"
"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman.
"I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played."
"Aye, aye. Weel, ye'll learn, when ye gang hame," said the Highlander,
in gentle tones.
"I'll never get home," said John Broom, passionately. "I'll never
forgive myself. I'll never get over it, that I couldn't read to ye when
ye wanted me, M'Alister."
"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' owermuch wi'
the past, laddie. And for me--I'm not that presoomtious to think I can
square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's creditors. 'Gin
HE forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a prayer up or a chapter
doun that'll stan' between me and the Almighty. So dinna fret yoursel',
but let me think while I may."
And so, far into the night, the Highlander lay silent, and John Broom
watched by him.
It was just midnight when he partly raised himself, and cried,--
"Whisht, laddie! do ye hear the pipes?"
The dying ears must have been quick, for John Broom heard nothing; but
in a few moments he heard the bagpipes from the officers' mess, where
they were keeping Hogmenay. They were playing the old year out with
"Auld lang syne," and the Highlander beat the tune out with his hand,
and his eyes gleamed out of his rugged face in the dim light, as
cairngorms glitter in dark tartan.
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