitter is the blank ye'll leave 'Stop a wee, then," said the manager, ahint ye, no by word or deed wad I hinner hesitating. "Ye ken what I tauld your ye o' yer wull, gif it be for your ain happi- mither, eh? Aweel," he continued, hating ness. There noo" clapping gently the the job, but resolved in his plain way to hold shoulder he held-" there noo. Hoots, fie! his ground and have it out, "aweel—ahem greetin'? There's naethin' to greet aboot, I-ha-hae ye onythin' to say to me upo' the trow. He's to hae ye, lassie-to hae ye wi' your fayther an' mither's free wull and blessin'. What mair can be said? The man has but to ask; an' gif he does na ask-hark to me, Meg-gif he does na ask, the faut's his ain, the loss is his ain, an' the fause tongue an' the fause heart's his ain. Buss me noo,1 my bairn, an' say nae mair aboot it.”

It is to be feared that the downcast, shame-faced Meg did not receive the full

(1) Kiss me now.

matter?”

"To say to you!" exclaimed the young man, genuinely astonished. "To say to you! What should I have to say to you, Mr. McClintock? You said your say to me—or at me is maybe a better word—and there was an end of it."

"There was an end o't? Vera weel," said Rob slowly. Vera weel. That's a', lad. I thocht that maybe ye micht hae had some triflin' bit o' coonter-accusation to mak'-a

bit remark that I had done ye wrang, or siclike; fowks is mettlesome whiles, an wunna thole to hear theirsels misca'ed-but nae

doot ye ken your ain consairns, an gif it's the truth I spoke--"

his breast in a torrent of grief, scorn, and indignant exultation.

I thocht as muckle, I thocht as muckle. Ah, the scoondrel! First to mak'a fule o' Meg, an' then o' her fayther," finding his But he was alone. With an oath Dick voice husky and a film stealing over his eyes. had sprung past, and disappeared in the "The cowardly scoondrel! I micht hae darkness. He had had nothing to say, no spared my breath-ay, an' spared my bairn, defence to make. Perhaps until this instant an' no been bandyin' words aboot her. Na, he but dimly realised the full extent of his I micht hae kenned better. Fiend a hait1 baseness; perhaps it was the slight tremble in wad he hae o' a puir bit runtin' thing, gin he Rob's voice, the visible anxiety to say the right could do wi'oot her-an' he'll do wi'oot her thing and do his best for each one concerned, brawly noo, dang him! The rogue, the which all at once opened the young man's heartless, senseless loon. Dick, Dick, an I eyes; certain it is that for a moment the had ye!" gripping the crook of his cudgel wild idea of clearing his fame and proving his dangerously. "An I were young as ye are, disinterestedness in the way suggested fired an' nae woman's name to be named atween his bosom, and that the next, the mere possi-us-but what's the use o' talkin'?” his hold bility of so doing forced an exclamation from relaxed. "I canna reach him, an' sae," with his mouth. He broke away to bite his lip and a sigh, "sin' I can do naethin', there's stamp his foot unseen, while his late com- naethin' I can do.” panion stood still to clench his fist and ease

(1) Not a whit.

cessantly. There are the mind, the soul, and the spirit-"those three little men that stand behind us;" but the will is another entity. What is it that makes us accept, and adopt too, advice which is unpalatable from one person; which we have utterly rejected and refused to listen to when proffered by others before ? It is the weight of the will which is behind the advice, that compels our adoption of it. The person who thus forces the advice upon us is no more able to enforce it than the other; yet we reject it from one person and accept it from another. One person says, "Oh, but you must not," and we do it all the same, though that person may be in a position to make the rejection of that counsel a mistake. Another person says,

Oh, but you mustn't," and we don't; though we may, if we choose, set the latter person's opinion at defiance with impunity. It is not fear of consequences, nor of giving offence which determines the adoption of the adviser; nor is it indifference to the opinion of those who proffer advice which leads to its rejection. Yet the fact remains. We adopt the very advice from one person which we reject when proffered by another; and yet the counsel is the same, and backed by the same arguments. It depends essentially on the character, or will-power, of the individual. This character is not the character we speak

of in relation to a servant or an employer; but the character as identified with the will.

