Waterbury evening Democrat., 1894-01-12

In 1call;ed 'ny btmptiouS trdpcling con-
 pGnton Of the prGccdin0 dGu
 you well. Many time have I thought of you all; many time"-then spying me, "Ah, whom have we here? A familiar face surely. bod, as I'm living man my stage companion, whose pretty wit and lively manners 1 found so entertaining on the wretched journey hither. Well, we'll, this Is a pleasure to he sure" grasping my hand and nearly wringing it from the wrist "Who could have thought of thisp But the uneXpected's aye happening Little know we what a day or an hour may bring forth. And to think that yesterday we launched each other in our daffin, never dreaming we were of the same blood. Your looks tell me I'm right in taking you for the heir of Kilburnie. Home from col lege likely. I've heard of ye from Peter. Faith, Peter says yer an unco scholar"
 Its pleasure to me to welcome you to Kilburnie," " interrupted my father. And it was wholly unexpected"
 Pleasures are aye, 'etest when uneN- pected, cousin" return Ii Mir. Clephane ur- banely. Whats expected is discounted en- joyed before its time, so to speak, like wind raised by post obit. l was in the country side and could not leave without looking in at Kilburnie And I'm lucky in finding you altogether, and doubly lucky in find ing an old friend" !" turning his radiance upon me, though, to say the truth, what the minister called him escapes me-"
 Andrew" said my mother.
 ''To be sure" said Mir. Clephane, laugh ing. My memory's no worth preen, as Robbie says. I might have remembered what Peter has so often told ILe. Father be has said, there's not the like of Andrew kilgour in our university. Mind you what 1 tell ye, he's born to make his mark. But the fact is that old folks are so much flashed wi the world, the flesh and the devil their minds get slippery and lose the grip O things. hope the college days are not over, Andrew. It's an auld saying and true, stick to the school-the schule, we said, in my hatiin days-and the school will stick to you"
 Its a curious coincidence" said my fa- ther when the voluble MT. Clephane had been induced to take seat, that we should just have been talking about a pro- fesson for him."
 "A very important matter, cousin" re sponded Mir. Clephane, with deep gravity of tone and countenance. Then, assuming his sprightliest manner and looking at me, he added, "The most important except getting married. Ayo make that eX- ception, Andrew. Faith, the lasses take the lead, will we, mill we Solomon with all his wisdom couldn't resist them, and when he failed who's likely to succeed? Whats this the poet says? There's nae po- etry in law, cousin, and I'm clean forget ting the warblings of the muse, but any way he means that in camp or grove loves supreme. A man meets his fate when he meets his wife. Mind that, Andrew. But about the profession, cousin-eXcuse my Aggression into the realms of sentiment and romance. Lawyers go there but seldom, and, truth to tell diuna feel over well at home when they do make an excursion. Whats to be Andrews profession, if it's fair question:"
 There's difference on the point," an swered my father I'm for the law part ly because I remember your own prosperi- ty, cousin, and he's-well, he's against it."
 "H'm, har' said MT. Clephane, stroking his we'll nourished chin. Dear me, that's unfortunate, and yet it would never do for us all to be of the same mind. There are many ways of making a living, cousin, and the laddie has his own tastes nae doot. As to the law, it's with it as with many an other thing, those like it best who know least about it. At the best it's slippery game, in which ten fall for one who keeps his feet. have sprackled through-Tll no utIlg II, DuC WI lueShlu O my letln, dS lue man of Uz says I'm not sure I'd advise another fellow to follow in my steps. But dinna let me interfere; dinna let me come between father and son." Whereupon MT. Clephane rubbed his hands, thus figura- lively washing them of the whole business, and the subject oftalk was changed.
 When highland hospitalities had been dispensed, Mir. Clephane and my father went out for walk. leaving me behind. l was not sorry, since their absence gave me an opportunity of speaking with my mother, who, good soul, was ever willing to take my part. told her my whole story unreservedly, and she sympathiZed as only a mother can. 1 also told her the history of my relations with Peter, which startled and surprised her.
 Ut is a shame, Andrew" shc said, with the tears gleaming in her dear eyes, but Mir. Clephane probably knows nothing of Peters behavior, and at any rate for your fathers sake we must uphold the honor of kilburnie. It must not be said he came here and was i'll received"
 And then with many d caress she told me she quite understood my unhappy posi- tion, and that she would do what she could to re-establish me in my fathers favor 1 could see, however, that the loyal heart was deeply troubled. She would faiu have seen me obey, while pledging her word us a partisan. My blessings on her memory.
 As fate would have 1t, when my father and his visitor returned they were accom- panied by neighboring laird, Sir Thomas Gordon of The Films, of whom the reader has already casually heard from mine host of the Hound and Stag. Meeting the baro- net in the course of their walk, my father, with the impulSive generosity which had wrought such trouble to his house, insisted on taking him home for luncheon regard, less of domestic convenience or resource. But my mother was right glad to see Sir Thomas and he in turn was glad to see her, declaring in his fine old fashioned man. ner it did his heart good just to cross the threshold of Kilburnie.
 Sir Thomas, my mother had told me, al. ways gave her the impression that he was extremely lonely. He might have been happy as the world goes. A retired Anglo Indian official, he was wealthy, and though a widower, he had the companionship of a devoted daughter whose equal in beauty and goodness has not breathed since Eve left paradise. But these blessings were mysteriously counterbalanced. There was a break in his health, and-one could see it plainly-a break in his heart, two evils for which money is no medicine, and which even filial devotion can hardly do more than alleviate.
 Sir Thomas had both seen and done a great deal in times that history now calls stirring. He had been prominent actor in more than one memorable and exciting scene. He had fought q valiant battle, and victory had crowned his exertions. Yet he had a skeleton in the cupboard. He sighed often, and his habitual look was downcast. But he WAS not of those who parade their woes. In company he was cheerful in a subdued way and always gentle and con siderate. Much knowledge of men and their imperfections had not hardened him, and bitter experiences had but saddened, not soured, his sweet spirit Nor had years of authority and much honor destroyed his childlike simplicity.
 hoped that luncheon would pass with out reference being made to what had brought me home, but in that was dis appointed, for the matter lay too near my fathar'S baa1t fn he EaDt onf nf his nnOvoy.-