It

his house by every one; but a nonentity in it. He is dominated over by a commonplace woman, a sloven, who never possessed either good looks or money to entitle her to rule with despotic sway. Yet she does, all the same! Her servants know what she is, yet they feel compelled to obey her. She does not indulge in outbursts of violence, yet she gets her way. Her children know it will be the worse for them if they do not attend to her monitions, as well as her admonitions ; yet they are indifferent as to whether they comply with their father's requests or not. They may brave his displeasure safely; he cannot enforce attendance upon his wishes, and they know she will not compel them in the matter. He knows well the position; feels the yoke gall; sees the utter falsity of the thing, its mockery of domestic life; yet he does not rebel. The intellect, the good sense, the clean conscience, the wish to do right, are all there. He may possess wealth, birth, and culture; and she may have none of these; but in the will-fight she is master.

This character is not dependent upon the intellect, nor upon the moral qualities. The goodness or badness of the individual, measured morally, has nothing to do with the adoption or rejection of the advice; we take it because it is his. It is an imponderable something, which, however, carries weight with it. The will is seen in the nursery. One child is master, nobody knows how; it is not particularly combative, nor yet is it stubborn in conflict; but it is the master of the place as regards its brothers and sisters. may be more than ordinarily obedient to those in authority over it; but it is the master of its peers. It possesses character; and those who have studied youth know that such children make their mark in life. There may be cleverer persons, abler persons; but in the will-fight of who shall be master, this power determines the issue of the struggle. It is the same power which makes a leader among men. It was that possession which This will-struggle goes on universally. It brought Clive to the front when the exist- goes on betwixt lawyer and client; betwixt ence of the European in Bengal was gravely banker and borrower; betwixt buyer and threatened. It was the will-power which seller. It is seen in the young swell who gets placed Oliver Cromwell at the head of his his tailor to make another advance, in defipeers; it was this that made Napoleon a ance of his conviction that he will never get master of men, however conscious they were his money back. It is not the tact which of his brutal indifference to them, except so enables a person behind a counter to induce far as they could be useful to him. It was a customer to buy what they did not inthis which enabled him to command men, tend to buy, and which when bought gives more even than his intellect. The intellect them no satisfaction; though it is linked failed in its calculations at last, and his with this tact, for the tact to be successcareer ended in disaster. In Prince Bis- ful. Whenever two persons meet in busimarck the will-power has the same resist-ness, or any other relation in life up to less energy about it, which bears down all love-making, there is this will-fight going on ; opposition. The princes of the house of commonly without any consciousness of the Orange possessed it to a remarkable degree. struggle. There is a dim consciousness of William the Conqueror had it; and so have the result, but none of the processes. It most successful men. It is present in often takes years of the intimacy of married the successful merchant; and is almost in- life to find out with whom the mastery really dispensable in the person who is brought lies. Often the far stronger character, to all largely into contact with a variety of indi- appearance, has to yield: it is this willviduals. The manufacturer may command element which underlies the statement, "The success from the fertility of his brain and race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the the combinations he can form and have car- strong." In "Middlemarch" we find in Lydgate ried out by others; but when the personal a grand aggregation of qualities; yet shallow, element is constantly being tested, its posses- hard, selfish. Rosamond masters him thosion is indispensable for success. Yet it is roughly in the end. He was not deficient in not courage or bravery merely. It entails will-power, possessed more than an average the necessity for the co-existence of courage share indeed of character; but in the fight he -could scarcely exist without it. But mere went down at last under the onslaught of the physical courage is not character. selfish, stubborn will of his narrow-minded spouse.

It is certainly not intellect. We not uncommonly see in a household a clever, This will-power is seen in the man who accomplished, learned man, respected outside | bides his time, who knows how to wait; which